Poetry from my heart
I loved touching him,
I loved being touched.
I loved holding him,
I loved being held.
I loved kissing him,
I loved being kissed.
I loved loving him,
I loved being loved.
But he is gone
And has taken with him the
Touching,
Holding,
Kissing, and
Loving.
The once warm darkness we shared in early morning loving
Is now empty and cold.
Memories are all I have left.
My sorrow is complete.
Silence among strangers and trees.
All enclosed in sacred spaces and domes with
The inside out and the outside in.
Our souls are connected in silence,
With everything in common but no two of us the same.
Bells and sunrise mark the day’s beginning and in the evening,
Night is a blanket of calm and sleep as
Tomorrow’s promises wait in shadowed softness.
From my bedroom window
I watch the woodland change with the seasons.
On the corner of the house, a maple branch hugs the windowsill
Its leaves framing my view of the forest.
How can I explain the secret life of leaves I observe from my window and the
Magical growth that takes place in silence unseen?
I can think of no words to use, so instead I just watch, I watch the breeze
ruffle the leaves and the branches move together in the wind like fans made of feathers.
And then the rain comes, and I watch the drops play the
Leaves like keys on a piano.
I am content with my role as watcher and marvel at the strength and skill the trees employ when they interlock their arms to form an impenetrable force of gentle power in silence.
These graceful tree spirits are woven together by the hand of God to create
The framework of the forest.
They surround my home and speak to my soul.
My heart hears their thoughts and hopes,
And I realize and know that they are
Not so different from me.
I understand and accept that we share this planet and are
Children of the One in all our varied forms.
All connected,
All equal in the eyes of our creator.
And the peace and stillness of the wood
pervades my soul and feeds my spirit and makes me one with those who stand outside looking in.
I am so blessed and thankful to have this new room in my house! I had an old screened porch redone into my writing/meditation space. I just love it, could sit here forever and probably will!
I will make you soup, my Lord and
Fill it with the spices of life so that you may taste the wonders you have given to me.
There will be salt for truth and
Pepper for hurt.
Sugar for love and
Bitters for sadness.
Potatoes will let you taste the flavor of the earth and
Beets, the warmth of the soil.
Carrots will spill out their liquid orange sunshine for your pleasure and
Savory herbs will add flavor to surprise your taste buds with every sip.
My delight in the life you have given me makes me what to give back to you so,
I will make you soup, my Lord
And I will stir it with love.
I don’t have a love like that.
Thought I did, once.
Maybe I should make one up?
I could, but
Would it have the same hold,
The same power and depth of feeling
If it only existing in my mind?
Although my mind takes its direction from my heart,
Is my heart to be trusted?
Would I make the fantasy so good that every reality thereafter would be a disappointment?
But then, isn’t that inevitable anyway…
A remembered event is most often better than the event itself.
In looking back, my memory adds flavor and substance to one who really was without either.
He was just a shell of my creation, a vessel for me to
Fill with what I wanted him to be.
I made the vessel strong to hold what I needed, or so I thought.
It was my error. The vessel of my own making wasn’t up to the task.
So as payback for my mistake, I continue to miss something I never had,
To love someone who didn’t exist and to cherish a love that wasn’t returned.
How could it have been?
It was only a fantasy and
Faith in a fantasy is as
Empty and sinking as the leaky vessel that carries it.
We are supposed to learn from our mistakes.
Or so I’m told.
I have joined my sisters and retreated.
Back and back to the very beginning,
Not just my beginning but yours, ours.
Back to when the sacredness of women was honored.
A time when it was known and valued that women were
The givers of life and holders of stars.
Society has changed over the years, but in our hearts there remains
An understanding of the continuity of our original place and purpose.
We know that we are not in or of this world
But exist in our eternal beingness.
We are awake and are coming back to claim our rightful place.
The past is remembered in our collective consciousness and it is with renewed Courage and strength that we again dance in the forest,
And the forest dances in us.
Once more the mountains and ocean belong to us,
And we to them.
Our renewed story is a recognition of our eternal story.
It is the story of our connection to the divine,
Not one limited to any certain place or time but a story for all eternity.
The same eternity that resides in a milkweed bloom, a bird’s egg,
A baby’s laugh, and our hearts.
And although our voices remain soft and gentle, we will no longer be silenced.
We are not done with this world and
The writing of our collective story will never be finished
As it has no beginning or end.
Our time is now and together we will step out of time one by one and
Rejoin our story where we were forced out of it years ago.
We are still the givers of life and
The holders of stars.
Sacred women once more,
As one voice and mind.
Together again and always.
This moment, this one
Precious moment.
Like no other,
Only you and me.
At this second, no one
And nothing else matters.
All sound is blocked from my mind,
All I can hear is your voice.
My eyes can focus only on you; my body feels only your touch,
All else fades away.
My soul fills with your presence
Your strength and your love. Nothing can compare.
In this moment, we are all that exists,
We have no need for anything else.
Space shrinks to the size of your room
And the universe is contained in the pupils of your eyes.
The eternal truth resides in your touch and
I can hear the harmony of the heavens in your sighs.
In this moment we are aware and know that there is no heaven
No hell, no past, no future,
Just now, just you, just me.
Timeless, all consuming, beautiful and right.
Lonely hearts,
Collect cobwebs in the corner.
While words left unspoken,
Hang like dust motes in the sunshine.
But Life goes on with paths un-taken, names forgotten, hearts neglected.
A love was left behind,
Unwanted.
Where did it go?
Is there a place for misplaced love?
A place where it is held
And comforted or does it just dissipate slowly
Like dew in the sunshine…
I don’t know.
I just
Don’t
Know…
In an Early spring meadow
Tree skeletons stand stark,
Silhouetted in the fog.
The meadow’s undulating waves of grass,
Appear and disappear in the mist.
A familiar landscape,
Changed only by drops of dew.
