Poetry - Part 2 - Poetry Slipping Through Time

Living

An Adult

This Place in Space

This world

This place in space

Intangibly real

Unreal     misplaced

Molded    unfolded

Surrounded with air

Life forms exist in a mutable snare

Changes arrange us in ever new paths

Cages entrap us in fourth and in halves

We’re taken down to unfathomable depths

Only to surface and catch a few breaths

Unconsciously conscious we move through the maze

An unfocused blur

We grope through the haze

Yet sometimes I wonder if we haven’t a place

Are we part of the cosmos

Have some meaning in space

                                                                       

Burb Blues

There’s got to be more than babies and bottles

Four bedroom ramblers and two car garages

There got to be more than trips to the health club

P.T.A., league games and freeway barrages

There’s got to be more than tennis and bridge

Who left their husband, who built on the ridge

Somewhere there’s palaces, artists, enchantment

Culture and elegance for my heart’s encampment

Somewhere, there’s poetry, playwrights, and dancing

Harpists, and flautists just right for romancing

Somewhere there’s substance and real conversation

And poetry that stimulates the mind’s transportation

Somewhere in this world there has got to be more

Than the girls down the street and the man at the door

Creating Karma

It always seems so clear to me the path that should be taken

It always shocks my soul to see the path some have forsaken

Cold and cruel and heartless ways are the path they’ve woven

Wicked, mean, and harmful ways are the path they’ve chosen

It always seems so clear to me and yet they choose another

The one that hurts and makes it worse is how they treat their brother

The Healer

Oh Sea
Take me away with you
to another place
another time
Reach out with your great arms
and hold me
As your tide draws back into itself
take my bruised heart with you
take away the alone ness
the heartache
the grief 
that I have heaped up 
inside myself
You have been my friend
Companion
And great healer so often
So once again
I come to you
Caress me with your motion 
Heal me with your pounding surf
Wash me clean again

Mood Swings

Why am I so high and yet so low

So far and yet so near

So up and yet so down

Confused and yet so clear

Contradictions

                                   

