Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Wednesday, 27 March 2013

In Storm


When I was a kid, I was told that life can give you sunny days and rainy days.
I thought they were talking about the weather.
I thought that by carrying an umbrella, I could shield myself from any pain that would ever come my way.
I was wrong.
What I didn’t know was that a lot of life can be like a hurricane.
There are times when the rushing currents sweep up and overwhelm you.
There are days when the waves leave you battered and bruised
coughing up water
on a sand bar
twenty miles from shore.
Don’t tell me there’s an umbrella strong enough to shield me from that blast.
I know better.
And I know that sometimes life is like a race.
Where you find yourself prepared to sprint to the finish line.
Except sometimes it’s not until the starting gun sounds that you realize you’ve tied your shoelaces together
And you’re running into a nose dive.
Well, I’ve learned something from that too.
You see, when else but when your arms are outstretched to catch a fall are you able to fully embrace life?
Bruises and all.
And I’ve learned that sometimes you just have to take a minute and breathe in the moment.
Because how do you know how much air you will need to breathe to take the plunge into that icy sea called life?
When I was a kid, I was told that it took both rain and sunlight to make a rainbow.
And while I know they were talking about the weather,
True beauty is born of both as well.

Tuesday, 19 March 2013

Mom, I Forgot My Life Jacket


Mom, I forgot my life jacket.
I know you were probably waving it out the door, calling after me in my haste to leave.
I’m sorry. I probably ignored you.
Now I’m up to my neck in my own troubles, adrift in a life I thought I could control.
Remember it raining when I was three? I held out my hands to catch the raindrops, only to watch them slip through my fingers. My tears soon followed.
That was the day you took a red bucket and scooped up the rain. You gave it to me and told me not to spill it.
But of course I did.
When I was five and fell off my bicycle, I thought the world was going to end.
But that was when I was five and Band-Aids and kisses could make everything better.
The world never ended of course. It just kept going.
Remember when I was eight and you tried to explain the multiplication table to me? You said it was easy.
Well, I didn’t know it then but things do multiply easily. They tend to get out of control.
But Mom, I’ve never forgotten that five times six equals thirty. And as I’m quietly repeating those lessons to myself, I’m thanking God that you are never more than a phone number away.
How can I forget twelve? I thought I was so grown up then. You always seemed so quick to tell me otherwise. I suppose, now, that you were right. Thanks for always cleaning up my messes anyway.
Skip a few years and I’m fifteen. That was when I thought a kiss would make everything better. So I followed what I thought was love. And still it was you who were always ready to patch a wounded heart.
But now I’m eighteen.
I’m trying to navigate things by myself now. And I keep knocking over that red bucket as I try to get away from the messes I’ve left behind so that the floor is flooded with more than my tears and I feel like I’m drowning.
And I’m thinking about that life jacket.
I’m wondering now if I should pick up the phone and tell you this myself.
But if I do I’ll probably just say everything is fine and that will be that.
So I’m writing this instead.
See Mom, what I’m trying to say is this:
Because now I’m trying to catch the sunlight.
I’m bottling up the smiles and love you’ve always had for me.
Love,
Your little girl 

Wednesday, 14 November 2012

November Sky


Scene outside the window:
Sweeping winds of desolate daydreams,
Rattle knobbly branches;
Care-worn leaves limply lie.

It’s here that:
Memories of rosy summer,
Like rows of toppling toy soldiers,
Can’t stand against late-autumn’s breath.

Canvas of grey on grey:
Rolling cloud’s face revealed
Brings rain upon the windowpane,
Drops of November sky.



Saturday, 10 November 2012

Courage on the Line


They marched; side by side, shoulder to shoulder.
Pride in their eyes, this generation called to order.
Heads held high, readied to face the foe.
Soldiers all, standing row on row.

They fought; side by side, hand meets hand.
Hell reflected in their eyes, but the soul must withstand.
Advancing through horror, guns’ blazing, constant roar
Brothers all, fighting someone else’s war.

They died; side by side, one thought shared by all.
Eyes full of pain, the cries before the fall.
When it comes to the end, it’s not the power or the might,
But as humans all, small stars in war’s night.

Today we stand; side by side, shoulder to shoulder.
What do we see in our eyes as the years grow older?
We need to know it is not is vain that they fight.
Remembrance: our key to hope and dawn’s light.

Thursday, 23 August 2012

One Last Rose





Dreams may fade and wilt but 
Hope springs eternal.
    
                  ~ Alexander Pope

                                                                                               

One Last Rose
White petals,
like softly falling snow:
shroud summer's blossoming dreams.




Wednesday, 25 July 2012

Inner Beasts

In everyone there is a beast trying to get out.

Like poison;

Paralyzing inner spirit,
it attacks: A roaring, clawing manticore,
composed of lies and anger and pain.
I tried to tame it by myself.
But the only one I was fooling was me.


Sunday, 1 July 2012

A Busy Street After Rainfall

A busy street after rainfall:

Cars creating mist as they rumble through puddles.
Busy people oblivious to all that surrounds them,
Focussed on work, traffic and their impatience.
The city: a whirl of shouting, honking, rushing, and anger. 



A lone raindrop on an office window,
Struggling to remain rooted,
Drooping with the weight of its burden.
Agonizingly, it begins to
                                                drip
                                                                down
                                                                                the window pane
until it reaches the sill.
There it finally stops and clings. 

Seconds, so precious to some,
Wished away by the impatient ones.
Traffic         jerks                to            a              halt.
With a final gasp, the raindrop lets go.
A small splash on wet pavement.
Un-noticed by the busy street after rainfall.

(I'm sort of cheating here as this was written in July of 2010)

Wednesday, 27 June 2012

Vision Obscured


Shame is like a red hot curtain

It wears like a heavy cloak
And with it life’s a sweltering summer
I long for winter’s white.