All these years later, every time a leaf flutters down, I remember this poem. What can I say but - Dear me!
Alone under the tree
Waiting for my fruit to fall
Softly, slowly I call -
Break free ...
I look down at my clasped hands
At my body cold damp and bare
Shading me from the sun's glare
The tree stands.
I look up and the sun pierces my eyes -
And beneath me the stones my skin
Quietly, silently, deep within
My heart cries.
Something has broken apart
My fruit my future is here -
I reach out to hold it near!
A dead leaf lands on my heart.
(written on March 26th, 1985, 9:40 p.m.
204 W. South, MO)
Monday 30 January 2006
Sunday 29 January 2006
"Behind my eyes ...
Dear me! So many of my poems mention this vast space behind my eyes. I lived in my head for so long that I created an immense world back here, and it was a good and safe place to stay.
Behind my eyes
rests so much love.
Dressed in friendship
I can only touch you with my eyes
and shall never speak my love out loud.
Which is worth more -
love or friendship?
Friendship touched with desire
is a feeling They do not condone.
So I shall keep my thoughts silent
and dream of you when I am alone.
Behind my eyes
is a love that will last.
So much more than friendship.
I can only wish that if I let up the blind
I would see my emotion mirrored in you.
Which is worth more -
honest or lies?
My words would shatter the crystal
perfect friendship we share.
So I shall keep my thoughts silent
and dream of you when I am alone.
Behind my eyes
are tears for a love that is "wrong"
A wasted emotion on infertile ground.
There will be no spring blooms, no gentle kisses.
I shall hide from you, and love from afar.
To let you look behind my eyes
would be too wonderful for me,
and too painful for you to face.
So I shall smile at you in friendship
and keep my love locked in its place.
(written on Dec 11th, 1984, 12:48 p.m.
on flight KC-NY)
Behind my eyes
rests so much love.
Dressed in friendship
I can only touch you with my eyes
and shall never speak my love out loud.
Which is worth more -
love or friendship?
Friendship touched with desire
is a feeling They do not condone.
So I shall keep my thoughts silent
and dream of you when I am alone.
Behind my eyes
is a love that will last.
So much more than friendship.
I can only wish that if I let up the blind
I would see my emotion mirrored in you.
Which is worth more -
honest or lies?
My words would shatter the crystal
perfect friendship we share.
So I shall keep my thoughts silent
and dream of you when I am alone.
Behind my eyes
are tears for a love that is "wrong"
A wasted emotion on infertile ground.
There will be no spring blooms, no gentle kisses.
I shall hide from you, and love from afar.
To let you look behind my eyes
would be too wonderful for me,
and too painful for you to face.
So I shall smile at you in friendship
and keep my love locked in its place.
(written on Dec 11th, 1984, 12:48 p.m.
on flight KC-NY)
Saturday 28 January 2006
"My feelings ...
Dear me! I'm a bit embarrassed by this poem and the next, although I needn't be. Perhaps back then I didn't understand that there are many different kinds of love, and that not all of them need to translate into a physical relationship. Perhaps I didn't know what love is. Or perhaps I did. I loved her then and I love her now, and I wrote these for her. They're not my best poems, but they deserve their place here.
My feelings for you
are more than a spoken word
My love goes deeper
Too deep just to be heard.
Deeper than the passion of a kiss
is the thrill within my heart
A kiss is a mere touch of the surface
of a love more than physical bliss.
Within the depths of my lonely soul
further than the look in my eyes
is the thrashing, chained emotion
of a love that can never be whole.
(Written on Dec 16th 1984, 3:01 a.m.)
My feelings for you
are more than a spoken word
My love goes deeper
Too deep just to be heard.
Deeper than the passion of a kiss
is the thrill within my heart
A kiss is a mere touch of the surface
of a love more than physical bliss.
Within the depths of my lonely soul
further than the look in my eyes
is the thrashing, chained emotion
of a love that can never be whole.
(Written on Dec 16th 1984, 3:01 a.m.)
Monday 23 January 2006
A love poem?
A place free of pain
is somewhere very alone.
Leave. Live. Bleed. Heal. Love.