Does it sometimes seem

That white is black and black is white

                                    Does it sometimes seem

That right is wrong and wrong is right

                                    Does it sometimes seem

That dim is bright and bright is dim

Does it sometimes seem

            You win you lose, you lose you win

Does it sometimes seem

That rich is poor and poor is rich

Does it sometimes seem

            The witch is a saint the saint’s a witch

Birth Place

Birds of the morning burst barriers of sleep

Open the heart of budding spring

Winter’s dormant slumber breaks the chrysalis of death

Life reincarnates again

Sea Dweller

I don’t dwell by the sea

But the sea dwells in me

Though it moves far way

I feel it each day

I watch the moon

And my spirit communes

With the sea on a shore

Near a long distant moor

I have gifts from the sea

                              That whisper to me

             A long ago song

      I listen and long

To be there where the sea

Can wash over me

            And caress my soul

With its gentle hello

     Where the sea mists and the salty damp spray

            Envelop the ships as they drift on the bay

                             Where the fog horn moans a deep haunting call

                                   And the sea birds cry as they lift and fall

The Last Rose

Hardy it stays longer than the rest

Browned on the edges from chilly October nights

Still a deep rose blush is enclosed inside it’s petals

Wanting to burst forth but not receiving enough warmth

Enough sun to reach it’s fullness

It’s unfolding

No one will ever know how exquisite

That rose might have been because it got to chilly

It grew to late in the season

And before it could bloom

It died on the vine

My Heart

My heart has to wander

Meander

                                      and saunter

Along coastlines and shores

                                And boats in the harbors

My heart has to linger

   and savor

                          and finger

The sands at the sea sides

                                the shells in the riptides

My heart has to quiver

      and hover

                           and shiver

In awe and wonder

                                   at lightning and thunder

My heart has to wander

     meander

                                  and saunter

Through avenues and Burroughs

                             and art space and book stores

My heart has to skip

            and gallop

                        and canter

Through fields full of wild flowers

                                  and hear the birds banter

My heart has to wander

                             and wonder

                                         and ponder

At the meaning of life

        and death

                                               and beyond here

The    Still      nesssssssss

When I am unable to look at the images of the world

It’s madness threatening to overtake me

I go to

The            still      nesssssssssss

There I see God’s working

And know that a higher power is still in charge

The          still     nessssssssss

Of a hilltop overlooking the world

I hear angel voices whisper in the wind

That all is well

The             still       nesssssssssss

After a snowstorm

Everything coated with soft white lace

The air fresh after washing the world of all it’s psychic debris

The white gloves on the arms of the trees hold me in a calm embrace

         The                  still                nessssssssssss                               

Of a starry moon-filled night I become one with the infinity of space

No longer concerned about the madness of this life

It doesn’t really matter in the big picture of the progress of the universe

The                       still                       nessssssssssss

Gives me hope, peace, and an abiding        calmnesssssssss

Treasure Chest

Light filters through golden slivers

It is the hour between dusk and dark

Burnt umber trunks slither through gold doubloons

Ruby oak leaves sparkle in the light

Red, green, silver maples glimmer

In the vespers of afterglow

Citrine and topaz fires flame brush and bush

Emerald green leaves turned crimson shine

Amidst the crystal air

The jeweled facets of Autumn’s glory

Enclose me

Walking With The River

Walking with the river

In the evening vesper glow

Walking with the current

Going with the flow

A gentle breeze surrounds me

Downy ducklings drift along

Walking with the river

I hear the rivers song

Calming and soothing

It brings comfort to my soul

Walking with the river

Letting everything else just go

The river's my companion

quiet and still

Walking with the river

Is the way I love to feel

Why We Keep Horses

They stand as sentinels shining in the sun,

the curves of their muscles streamlined for speed.

They bring a calm as they graze in the pastoral pasture,

a simple reverie that soothes our souls.

They are patient and kind,

help us simplify,

don’t require much,

just a few pats on the head,

a cheerful hello,

some hay,

An apple from the tree.

They have existed for eons,

much longer than we humans.

They have been our horse power

through long journeys,wars, mail, and stagecoaches.

Now they are just our large pets.

We don’t ride anymore.

We love, groom, and brush them,

Trim their long roped manes,

Curry their soft satin fur.

Somehow they know when we are in trouble

and heal us with their strength,

just by standing in their presence.

They still give back

with their horsepower.

*We - My husband and I

Ocean Medicine

Heads bob like birds on a platinum sea.

They wait for the perfect wave.

From the top of the cliff I glide with pelicans

wind currents catching my hair.

Gulls soar,

free fall,

then lift,

freedom in their flight.

With a bird’s view I watch the changes

clouds merging and shifting above me.

A ribbon of silver cuts through shining glass.

The sun a spotlight on the water

moving away

away

away

until it disappears

in an endless ocean.

My Drum

My drum was so different from other’s drums.

Drum circles drew me, mine had a foreign moan

It had a unique timbre and tone.

Even my family could not comprehend me

Sometimes  like an orphan, so alone.

My drum was so different from other’s drums.

 I felt things others didn’t feel

Voices that spoke to me weren’t my own,

They  had a distinct timbre and tone.

Strange visions seem to appear to me

Was I born with a call, psychic gifts can’t disown,

My drum was so different from other’s drums.

My  isolation  like a lone leaf at sea.

Always looking for my own true home.

My drum was so different from other’s drums.

It  had an unusual timbre and tone

Birthdays

Each year of survival on the planet deserves a pat on the back.

It marks an accumulation of time,

the scars of experience,

the tests of endurance,

Some birthdays are like bright balloons 
lifting through sapphire blue skies,

a son’s return from the military,

a  granddaughter’s birth,

a birds melody as spring returns.

Other birthdays are like skinned knees,

a breakup with a high school sweetheart,

a wife’s funeral succumbing to cancer,

a  grandson’s diagnoses of childhood diabetes.

Birthdays are the poignant reminder 
of the calm or troubled waters of life.