I compulsively
eat chocolate covered cashews
when the stress wave hits
Category: Poetry
Haiku 21
Our world is fragile
yet crocuses cup sunshine
and daffodils bloom
Anointing of Ashes
The hangry fire has devoured the proud palms,
their waving glory burned to a crisp,
memories of triumph silenced
by the crackling, crimson flames.
All that remains is ashes.
They are cool, smooth and dusky on my forehead,
these humble signs of humanity
two short lines anointing me
a daughter of God,
having taken the riotous death by fire
and transformed it into a quiet cream,
a healing lotion which proclaims,
“I am dust and unto dust I shall return,”
yet I rejoice in the hope of life
beyond the blaze!
Come spring!
Come spring, come spring,
Let flowers sing!
Let no more melancholy winter reign,
With its thousand reasons to complain.
No more introspection in the dark
Be rather joyous as the lark!
Burst outside the walls your soul restricting
Let yourself fly on winds uplifting.
A hillside of flowers catches my eye
I hurry toward them on feet light and lithe.
Tiny crocuses shake in the breeze
Delighted to see them I drop to my knees
Translucent petals tremble and sigh
But lift their glowing faces to the sky.
Despite the February frost,
Let not one day of sunshine be lost!
Come spring!
Cereal Bathing
Since Christmas I’ve been floating in
periodic luxury…
the bath bombs my husband gave me from Lush–
enormous sparkling balls of colour
which fill our bedroom with exotic perfumes.
When you drop them in the water,
they careen around like drunken tennis balls,
spewing a fuzzy stream of technicolor bubbles.
The first one was coffee-scented,
and I had to laugh,
lying there in a giant creamy latté.
Another resembled a golden peach,
and out of its centre came floating
–unexpected up to my face–
a perfect little dried flower,
all pointy and crimson.
Why all this sweet madness of sparkling bubbles
from my often-away, hard-working husband?
They are a silent embrace from afar,
a wordless thank you for all you do,
an affirmation of my body’s goodness,
even, or maybe especially, when it’s exhausted.
So tonight, feeling frazzled and snappy
from too many sibling squabbles
and the sneaky migration of mismatched socks
all over the living room floor,
I threw in a big orange bath-bomb,
and read a delicious chapter of Before Green Gables
while the tub filled up.
Finally, I slid into this frothy carrot soup
and imagined I was floating in the sea,
bobbing up and down near the shore
with seagulls gliding high above the waves.
But…the tiny bubbles popping near my ears
made it sound like I was bathing
in a giant bowl of Rice Crispies instead.
At least, for once, with the toddler asleep,
no one was trying to steal my cereal!
To Life!
Christmas is coming and there’s a lot of emphasis on being happy in this season of joy. But life with all it’s challenges continues in December like in any month, with extra business on top of it, so here’s a poem for anyone out there who’s had a bad day recently. You’re not alone!
Sometimes the best way to feel better is to allow yourself to feel crummy for a little while instead of fighting it. For me, writing poetry helps me indulge in my melancholy mood and then let it go, rather than having sadness trapped inside.
To Life!
Oh, life!
Oh, imperfect messiness!
Oh, easily screwed up days,
repeated mistakes
and ever unchanging weaknesses…
Wounds that hide and reappear
like dolphins under water
surfacing for breath,
seeking light and healing
and disappearing again.
Am I am I am I
ever going to grow?
Going to stop failing,
stop falling,
stop saying bitter things–
crouching under a shield of sarcasm
feeling so small
I have to pretend
I’m invulnerable.
Not likely.
But, oh! God bless me
and help me never give up trying.
Each day let me not be crushed
by insecurity.
I am scuffed up and tiny
but thus you have made me
and love me through it all.
Amen.
Amen to life!
Because I may be a fool
but even a fool can live life
and love.
Little Snail
Little snail,
when poked in the eye,
curls up into his shell
and pretends to die.
Sealed up, breathless,
in his perfect shell,
in suffocating safety
he chooses to dwell.
“Alone in the dark,
do not remain,
for home is a prison
when full of pain.
Do come out,
timid little snail,
to slowly leave your
little silver trail.
People may laugh
but how dare despise
that God made you
with your googley eyes?
Don’t be alone,
but join us here,
there is no life,
where there’s no fear.”
https://unsplash.com/s/photos/snail
Thanks to unsplash for the gorgeous shot above.
Vexation
Oh, tongue!
How gallantly I must strive to restrain thee!
Galloping off wildly
in pursuit of so many passions,
insistently stomping and frothing at the mouth.
Calm thyself, wild stallion of speech!
For words lose power when overused,
like a man who always stands
on the top of a hill
flapping his arms–
after a while,
the feeling of alarm fades and
one simply gets used to the wind.
Comfort
The grieving heart takes comfort
in little things
like blueberry muffins with butter
and feeding crumbs to the crows,
who swoop down to my garage roof
like silent grateful shadows
to gather them.
Crushed
Sadness take my heart
and crush it
Squeeze all the water out
till I lay like a limp rag on the floor
Exhausted
Just East Of Crazy Land 