Calmly comes the eventide.
An end to this day’s wondrous ride.
Go out.
Live.
Love.
Work, play.
Then back inside.
One day~ One life~ Joy magnified.
Nov 192009
Nov 162009
She denied when first informed.
When she heard the girl was sick ~ and always would be.
“Not my daughter.”
“She’s brilliant. We prize that.”
~
She raged as illness unfolded.
Living the day-in, the day-out, fearing dreams would never come about.
“This is not our life!”
She had such plans. She cherished them. She clung.
~
She trembled when the crazy bubbled up.
When her fear, fueled by helplessness, boiled on over with it.
She’d always had control.
That’s how she lived. She controlled.
~
She prayed when hope refused to settle in.
When getting through a day sans crisis was success.
“God can do miracles.”
“We need one. I’ll do whatever it takes.” She begged.
~
She mourned as miracles failed to manifest.
When she knew the girl was sick and always would be.
When she knew her mind was truly ill.
She, they, so prized it.
…time…
She loved when they spent time together.
When the girl chose to live and she chose to live beside her.
When she knew their plans had changed, but that the change was right and good.
They would move on. They would be well.
~
And now.
They rejoice.
She is ill, but lives, stays, well.
Lives, loves, learns. Well.
And ~ blessed be ~ brilliance, bravery, beauty ~ accompany.
They, too, are here to stay.
Nov 122009
Search for LIGHT ~ shine brightly,
A beacon toward release.
There it is! Go forward!
Decrease, decease, find peace.
~
Move on in to join it,
Follow to the gate.
Denied!?
This must go on?!
Wait!
~
Upon return, again…
Pain, punch,
Humiliation
Rush
And pummel down.
~
The breath
Becomes the struggle.
Broken body.
Broken crown.
~
Finally then, it’s over.
Every cell, gene, chromosome
Release, re-live, re-love.
To Home!
Nov 092009
Early on, one yearns for it ~
The chance to be alone,
Responsible
For only oneself.
Then, when opportunities arise
Enjoyment of separation?
Near impossible!
The invisible ties?
They bind.
~
Slowly,
O’er years
A distance, comfortable, grows wider.
‘Out of sight,’ somewhat acceptable,
For a little while, at least.
But as a day wears on,
Heartstrings tug.
And reunion comforts, Strengthening the ties.
~
Later,
Times apart expand
Enfolding days or even weeks.
But a sense of right is fragile
‘Til communion comes again,
The common threads more tightly knit, but subtly drape and flow.
~
Ultimately,
Success.
Independence.
Directions deviate.
Occasional convergence, is the norm
And the brief little whiles seem right.
Days spent together bring joy.
Those invisible ties woven into a loving comfort-cloth,
Growing ever more precious over time.
Nov 042009
I AM One
In a long line of poets.
~
My grandmother,
Now ninety-eight,
Spent lifetime writing about her God.
She writes about how “He Lives!”
And how “Great He Is.”
How he offers up chocolate when hunger gnaws,
And a ten dollar bill when there is nothing.
He is her Master as well as her Salvation.
Her Source, her Solace, her sole Inspiration.
~
My mother,
Much younger,
Spent days scattered through years writing about her life.
She writes about love and children
And how great they are.
How they offer up a busy day when depression threatens,
And hope, when there is none.
They are her Challenge as well as her Comfort.
Her Dreams, her Accomplishments, her Future.
~
My daughter,
Much younger still,
Spent hours writing about this world and its inequities.
She writes about joy and despair
And how they affect reality‘s perception.
How they roam through her life with a life of their own,
Leaving impressions as reminders of what has been endured.
They are her Teachers as well as her Nemeses
Her Motivators, her Fears, her Companions.
~
I,
Marking my age near the middle,
Spend hours, days, weeks, writing about them all.
I write about lessons learned and connections made,
And how they nurture growth.
How they forge the way back to God,
Creating opportunities to correct mistakes and try again.
They are my Source, my Dreams, and my Motivation.
~
Together,
We write the vital, the real,
Telling a history (herstory) of divine women,
Each doing her best, in her own way,
To figure it out and move forward.
