Tapping, snapping, closed fist knuckles rapping,
playing out the tune thats stuck up in your head.
In the car, barely moving,
your thumbs are thumping the steering wheel instead.
Idle moments filled with sound
by busy digits thinking when your not.
Strumming, drumming, when life’s not forthcoming,
making music on the spot.
Nothing worthwhile is ever easy
And time is what it takes to get there.
Up and down and around the circle
With a few reminders that life’s not fair.
We stop and stare and wonder why
With a little ache deep down inside
Then we push forward, come rain or fear
If we fail, then at least we know we tried.
Sleepless nights lost in thought
And candle-lit days with both ends burning.
If we press on and do what’s right
We approach what our heart is yearning.
It is the sweet promise of getting there
That keeps things moving steadily along.
One foot in front of the other now,
The goal is in sight, it won’t be long.
It’s all sediment and rocks and driftwood
in the flow of life.
Some things sink to the bottom and settle
Others tumble and collide
and get stuck and break free.
Sometimes I’m outside myself
watching and waiting.
I’m standing on the riverbank.
A longing to be one with the flow
swells and subsides.
I am still that girl.
Am I still that girl?
For all my hopelessness I’m still hopeful
that spring will thaw the ice in my heart,
so that I can embrace this day.
and appreciate it for what it was meant for.
So that I can get unstuck and break free
and just ride that feeling to where it leads me.
A week behind us now
and all but forgotten.
But not my sentiment.
I’ve got a lingering need
to witness some persistence.
The Wizard behind the curtain
Still working the levers and knobs.
A day after
A week after
Years and years and years after.
It may or may not be magic
But that does not matter
As long as you can still feel it.
I’ve never tried to explain a poem before with another poem, but I guess that is how this one worked out. 🙂
Peace and Love,
Whatever I had, it was lost in the laps.
Whatever words were there once, were left in the gaps.
As I knew that it would be, In a flash it was gone,
Replaced by the next thing, in a splash we’d moved on.
If I’m sure of one thing, it’s the truth in my head,
I’m as sure about that as the words that you said.
Questions asked and answered, drilling into the deep.
What’s below the surface, what secrets we keep.
Uncovering, discovering, no stone left unturned.
Until all of the truths of the heart have been learned.
Another lap around and the words have all gone.
Now it’s just the truth in my head, and time to move on.
The Year Around Me
The world outside is dark, and winter has a tight hold.
The bitter wind howls and everything is inches deep with cold.
It’s months like these I’m in denial, and in my house I hide.
And bide my time with planning for a time I’ll be outside.
I think on how the crocus pop, and herald the start of spring
Then daffodils, tulips, and iris, what wonderful, predictable things.
Oh how I’ll revel digging in the dirt, the stellas must be split.
Always another border to fill with flowers, I’ll never tire of it.
The weeks of spring are a ticking clock, there is much to be planted
Tomatoes, onions, peppers, squash – take none for granted.
The growing season, hot and long, requires lots of care and feeding.
All the life that wants to live means a fair amount of weeding.
The green grass of summer demands what seems like endless mowing
Which must be done so as to enjoy the rest of what is growing.
The autumn is also no time to rest, and mum really is the word
As the picking of ripened fruit is the only sound that’s heard
’Tis a lot of work, I’ll admit at times it can be quite trying.
But seeing what that hard work brings is very satisfying
Suddenly the house is shaking as the wind picks up again.
And I’m reminded it’s still two more months until the winters end.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged fall, gardening, Nature, poem, poetry, seasons, spring, summer, winter, wordpress, yardwork
It’s taken me seconds
and days alone
to get to a place where I could finally feel.
feel what I am feeling.
A slow dull pain that is creeping inside me.
It’s like the root of a vine
that is cut again and again
above the surface
yet lives below and waits
Waits for another time when it will rise once more.
And now I let it grow
and now I beg for it to flower.