If this is a love poem, it's an odd one. And yet it is, because it talks about the germination of love. Without being willing to risk growth, I'm not sure there can be room for love to take root.
Those of us who have been warriors and survivors are the ones who perhaps find it hardest to love, because life has taught us too much about other things. The struggle to survive is so hard, that when at last we've reached the easy way out, we find ourselves in a cold and empty place. And we don't notice, because we've spent so much time and energy and blood and tears to paint the walls just the right colour, to arrange the furniture and dust the bookshelves. We make ourselves safe and comfortable and we forget that the war is over.
Love is about taking chances with those frightened, fragile hearts of ours. It's about trust, which in turn is about opening. Opening a window and letting in germs and dust, because sunshine and air come in too. Opening a door and stepping out into the unknown, where muggers and cheats lurk, where people await us with knives and smirks and ridicule, but we do it against all our own odds, because we catch a glimpse of something that we need more than our defences.
I want to step outside, there's a garden out there.
is somewhere very alone.
Leave. Live. Bleed. Heal. Love.
If this is a love poem, it's an odd one. And yet it is, because it talks about the germination of love. Without being willing to risk growth, I'm not sure there can be room for love to take root.
Those of us who have been warriors and survivors are the ones who perhaps find it hardest to love, because life has taught us too much about other things. The struggle to survive is so hard, that when at last we've reached the easy way out, we find ourselves in a cold and empty place. And we don't notice, because we've spent so much time and energy and blood and tears to paint the walls just the right colour, to arrange the furniture and dust the bookshelves. We make ourselves safe and comfortable and we forget that the war is over.
Love is about taking chances with those frightened, fragile hearts of ours. It's about trust, which in turn is about opening. Opening a window and letting in germs and dust, because sunshine and air come in too. Opening a door and stepping out into the unknown, where muggers and cheats lurk, where people await us with knives and smirks and ridicule, but we do it against all our own odds, because we catch a glimpse of something that we need more than our defences.
I want to step outside, there's a garden out there.
Friday 20 January 2006
Faith.
It's a funny thing.
I empty myself and now
I'm full, and laughing.
This is what I think faith is about. It's about emptying myself: surrendering to a Higher Power, submitting to the will of Allah, turning my life and trust over to Jesus.
The funny bit is this: I do that emptying, and I suddenly find myself filled, with the last thing I'd have expected -- and this fullness doesn't weigh me down. It leaves me free to live strong and sure, clearly guided AND guided clearly. And it makes me not just smile, but laugh out loud in the sheer joy of it all. It's not just funny. It's fun.
In this call to Faith
the devil will try and try.
But then, so will I.
It's not always easy. In my experience, whenever I've turned to God is when the temptations to turn other ways come strongest. Sometimes they're obvious, but mostly they're well disguised. Some come in the shadow of a well-meaning friend: asking questions, raising doubts, reading palms. Some come from within: from impatience, hunger or loneliness.
Evil tries hardest when that flame of faith is first lit and burns confidently. Evil gets me and makes me waver. But the Good Guys win every time. I may screw up, falter, backtrack, it doesn't matter. I don't succeed outright, but I never stop trying. And that's all it takes.
I empty myself and now
I'm full, and laughing.
This is what I think faith is about. It's about emptying myself: surrendering to a Higher Power, submitting to the will of Allah, turning my life and trust over to Jesus.
The funny bit is this: I do that emptying, and I suddenly find myself filled, with the last thing I'd have expected -- and this fullness doesn't weigh me down. It leaves me free to live strong and sure, clearly guided AND guided clearly. And it makes me not just smile, but laugh out loud in the sheer joy of it all. It's not just funny. It's fun.
In this call to Faith
the devil will try and try.
But then, so will I.
It's not always easy. In my experience, whenever I've turned to God is when the temptations to turn other ways come strongest. Sometimes they're obvious, but mostly they're well disguised. Some come in the shadow of a well-meaning friend: asking questions, raising doubts, reading palms. Some come from within: from impatience, hunger or loneliness.
Evil tries hardest when that flame of faith is first lit and burns confidently. Evil gets me and makes me waver. But the Good Guys win every time. I may screw up, falter, backtrack, it doesn't matter. I don't succeed outright, but I never stop trying. And that's all it takes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)