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Tag Archives: poetry

Verses from a December weekend

21 Dec

Two to share. A haiku inspired by a story I heard from Krista Tippet’s Speaking of Faith, and a freestyle verse on time and procrastination. By freestyle, I mean sometimes (usually, actually) I just scribble down some things really quickly on the fly, without any work or careful editing. It’s just kind of verse-improv. It’s usually not very good stuff, but I share it with hopes it will give you courage to try it.

1.

Skates find dark abyss
Glass roof exit hides tonight
Rest in cold surrender

2.

Tomorrow. (Written in the kitchen)

Don’t worry any more,
I’ll surely  start the morrow
with vigor’s determination,
Upon my proclaimed quest.

We’re right here by the door.

Light years ’til the dawn,
Far off across the wilderness,
No telling if far and wide
Will ever take us there.
Old day is never gone.

But wait–my plan is still within,
Untouched, as now becomes yesterday.

What if the buzzer sounds
And I am waiting still?
That perfect time
For my quest to just begin.

The next step that I make
We may fall through into another day.
Could be here already
By the end of this next breath.

Just blink and I will wake,
In time to turn the key.

 
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Posted by on December 21, 2009 in poetry

 

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reflective state of my moment (haiku for tonight)

16 Dec

lost in the ego
blinders of my humanness
but nature still smiles

 
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Posted by on December 16, 2009 in poetry, presencing

 

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Where the Quiet Lives

16 Oct 
Deep
Beneath the forms and shapes
No, deeper still.
Listen for the silence
Beneath the noisiness
Can you hear it now?
As if the whole world stops
Even the drippy faucet
In my chatty head.
Just the breathing sound
The heartbeat in my ear
And frogs.
The pause between each breath
Just let the next one come
And rest upon the middle.
Quiet of the late late night
Not a creature stirs about 
But the refrigerator.
 
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Posted by on October 16, 2009 in poetry

 

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Pain and a Pen, Part 4: Barbed-wire Sunset

15 Oct

This is the fourth in a series of poems written at my Grandma’s dying bedside. Barbed Wire lives in frustration and, almost, resentment toward the universe for what seemed like an unnecessary dragging on of my Grandmother’s suffering. It was written late at night, just a couple hours before she died. She appeared to be totally unconscious by now, but still responded with a squeeze of the hand when people would talk to her or a new hand would hold hers.

She was on regular doses of morphine to control her pain, but the almost constant quiet, agonizing moans and clinching of her entire body told us it wasn’t doing the trick. Her blood oxygen saturation had dipped below 65%, and her breaths had fallen to 4 or 5 per minute for several hours. I was sad, helpless and begging her tired body to let go. We had all said our final goodbyes, prayed together around her, and had a good hard cry together as a family. And the agony drug on for her, though we knew th end was very near.

Barbed-wire Sunset

soft darkness,
warm chills,
a bead runs down my face
love will wipe my brow.

parched lips and sunken eyes
no voice left of mine,
turn me here to there
this stubborn stregnth of ox.

another dose
to dull the pain,
to find for me some rest.

each breath, a thousand pounds
upon my chest,
weight of this mortal life
I will to drop behind.

furrowed brow
determined to break the armor
of this resilient vessel,
death prevail in time.

who hears my cry
and opens now the gate?
who holds my hand
hour upon hour?

I go into the next
foggy and unknown
and beautiful.

 
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Posted by on October 15, 2009 in Family, Love, poetry, writing

 

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Pain and a Pen, Part 3: Home

14 Oct

This is part 3 in a series of poems written at my Grandma’s dying bedside. Home was written on the third evening after the stroke, when Grandma could make brief eye contact with us, and was in obvious agony. She’d told my Mom earlier in the day she wanted to go home, and we knew what she meant. By this time, she could no longer find the energy to speak, and breathing took every ounce of energy and concentration from her. She would only open her eyes occasionally. These verses came to me while contemplating her suffering, and were inspired by things I heard others in the room say and ask about what might be going through her mind now. Home is written from Grandma’s perspective.

Home.

eyes gaze deep
my love’s embrace,
words are no more found

look into my journey long
ending as it was born
presence dwells within

let resilient spirit rest
take me home
where peace lives now,
take me home

every breath
a mountain climb
every hour
eternity forelorn

sent off by love,
love waiting still
on the other side

take me home
so ready now
take me home.

 
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Posted by on October 14, 2009 in Family, poetry, writing

 

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