Category: Poetry

Sunning the Moon Belly

On By Anna EastlandIn Homeschool, Maternal Health, motherhood, Poetry1 Comment

  

after a morning of spelling 
nursery rhymes
and writing practice
I take a moment’s break by myself
to sit on our garden bench in the sun

a tiny homeschool hiatus 
to sit quietly enough to hear 
the birds chirping and twittering
over the background hum
of city busses and summery lawnmowers
on this warm October morning

sun is supposed to be good
for this third trimester liver thing 
that has crept up on me again
so I expose my round belly
to glow like strange moon
blue veins faintly showing
in the bright sun

a small alien planet 
with the occasional surface ripple 
as the life within stretches and grows
just x-filish enough
to make me grin

Sleepless Bluegrass Blues

On By Anna EastlandIn Arts and Entertainment, Maternal Health, PoetryLeave a comment

The kids and I recently watched a documentary on Netflix called “Can You Canoe?” about the Okee-Dokee Brothers, musicians who paddled down the Missisppi River and wrote songs. Here’s the link if you’d like to see a preview on ITunes: Can you canoe?

So read this post as a bluegrass song with plenty of twang and a side of lively banjo…

I’m a stranger to the land of sleep

There are foreigners there, whose company I do not keep

And sometimes it’s enough to make me weep

To see the dawn rise upon my open eyes

I’m a stranger to the land of sleep. 

Now there must be, a secret lock and key

Something secure, but hidden from me

A way inside the sleepy isles,

Of that much desired country of sleep. 

So if you know a trick or two

A special drink, or ‘haps some ruby shoes

A certain way, to sleep before the day

Take me along, I’ll travel with you

As a stranger to the land of sleep. 

awake

On By Anna EastlandIn motherhood, Poetry5 Comments

In the dim, dark house

the furnace rumbles and blows

breathy hellos into the corner of each room.

In this airy darkness

I try to lie still

while my toddler—

having made his nocturnal migration

into my bed—

sleeps beside me.

The baby in my belly wiggles 

and flutters, 

hoping for a snack.

Such a boy…

not yet born

and already wanting breakfast before dawn.

Dance with me, daughter

On By Anna EastlandIn Poetry8 Comments

  

“Little one arise,

get up from your corner;

unfold your sulking arms

and dance with me.

If you don’t know which way to go

stand on my feet

I will guide you.

Give me your arms

see my face

I am with you.

Listen for the music of grace

give in to the mystery of my rhythm 

I will guide you.

Don’t refuse to dance 

because you don’t know all the steps.

The music will guide you,

you will see

when you let go.”

“Father God, forgive me

for being afraid

for refusing to dance

with a light heart

and joyful feet.

I know you are leading me 

and yet I resist—

call out in fear when you dip me,

stiffen my arms when they should be supple 

for a twirl—

Let me instead be responsive to your guidance,

open to your plan,

a joyful partner

in this unexpected 

dance of life.”

  

Must I tiptoe, Mother?

On By Anna EastlandIn motherhood, Poetry, Stillbirth21 Comments

“Must I tiptoe, Mother, into this world?

Tread so softly I won’t be noticed—

hold in my newborn cries

in a wake of silence

for the one gone before me?

Must I pretend I am not here?”

  

“No, my little love, no,

for we want you and the world needs

your little bright light

as much as any other.

There is no one else 

who could ever be you.”

Song of the Purple Plum

On By Anna EastlandIn motherhood, Poetry11 Comments

  
Fall is coming.

The leaves blush crimson

and purple plums swell;

their dark bloom 

splits open sweet flesh 

and reveals the kernel of new life inside.

And so my round belly will 

swell, blossom, bloom

and I’ll split open 

revealing the flesh of my flesh

bone of my bone

seed of my hope

fruit of my love…

And from my fragile flesh—

my heart split open—

the seed of new life be nourished

and a new tree will grow.

Wendell Berry’s “How to be a Poet”

On By Anna EastlandIn Poetry, Ponderings, WritingLeave a comment

Poetry as a gift of silence…Here is a poem which spoke to my heart like a familiar breeze ruffling through the forest, bringing new life and resonating with joy. It is from author Wendell Berry’s book New Collected Poems. 

  

HOW TO BE A POET (to remind myself)

Make a place to sit down.

Sit down. Be quiet.

You must depend upon

affection, reading, knowledge,

skill — more of each

than you have — inspiration,

work, growing older, patience,

for patience joins time

to eternity. Any readers

who like your poems,

doubt their judgment.

Breathe with unconditional breath

the unconditioned air.

Shun electric wire.

Communicate slowly. Live

a three-dimensioned life;

stay away from screens.

Stay away from anything

that obscures the place it is in.

There are no unsacred places;

there are only sacred places

and desecrated places.

Accept what comes from silence.

Make the best you can of it.

Of the little words that come

out of the silence, like prayers

prayed back to the one who prays,

make a poem that does not disturb

the silence from which it came.

A Cloak of Starlight

On By Anna EastlandIn motherhood, Poetry, Stillbirth, Writing2 Comments

I go outside for a walk in the dark garden,

only two bare feet to hold up my heavy heart,

and after the warmth of the concrete driveway

surrender to the melancholic cool of the evening grass.

In the stillness of dusk

amid the silent flowers,

the sadness for my lost little love 

wraps me about like a cloak of starlight

poignant and piercing.
    
I hurry inside

to capture this poem,

preserve this tear like a crystal jewel 

and offer it to you, Jo,

the one whom I can give nothing

but the pangs of love.

Parched Grass

On By Anna EastlandIn Poetry1 Comment

  
It’s such a hot summer that I don’t know

which flowers to bring you

Everything dries up so fast

gets parched and wrinkled in the heat

and there’s enough death already 

in the graveyard

There should be a stone at least

shiny and beautiful at first

with simple eloquent words in your memory

nestled in the grass ever more cosily and 

eventually getting dusty and scratched

But I hesitate

and hover over your small grassy mound 

like hot air unable to settle

unwilling to take that last step

lay the last stone

and seal the tomb with the stone which 

forever silently repeats the word “goodbye”

How small I am, Lord

On By Anna EastlandIn PoetryLeave a comment

How small I am, Lord,

like a little toddler stumbling along 

and insisting on doing it “self.”

But when I get so exhausted that

I have to sit down and cry,

I find myself scooped up in Your loving arms.

You’ve made me this small so You can carry me

tenderly and cover my scrapes with kisses….

gestures of affection from all those around me,

whose warmth and wisdom protects me

from the silliness of trying

to travel this journey alone. 

I am tiny

so others can have the chance

to be messengers of Your mercy—

angels of Your love.

Help me always to trust

that every time I fall

You’ll be there to comfort me

with a love even sweeter than before.