Sorrow creeps into my heart
like a crazy caterpillar
and eats everything in sight.
Then falls exhausted
into a dreamy upside down slumber,
while the delicate paper-thin chrysalis
pulses with new life—
silent transformation.
From the broken walls of my heart
emerges a vivacious hope,
bourne up on the wings
of a butterfly.
I love the short, insightful poems by Dennis Ference. He is a lovely peaceful man who reminds me a lot of my Dad! Hope you enjoy this one, and have fun exploring his blog if you’re searching for some new uplifting poems to read.
Cheers,
Anna
only now
how sadly misguided we are who stubbornly rummage
for the heat and spark of Life solely
in memories and anticipations,
for you and I can love
only now
forgive
only now
shed tears
only now
feel compassion
only now
laugh
only now
rejoice
only now
be grateful
only now
surrender
only now
live and celebrate
the All of it
only now
© 2015 Dennis Ference
Oh the strange vigils of late pregnancy
when losing the battle between hunger and heartburn
means staying awake for the long haul
shuffling position in bed
and crunching tums like candy
Then taking long showers past midnight
and finally giving in to chocolate cake
at 2am
to appease that nocturnal belly beast
who jealously demands spoils
the way a dragon demands treasure
Only in this strange vigil of late pregnancy
would I be submitting poems to a prairie newspaper
at this ungodly hour
while eating plain yogurt with maple syrup
and sipping warm almond milk
to get sleepy
I wonder if I should go stare at the moon
with the ravenous racoons
who prowl my back yard
or stay inside and pray
cause it seems—
after the craziness of the day with kids—
that in this quiet moment
God wants to hang out
keeping me company in this sleepy solitude
as we wait together for the dawn of birth
I.
The still water reflects the beauty of the sky
gorgeous billows of blue-tipped clouds
The rippling water has a busy beauty of it’s own
but takes all the attention for itself
Sometimes the noise of so much chatter
(mostly my own)
becomes like a wind which
blows out my interior candle
I need some silence
some still air
to let the flame rekindle
to warm the ember to a steady glow
burn brightly enough to heat me
from the inside out
light streaming forth
my eyes as stained glass
shining
II.
The still morning lake
sits silent
grey and reflective
full of slightly fuzzy trees
solemnly upside down
green but not laughing
The majestic cedar trees
wave their thin green hands
ever so slightly
like ancient queens
acknowledging their people
who celebrate with the sudden confetti
of falling snow
Down below, the dew-spangled moss twinkles
and the ferns bow their heads shyly
Slippery salaal leaves shine
next to delicate huckleberry bushes
not yet adorned with tiny red berries
I’ll have to come back
in the summer
In the mean time
all these pieces of beauty
fill up the puzzle of my soul
III.
Sitting here in the quiet chapel with
tall windows like eyes into the forest
I watch the snow fall against the cedars
like mercy from heaven
a gentle steady blessing
a constant message of beauty
a gift from one greater
ever reaching towards me
I am here I am here I am here
The snow falls
and my sleeping baby
breathes warmly on my chest
The candles glow
and the lake calmly receives
the many kisses of snowflakes
There’s a poem in my belly
Encrypted in code
A little tiny story
Waiting to be told
It’s curled up tight
in its tiny red room
little tiny heart beating
to the rythm of my womb
On publishing day
It’ll be so fine
To see my little poem
Come out and shine
Its path in the world
is yet unknown
but with time and love
it will be shown
Then my little poem
will shout out its song
unfurl it’s beauty
and sweep us along
Its story is just starting
But it’ll end never
Cause this little belly one
Is a poem to last forever
!!
All of a sudden
the lights are out
at 7 pm
just as we’re starting dinner
It becomes a candlelit meal
peaceful
our family enclosed
in a small circle of light
my children’s faces
illumined by the tiny flames
There is nothing else to rush to
no dishwashers or dryers
no email or phone
so we linger around the table laughing
as our three year old
makes up silly stories about babies
and bunnies and when she was little
and used to be a toy and a chocolate
The kids pile easily into their new double bunk beds
with the LED lantern lighting up
their imaginary campground
The baby gives up
cooing at the candle
and lets me rock him to sleep
It is so quiet
there is only stillness
and this small circle of light
You know when you’ve been stuck inside for a few weeks with sick kids, and your world has become very small and stuffy (yes, we’ve been keeping the window open, but still…), and you almost forget that anything exists behind your front door? And then you have the chance to emerge, even briefly, into the sunshine to take out the trash, and everything is so fresh and crisp and incredibly beautiful that you start spouting poetry? Well, that’s been happening to me lately.
The neighbours must shake their heads as I gaze around like a love-struck mole emerging from her tunnels and start blabbering ecstatically:
It’s so beautiful! There’s a whole world out here! The sun is so shiny and the birds are so chirpy! My soul rejoiceth whilst removing the rubbish…
Aha, there she goes again. The garbage poet. It’s pathetic. Always writing about trash.
Well, as long as my poems don’t actually belong in the garbage…
Perhaps Oscar the Grouch and I could write a book together. One of those great debate books…two opposing figures hash it out about life, love and excursions to the garbage can.
We’ll be fancy and call it “Poèms en route de la poubelle.”
I had been feeling a bit like this:
So I took a brief back yard escape:
And saw green and growing things like rosemary:
And winter kale:
A pretty statue:
A little escapee who flew over the fence of her coop:
The others watched her so longingly as she grubbed for worms that I released them, too.
They made such a mess mucking about in the fresh manure in the garden that they had to return to their confinement, and me to my duties…Meanwhile my three year old had snuck upstairs to my friendly neighbours, wailing in search of her missing mummy, whose aforementioned excursion outside was of unacceptable duration…
Ah, but it was beautiful while it lasted…
I step outside
the night is quiet and dark
but the stars in the far-off dome of the sky
are piercingly bright
Something stirs within me
a longing for the infinite and indescribable
a feeling that if I had jetpacks on my legs
and a special suit
like Iron Man
I’d take off without a moment’s hesitation
to explore those stars
to try to touch that light
that’s been travelling here for millions of years
from new born stars
now ancient
Just East Of Crazy Land 