Categories
Poetry

Unlimited

I feel the way I feel

because I feel the way I feel.

Because I am soft

and gentle,

because I am wild as the rain

and free as the sky.

But I am not free,

not really,

not in this world.

And that is surely

a tragic day

for the aspect of me

who knows she is unlimited.

Categories
Poetry

To Rest

What is this life

that drags me all the ways

through every shard of splintered glass?

I want to scream at the sun to stop!

Just for a moment,

stop.

Stop shining there.

I want only to wish on the moon

for peace,

oh for peace!

For peace,

indeed,

is a dream

to those who seek it

lifetimes long.

To rest a moment

beyond the race

is the blissful day.

To rest a moment.

To rest.

This moment.

Categories
Poetry

Until The Garden Grows

Your truth is true

because you believe it.

And you must believe it

until you no longer do.

There is no quick way to birth a rose.

A rose must slowly

awaken

to beautiful

wide-open

life.

Wide-open-life.

It is a place that exists only

in the sky of us.

A neutral place,

where all are loved,

and all love

unconditionally.

Believe what you will.

Choose a side

if you will.

It is true for now.

It is true, only for now.

Until the rose opens.

Until the garden grows.

Categories
Poetry

Every Drop

You think you are one thing.

You are not one thing.

You are the entire ocean.

Take your time,

be every drop.

Categories
Poetry

How Is A Rose To Grow?

A rose to meet the morning bright,

to grow in cheer,

to gather life.

Yet day to day

the rose does wither,

day to day the rose does wither,

lost

beneath the foggy dreary.

Lost.

Beneath.

How is a rose to gather

honey sweet

from deep blue trees?

How is a rose to grow

in the dark

of uncaring

life?

How is a rose to grow?

Categories
Poetry

Some Days

Some days,

even the days that are kind,

(and quite lovely)

feel a deeper shade

of aching life.

And you’ll never know why,

(at least, I never do)

but you might hope

(like me)

that one day the ache will settle

and you will no longer wish

(quite desperately)

for something more.

Or less

(I can never quite tell.)

What did the poets do,

you might ask yourself

(like I do)

and you’ll try desperately to forget

the ones who didn’t make it

all the way.

I will make it all the way,

(this I know)

because I choose life

even when the skies are grey.

For alchemy was the golden lake

of dreamers past.

And dreamers present fill the aching

(world)

with streams of sunshine

and honey milk days.

Shall I fill my own cup

and drink the nectar, sweet?

Shall I ask the golden lake

(of life)

to flow this way

and bring me home?

Categories
Life

Home Alone

I’m home alone, tonight.

And when I say I’m home alone, I mean my children are here, my husband is not.

And when I say my husband is not, I mean I’ve been keeping a secret, and that secret is that for some weeks now, my husband has been my husband again. Married. All the way through, once more.

In other words, our year and a bit apart has come to a close.

We’ve decided to stay together.

When my heart woke and began to glow for everything and everyone, it became apparent that the love between me and my very own body-mind-heart-soul was the only love I’d ever truly need. And so why choose a new man who could never be perfect. Why not choose the same old lovely one, who I could work with, grow with, be with, knowing I am fully loved and beautifully cared for. Imperfect, he is. Just like his wildly creative, highly emotional wife.

This feeling that the sun shines from my heart: it’s shown me that no man will ever be perfect, no relationship completely shiny. As I lay alone all those many nights (often loving the single life, often really quite lonely, actually, and aching for the parts of our old life that were no longer available to my children in quite the same way) I wondered if the shine I sometimes saw in my eyes meant that I was home. And if so, was I now solid enough within my new found self to go back to my other home?

Home: the place my babies wouldn’t miss their Dad.

Home: the place that held me, knew me, loved me.

Home. To the guy I’d forgotten I loved so dearly.

Until I remembered, again.

I’m home now.

I’m home now.

Photo by Marina Abrosimova on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Yes, No, Life

Am I a good

and proper

human.

Yes.

No.

Life.

Categories
Poetry

Just Because

And then she roared again.

Just because.

Categories
Poetry

All I Know

All I know is my heart.

All I know

is when it stretches

and when it breaks,

the same words return

and return

and return:

I love you, anyway.