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Poetry from my heart

A Play of Stillness

 

I sit on the stage.

Darkness surrounds me.

The audience, if there is one,

Is silent.

There are no props on the stage

Only layers of black curtains.

I don’t remember auditioning for a play,

But here I am.

It’s odd there is no music or

Other players.

I sit in my darkness for what seems like forever

But there is still no sound, no movement, no life.

Just stillness and a mild sense of confusion.

I feel the space in front of me more that see it.

I sense it is there, curtains in a circular shape

A boundary perhaps but between what and where?

The other side is unknown and unknowable

Until the show begins.

But will it begin?  Still no script or players,

No music or lights.

I run my hand through my hair to prove to myself that

I am still real in this sensory deprived place.

But what is real about an empty stage, a wordless play,

A playerless story?

I begin to realize that

None of those things matter.

All is stillness and non-separate.

The “show” never begins and never ends.

The circular curtain and empty stage contain eternity

And this space is an empty place within me.

There will be no play, no script,

No lights, no audience.

This story is mine, the darkness my stillness,

The only witness, me.

Just me as part of the universal consciousness

Acting out a play of well-rehearsed lines without ever saying a word.

Each player a part of the whole

Never separate from the others.

All joined in the cosmic drama

Of existence.

The curtain rises on one story, one actor, one consciousness

In an that act never ends.

 

Storm Dance

 Coastal dunes slide and slip into the sea

As the storm rolls on to the north.

Gulls scurry to grab unfortunate crabs washed ashore by the crashing waves.

Seaweed floats and ripples with the waves like grass in the wind and

Salty sea spray coats the disinterested windows of empty houses on the shore.

The tourists have all left for the season

Leaving the ocean and beach to carry on with their lover’s dance

Un-witnessed and unashamed, with freedom and reckless abandon.    

Just Look

I saw the stars last night,

Didn’t even have to get out of bed.

They were so bright in the cold, dense,winter air

That they shown right through my lacy bedroom curtains.

I saw it as a reminder of what is still there and always will be,

And to find it yet again,

We just have to look through the holes one more time.

February Morning

Monday morning winter sunshine warms my room and

James Taylor serenades me and my oatmeal.

There are frost etchings on the old warped glass windows that surround my space.

In the harsh light of day, my mind and heart step back to echos of last evenings secret loving,

Soft as the candle flames flickering on my night stand.

A lingering warmth traces his outline in my bed as his Cheshire cat smile is the last to leave, 

Only fading with the daylight.

The Yellow Room

I am not a quitter but there comes a time

When the fight is lost.

They say to resist is futile, as some things cannot be defeated

And may not need to be, so,

I have taken the advice given and

Have made the decision.

I have gone to the room,

Cleaned the cobwebs out of the corners, painted the walls yellow,

Arranged the flowers on the table and freshened the bed with clean, crisp linens, after all,

He deserves only the best.

It is a south facing room,

I know he likes the sun and heat.

I looked at all the other rooms – all unoccupied,

But none were quite as nice.

I don’t think he will be lonely there as

I will always be with him.

I’ll have to find a safe place to put the key;

I know I will use it often.

Especially at first,

I know he will come out a lot.

I’ll have to hold him gently in the palm of my hand,

Put him back in and lock the door each time; there is no other way.

I know I’ll complain about the inconvenience,

But it really will be my own fault, as I’ll still think of him too often.

They say in time I’ll see him less and less.

I’m not so sure of that, but I hope they’re right.

But right now I can take no more; he refuses to leave so I have no choice

As he comes uninvited into my thoughts daily.

So when those thoughts and feelings overwhelm me,

I will hold his essence in my hands and send him back.

And when I send him back, he will need no direction

As he knows which room is his.

It’s the first one on the right,

The only yellow room in my heart.

 

The Ballet of Life

 A play of light and shadow.

Bodies move and sweep emotions into being.

The interplay of physical and emotional strength portrays a

Man and woman connected in dance as in life and love.

Two bodies move as one in response to

The primordial rhythm of existence.

The two become one in spirit and flesh as

The opposites of each other.

Their hands and hearts glide together

Joining the masculine and feminine in an endless dance of love and power.

He shares his with her and she hers with him and

The dance becomes a battle of love, a flow of exquisite pain and destroying joy.

For to love for loves sake,

To flow together in the dance of eternity,

To believe in the union of man, woman and music

Is to become one with the ballet of life.

 

I Am Sure

 

Revelations come to me when I least expect them unwanted, but insistent that I listen.

They are the kind I don’t want to know and  don’t want to hear.

But they come anyway .  Maybe to clear the way,

To open my  heart and eyes and speak the truth to my soul.

But they are hard truths to take.

My heart says no, but my head and soul say “Yes, listen and know”.

My heart is a child, trusting , self-deluding and innocent.

My soul aches for her in her time of pain and sorrow.

Love is not only felt by my heart, my soul loves too.

But my soul  is blessed with a stronger constitution, a greater consciousness, a better understanding.

 It is older and wants to protect my heart, wants to spare her from pain but knows it can’t.

So it warps itself around my heart and holds her while she weeps and sleeps.  It knows that time will heal her and is patient in the waiting time.

My soul knows my heart is good and kind and that she loves unconditionally and breaks because of it.

My soul knows that my heart knows no other way to love so it waits and loves and holds and protects with gentle hands and the love of God.

Together, in time,  we will love again,  all three of us,

I’m sure of it,  my soul told me so.

Extraordinary

Be extraordinary in your ordinariness and

Marvel in the beauty of everyday blessings.

Notice how snow piles up in leeward corners of windows during a storm

And the rings raindrops make in puddles.

Admire the spirit of sunflower seeds sprouting in

October under the bird feeders.

Let the sparkling morning spider webs on

Summer grass fill your eyes with the freshness of love.

Feel the sweetness of warm, wet, baby kisses and

Hear the snap of clean linens on a spring morning clothesline.

Watch and listen for the ordinary ways God speaks to us

A million times a day and see …

Bees dancing on pebbles in the bird bath and

Crisp autumn leaves ringed with October morning frost.

Hear a Wood Thrush’s echoing, haunting song at dusk and

Watch clear glass jars and white porcelain bowls dry on the kitchen counter.

Notice frost fingers splaying across winter windows and

Soak in steaming soup on a cold December day.

Marvel at sun sparkles on freshly fallen snow and

Baby sighs in the night.

Drink in the light in your lover’s eyes and

Savor his sweet kisses at midnight.

Smile at the tea balls ringing like temple bells in the silverware drawer and

A ring of stateless steal measuring spoons in a baby’s fist.

All just ordinary things but extraordinary in their beauty and simplicity,

Just like you and me.

Isabelle

 

Morning warmth spreads through the house with the sunlight and

Silly baby squeaks and raspberry tongue sounds slide down the hall.

I smell her sweetness at the nursery door,

Baby powder, formula, clean diapers folded neatly in a basket and scented baby wipes.

I peak through the crack in the door to catch her unaware

In the act of just being a baby, so honest and true.

A well-worn bear hangs by one arm over the side of the crib,

And Isabelle’s tiny hands clutch the top rails.

A toothless grin and sparkling eyes

Greet me and the morning with unconditional love.

She knows no conditions.

A baby’s love is free in its simplicity and truth,

The way God made love to be.

We could learn a lot from babies

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