Search

heartwordsforpoetry

Poetry from my heart

It’s Back

It is back!

It has been gone so long, I thought it had forgotten me and

Had left me behind to wonder

And miss it,

To search for its faltering presence and

To long for its comfort.

My wanting and longing kept it away.

My acceptance of its absence, for its own reasons, not mine, brought it back.

I must resist the urge to hold it close

To crush it with my desperate need.

For its need for me is as strong

As my need for it.

The un-manifest became manifest.

Words

Expectations and explanations

Both changing with the wind.

Both a disappointment.

Just words, so many useless words.

They are stubborn and painful,

Mostly mine.

I’m tired, world weary tired.

It’s all too confusing, too many games,

Too many rules and players.

Too much thought.

Leave it all behind

Drop the thoughts,

Don’t believe them

They are not real.

There Must Be A Reason

Music flows through my head,

My heart and soul follow.

The notes run together

Like stepping stones through a fountain,

Happily skipping their way

Across the vibrating waters of sound.

They bring order to the chaos of noise

And joy to the count of beats.

Music brings happiness in melodies that linger and

Form the foundation of memories.

Everything, when set to music,

Is easier to remember.

Why is that?

There must be a reason.

There Are No Words Left

What can I say –

There are no words left…

No correct ones, anyway, but even without words

 love’s heart lingers.

The useless words drip down the windows of my soul like rain

Turning snow to slush

And white noise to wet mud.

Sucking me under again.

The memories can’t be erased, or ignored.

And although they can’t be sucked back into non-being,

They begin to fade and with time become so thin they blend with the dripping snow,

But still I cannot, will not, forget or give them up.

I know the memories will remain mine,

Always mine and each time the same.

They will stay in my mind beautiful and true

Until time steps out of time and begins again.

(Poem #5  April 5, 2017) 

 

Quiet Gentleness

 There is a smoothness to the

Texture of ordinary days.

Ease and effort are the same,

Quiet gentleness and holy light.

Each object flowing effortlessly

Into every other object yet each

Remaining what they are while at the same time,

Knowing they are all made of the same things that are not them.

“Water takes the shape of the vessel that contains it,

Yet has no shape of its own” (Mooji)

What is my place in this quiet?

I am the water outside of the vessel,

The space the wind occupies between the trees,

The pause between the breaths,

The observer of the smoothness of ordinary days and

The light that exists at the center of the flower.

I am eternal.  

(Poem #3 of the April Poetry Month’s 30 poems in 30 day challenge)

The Stones Will Remember

Evening shadows shift

Through broken windows.

 

Chimney bricks slide down the roof

Puddleing under the lilac bush.

 

Weeds spread into the driveway

Reclaiming it for themselves.

 

When was this house built?

Was it ever new?

 

The yard and doorframes bear witness

To the families who grew here.

 

Long forgotten toys and broken swings

Hide beneath the matted field grass.

 

A broken clothesline flaps in the gray autumn breeze and

Sprung clothespins mold and rot into the ground beneath the broken posts.

 

Feral cats are now the only life that calls this old farm home,

And birdsong still fills the rafters of the barn.

 

The barn that once held livestock

Sits shifted on its foundation,

 

Listing and leaning to the south,

Away from winter’s fierce winds.

 

The stately oak gracing the front yard is rotten and broken,

Its fingers through the house roof.

 

Where did they go, the people

Who called this place home?

 

When the last one left,

Why didn’t they clean out the house?

 

Why not take the toys?

Close the windows? Lock the doors?

 

Did they not know they were

Never coming back?

 

The windmill out back has long ago

Crashed into the apple orchard,

 

Breaking in to pieces as it fell

and crushing the trees it had stood watch over all these years.

 

But in man’s absence

The apple trees continue to produce.

 

The lilac bushes flower every spring in spite of

Not being “cared for” in over 40 years.

 

The forest is slowing creeping back in to fill the void

Left when the field was abandoned.

 

All that remains of the people who once called this spot of land home

Is the family graveyard,

 

Where stones are carved with love and care,

Preserving for all time the names and dates of those whose lives began and ended here.

 

But the lilacs don’t care about being preserved,

The Oak is beyond pride and the buildings are slowly returning to the soil,

 

Just like the bodies beneath the stones.

Another 40 years and the stones will be all that remains.

 

They will be all that is left to tell the story

Of a time gone by.

 

The story of a house built to last a lifetime, a barn crafted with pride,

The story of generations of a family who lived, worked and died on this land.

 

A story only the stones will remember.

It Waits

It waits with patience hands

Outside our knowing, waiting to be let in.

Its story is always the same,

Its truth dependable but not always what we want to hear.

There is no hypocrisy, no deceit in its soul.

It is the soul that fills the void, that encompasses the eternal.

It exists in rhythms of time, tides of dependability,

Cycles of freedom and seasons of hope.

It can be ignored, but never escaped and so it waits,

In beauty and joy, in bliss and acceptance, in love and peace,

For us to wake up and realize it is but a mirror of ourselves,

The face of our existence, the light in our souls,

The essence of our being

Before we were born.

All I Had

 

It was just a game,

But it was all we had.

The rules were written as we went along.

He lead, I followed.

Everything changed from week to week

But always stayed the same.

The music played to fit the game and

Players changed with the tunes.

I never doubted in the moment,

Only in the absence, and it seemed to always be the time of absence.

The reality of the missing would come to me

Before the leaving.

I would rest my head on his chest

Listening to his heartbeat.

I would try to hold him inside me, all of him,

In each fleeting moment and then he was gone.

Once again reality would return to embrace the void, and

The long anticipated fulfillment became just another memory.

Then came the waiting for his

Footsteps on the wooden porch,

The rattling of the outer door,

And the bells ringing on the inside.

I knew it was just a game, his game,

But it was all I had.

Out of the Darkness

He comes to me out of darkness in the night,

With soft words matching soft hands.

His smoldering passion stares me down.

I can’t look away, he is all there is.

We move together in silence, no words are necessary.

It is all so familiar.

He knows what I want,

I know what he needs.

It is a love that never ends but sometimes lays hidden in lies, or

Buried in truth, ashamed of itself.

It sleeps for months only to burn through again

And consume us once more in its power and passion.

So, is this what you have been looking for?  Been waiting for?

Been wanting and needing?

Been dreaming of in your darkest hours?

Been hoping to find and hear?

You don’t have to look any further.

It is all still right here, as it always has been.

Right in front of you,

Framed by a heart.

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