Posts Tagged: poetry

Hope Planted in the Soil of Grief

Children’s laughter

echoes Spring into

the window of my wintered heart.

Never quite thawed, never

shaking myself of the death that keeps my hands

cold.

I cannot bring to life that which I long for

I resurrect dreams until they are nightmares

and hold tight, until Edgar Allen Poe is not quite

so frightening.

Yet, I cannot spring to life that which I long for

Not quite a year since you were planted in

soil that would bear no fruit.

Yet I refuse a baron field

Death is filled with stubborn seeds of potential

I tend the garden of my grief

until Winter loosens its grip and I reap a good harvest of hope

that will warm my soul.

A Waltz I did Not Choose

Grief, a dance partner I did not

choose, puts me on display

for a waltz I have not learned.

He does not care that my ankles

are unlocked or that I am an unwilling

to follow his lead.

His grip is tight on my hand and weighty on my

shoulder.

Demanding elegance he holds his head

with the confidence of centuries of one-two-threes.

I rise when I should fall, and fall when

I should rise.

Slowly, I realize that the waltz will play on

until I follow Grief’s lead. Back right foot,

slide the left . . .

A repeated pattern of elegant sadness,

Until the crowd gasps in awe. I have

found joy in this pattern of sadness.

Jarritos Memories

A bottle of memories

Sparkling with your laughter, sipped

slowly by my broken heart.

Silly sombrero on your head,

Inviting life with your dimpled smile

as cheeks puff to blow out candles.

I walk by the Mexican soda at the grocery store

and you make my sorrow smile.

Turn the Page Ballad

Words spoken . . .you promised never to say

and he’s hurt and turned away.

Broken dreams widen the gap

Between wedding vows and the life you unwrap.

A single word frozen like a knife,

Ready to cut the oneness committed for life.

But, he turns, his hands cup your face

The condemnation you expect—grace.

“Do we stop the story here or turn the page?

Am I still your knight, ready to engage,

Fight whatever battles that come our way,

Bend my knee to lift you up and pray?

Do we allow this struggle to make us stronger.

And hold on for just a bit longer.

Do we turn the page?”

Teenager caught between holding it together and living a lie.

No longer sure whether to live or die.

You’ve been told that anything goes

And your drinking is just being one of the Joes.

You stagger home to your mother’s worried embrace,

No longer able to meet her eye, such a disgrace.

But, she cries out to the one who hears.

Seeking hope through her many tears.

“Do I stop the story here or turn the page?

Do I continue to love him through his rage;

Lay him upon the alter of your care?

Let go and have peace that you are aware.

Do I allow the struggle to make me stronger

And hold out for just a bit longer?

Do I turn the page?”

Your heart cries out to know the truth!

What’s your story, what will your life produce?

The only way to ever know the answer to what happens in the end

Is to turn the page and let a new day begin.

Do you allow life’s struggles to make you stronger

And hold onto the truth just a bit longer?

When faith is fading fast

And you’re sure your role has already been cast

Turn the page your story is not done

God’s the author and he has already won!

He knows our darkest page,

His son turned it and death lost its sting . . .

Do we stop the story here or turn the page?

Hold onto each other in prayer.

Hold onto each other in prayer.

Frankenstein’s Snowman

Our longings are poured out.

Shaped into memories and crafted

moments with you. Built out

of snowflakes, Legos and

tears.  Bringing to life

our smiles.

Unwound Routine: A Limerick

Snow falls heavy to the ground

My kids’ routine unwound

Sent out to play

Never to stay

So, hot chocolates all around.

 

Calloused Hand of a Bard: Limerick 2

No doubt my journey is calloused hard,

Perfect life maligned and marred.

Laughter a soothing balm,

And writing softens and calms.

Such is the hand of a bard.

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