They have escaped me,
All of them.
No new profound truths,
No more high-minded thoughts.
I’m glad they escaped.
It was time for them to go.
Just unnecessary clutter as
Emptiness and silence need no help.
Category: poetry changes
Small Things
“The Great arises out of small things that are honored and cared for” Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth
Such wisdom in so few words.
But what is the Great if not a compilation of the small.
Nothing is too small to be part of the One.
The Great unmainfested, is manifest in everything, including the small, especially the small.
It is through the ordinary manifestation of the One that it’s true
Heart and meaning is able to shine through.
Honor all “things” as part of the Creator
Made touchable, reachable, and real.
Ceremonies and traditions, ways of honoring the small things, act
As symbols and representations of caring for the One all-pervasive energy, the Creator.
Everywhere I look I see evidence of this truth.
When I open my eyes each morning, I acknowledge and honor the new day’s creation.
A new beginning with each sunrise, with each chime of the cuckoo clock,
As the new born light angles across my bed and bedroom walls.
My breakfast food of sweet potatoes and spinach
Lies in splendor on the golden yellow dish.
The lightly colored beautiful orange sweet potatoes shine
In stark contrast to the dark green warmth of the spinach.
They are contrasts in wholeness, beautiful small things to be honored and appreciated.
As is the tea steaming in my tea mug which shares the mug’s space and honors its useful emptiness, tea honoring mug honoring tea.
The shower water’s warmth and the soap’s scent of softness and peace
Honor my body and I honor their usefulness and dedication to service without selfishness.
And with each step and in each and every place I go throughout the day,
I try to take the time, maybe only a second or two, to notice and honor the small things.
After all, I am a small thing too.
No Longer Enough
At least this one was amusing.
Inappropriate at times, but amusing.
With no history or back story,
Just comical antics and surface details.
A few weeks with no consistency; he came and went,
Tried to pick up where he left off as if no time has passed.
Apparently, he started something he couldn’t finish.
Maybe he never intended to.
But his intentions are of no consequence to me now as
I have taken a step up.
The rules are not the same for this new one,
My old rules no longer apply.
My standards are higher now, they are as elevated as I am.
But In spite of this most recent mistake, I refuse to give up.
My heart still longs for that one touch, that one look, the right one,
The one my heart waits for.
It is all I need, all I want, and so simple but so hard to find.
So, this one can fade back into nowhere from where he came as
Amusement is fun but shallow and
Most definitely no longer enough for me.
August
August, a month of
Heavy air, morning mists and summer’s last hurrah.
Its sultry nights are drenched in humid air and thunder
With light shows between the clouds at midnight and
Rain hissing in the dark on the forest green.
Late summer dawns are still and thick and hang over
Flowers spent and gardens full.
In late August the earth speaks to me in fruits and vegetables,
Hay fields and corn rows, empty fields and full root cellars,
Reminding me that Summer’s end is near.
Darkness
The stillness of the night air
Hangs heavy outside my window.
Its darkness threatens to come in,
But my reading light keeps it at bay, and
Although the light is bright, drips of silent night
Sneak in around the edges of my window sill
And puddle on the floor by the curtain hem
To remind me of the darkness that lurks just outside
My window
And my heart.
A Picture in Sound
The music drifts through my soul
Of its own accord as
A sound remembered in feelings.
Melodies bring it back and
Emotions hold it in place.
In the softness of remembering,
His arms still encompass my heart,
His words still hold my soul and
I am swept away once again.
A cascade of feelings,
Triggered by a picture in sound.
A Robin Sings at Dawn
A robin sings at dawn and
The day breaks on a new world.
A world different from the one
The sun set on yesterday.
It is the same earth but
A new world.
My world is not the same as yours and
Your world can never be the same as mine as I am not you.
Our eyes work in the same way, yet
See everything differently.
A million souls have been lost since yesterday, but
A million more were born.
We are not alone or the same…
Watch the progression of the wind through the trees.
Notice how each tree moves to its own song and in its own world.
As do we…
Do you feel the same breeze that moves the trees?
Do you know and hear their songs?
They hear mine…
Today, even my heart is different than yesterday’s,
Is yours?
In the night my dreams change me and
I wake up in a new world.
It happens every morning,
But it’s never the same.
The world’s consistency is but an illusion.
The ferns leaning against my porch screens are a little taller than they were before.
Overnight, more geranium buds have opened and
The garden has drunk up all the water I gave to it yesterday.
Everything has changed
Yet appears the same.
The illusion is well practiced and convincing,
Or is it?
After all, the Robin never fails to sing at dawn.
The Shadows that Linger
Shadows linger on his face
Long after the sun has risen,
Marking the path of light and love
I wove in the stillness of the night.
Lost in passion, with my being pressed into his,
My heart was consumed in the heat of darkness
Leaving only the shadows that linger to contain
the parts of me I have chosen to leave behind.
Silent April Snow
The early spring silent snow
Fits my mood.
It is a white dusting of truth
Accentuating every little branch and twig,
Making every little lie all the more obvious.
The silence into which the April snow is falling
Seeps through my eyes and into my heart
As if to smother and quiet its
Telltale beats.
It comes as blessing and a curse by
Prolonging the inevitable with maybe that one last chance.
But I know the sun will come out and
It will all be just a memory …
Once again.
Of Love and Light
Nostalgia weighs heavy on my heart tonight,
And I long for what could have been.
But then I remember why it wasn’t but what makes me the most sad is that I also remember
That it almost was.
So wanting and loving, I sit alone in this night of late winter cold as the music of piano and cello drifts through my head.
The sound of the cello speaks to my soul and caresses my heart.
In the melody, I hear two hands playing together in perfect union and feel that
I am as one of those hands, looking for the familiar accompaniment of the other.
And so in the depths of this late winter evening I am lost in
Remembering what never was, feeling what didn’t exist,
Loving what could have been
In this time of warm darkness, candle light and winter solitude.
Now there exists only a memory of he and I, together yet alone,
Forever wrapped in the spirit of love and light.
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