09-15-2006, 09:16 PM
Ebb And Flow
Music
washing over me like the ebb and flow of tides Waves
crashing on the shore I touch
the rocks and hear their harmony A taut
string quartet that plays inside my
Mind is blue and purple Soft
like wind that rustles through the leaves A song
I am silent singing lonely Sand
between my toes washing
out to sea Dancing
in the surf No
more.
Gift
Poems are just words.
They string themselves together like pearls in my mind
And drip like rain onto the page-
Become a crystal pool of calm.
I bathe myself in them
And breathe their life into the world
A gift.
Belonging
This little patch of farmland is so beautiful in late spring,
That little space of time before the summer comes.
It’s my own small wilderness
The trees towering lush and full
And purple flowers twinkling like stars beneath their shade.
I ride my bike there in the spring
Because it makes me feel at home.
The rustling leaves,
The whistling wind,
And all the little birds that sing.
There is a peacefulness in this place,
A happy sense that all is well.
So far from the shouting and laughter that hurts my ears
And all the people that never leave me alone.
Squirrels and chipmunks dart beneath the trees
Amongst the purple flowers that shine like stars
And the white daisies swaying in the tall grass
With the sun-bright sky wide above our heads.
The wind cradles me in its arms
And sings into my ears,
Telling me secrets I will never share.
I can hear every cricket and every bird.
I see the rabbit, the deer and the squirrel.
The soft green of the tall lush trees
And the beautiful smell of things decaying,
Fresh and moist,
Wrap around me and fill me with peace.
Every sound is soft,
Every smell is sweet,
And the wind whispers to me,
“This is where you belong.”
Sunlit Leaf Dream
Dappled light shines through branches
Leaves
Turn everything green
The sun makes them glow like
Life-giving
Joyful
Rain
Drops
Falling from the sky
Unseen clouds invisible
Hidden
By the trees
And green
Glowing
Leaves
Songbird
Once when I was a songbird
Once when I was a hare
I knew the small places-
The dark places-
The light places.
I knew the wind in my feathers.
I knew the rising sun.
Once when I was an eagle
Once when I was a shark
I knew the wide places-
The high places-
The deep places.
I knew the thrill of the hunt.
I knew the taste of blood.
Once when I was a barn owl
Once when I was a cat
I knew the dim places-
The other places-
The in-between places.
I knew the dark moon.
I knew the smell of spring.
I knew the dew-wet grass-
The bare trees-
The gentle stream-
Once when I was a bird.
The Robbin
It’s dead.
Lying on its back in the middle of the road,
Not a feather out of place,
I can almost see the life
It once held.
Poor thing.
I lift it carefully.
Its head dangles from a snapped neck, and
That’s when I know for sure
That it’s dead.
Carrying it to a stand of bushes, I think,
You deserved more than this
And I lay it on the soft ground
Beneath bare branches.
With each handful of soil
It dissapears into the earth
And I don’t bother to wipe the dirt from my hands as I walk from the grave.
I don’t want to rid myself of this sweet bird
Who will never sing again.
In Search Of Heaven
The moon is pale in the cloud-scattered blue daylit sky.
I sit barefoot beneath a tree
And listen to birds sing.
I have a plate of cookies
And a glass of milk.
I feel little again,
A pigtailed kindergartener catching ants,
And eating Mother's
Homemade chocolate chip cookies.
The apple trees are blooming
And the smell is sweet and perfect.
The sun warms my feet
As I watch the ants around my toes climb
Sky-towering grass blades
In search of heaven.
If I could speak to them, I'd say,
"Heaven is where you are
Where your heart is happy
And the world doesn't stop or pass you by,
But lets you be,
And it's good that way."
But I can't speak to ants,
And if I could I doubt they'd listen.
So I lean against the tree trunk
And watch dappled sun-patterns play over my feet.
The world doesn't stop
Or pass me by
But lets me be
And it's good that way.
Music
washing over me like the ebb and flow of tides Waves
crashing on the shore I touch
the rocks and hear their harmony A taut
string quartet that plays inside my
Mind is blue and purple Soft
like wind that rustles through the leaves A song
I am silent singing lonely Sand
between my toes washing
out to sea Dancing
in the surf No
more.
Gift
Poems are just words.
They string themselves together like pearls in my mind
And drip like rain onto the page-
Become a crystal pool of calm.
I bathe myself in them
And breathe their life into the world
A gift.
Belonging
This little patch of farmland is so beautiful in late spring,
That little space of time before the summer comes.
It’s my own small wilderness
The trees towering lush and full
And purple flowers twinkling like stars beneath their shade.
I ride my bike there in the spring
Because it makes me feel at home.
The rustling leaves,
The whistling wind,
And all the little birds that sing.
There is a peacefulness in this place,
A happy sense that all is well.
So far from the shouting and laughter that hurts my ears
And all the people that never leave me alone.
Squirrels and chipmunks dart beneath the trees
Amongst the purple flowers that shine like stars
And the white daisies swaying in the tall grass
With the sun-bright sky wide above our heads.
The wind cradles me in its arms
And sings into my ears,
Telling me secrets I will never share.
I can hear every cricket and every bird.
I see the rabbit, the deer and the squirrel.
The soft green of the tall lush trees
And the beautiful smell of things decaying,
Fresh and moist,
Wrap around me and fill me with peace.
Every sound is soft,
Every smell is sweet,
And the wind whispers to me,
“This is where you belong.”
Sunlit Leaf Dream
Dappled light shines through branches
Leaves
Turn everything green
The sun makes them glow like
Life-giving
Joyful
Rain
Drops
Falling from the sky
Unseen clouds invisible
Hidden
By the trees
And green
Glowing
Leaves
Songbird
Once when I was a songbird
Once when I was a hare
I knew the small places-
The dark places-
The light places.
I knew the wind in my feathers.
I knew the rising sun.
Once when I was an eagle
Once when I was a shark
I knew the wide places-
The high places-
The deep places.
I knew the thrill of the hunt.
I knew the taste of blood.
Once when I was a barn owl
Once when I was a cat
I knew the dim places-
The other places-
The in-between places.
I knew the dark moon.
I knew the smell of spring.
I knew the dew-wet grass-
The bare trees-
The gentle stream-
Once when I was a bird.
The Robbin
It’s dead.
Lying on its back in the middle of the road,
Not a feather out of place,
I can almost see the life
It once held.
Poor thing.
I lift it carefully.
Its head dangles from a snapped neck, and
That’s when I know for sure
That it’s dead.
Carrying it to a stand of bushes, I think,
You deserved more than this
And I lay it on the soft ground
Beneath bare branches.
With each handful of soil
It dissapears into the earth
And I don’t bother to wipe the dirt from my hands as I walk from the grave.
I don’t want to rid myself of this sweet bird
Who will never sing again.
In Search Of Heaven
The moon is pale in the cloud-scattered blue daylit sky.
I sit barefoot beneath a tree
And listen to birds sing.
I have a plate of cookies
And a glass of milk.
I feel little again,
A pigtailed kindergartener catching ants,
And eating Mother's
Homemade chocolate chip cookies.
The apple trees are blooming
And the smell is sweet and perfect.
The sun warms my feet
As I watch the ants around my toes climb
Sky-towering grass blades
In search of heaven.
If I could speak to them, I'd say,
"Heaven is where you are
Where your heart is happy
And the world doesn't stop or pass you by,
But lets you be,
And it's good that way."
But I can't speak to ants,
And if I could I doubt they'd listen.
So I lean against the tree trunk
And watch dappled sun-patterns play over my feet.
The world doesn't stop
Or pass me by
But lets me be
And it's good that way.
