Showing posts with label contentment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label contentment. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

On being a poet




On being a poet 

It's awful, having nothing to say,
To sit silent like a toad,
Breathing in and breathing out.

Yet how pleased he seems
To sit, sun and shadows,
Breeze to stir the reeds.

Look how his sides heave,
A bellows of deep rhythms.
Nothing in the bright bead eyes

Of shame or want. No whipping 
For missed flies, regret or condemnation.
Only is. Only am. Only he,

Uncensored by his mind,
Free to breathe. Little Buddha, 
Free to be. 

Sunday, January 16, 2011

woman writes, woman rhymes, woman loves

What could be more unpopular than a poem that rhymes? Maybe a poem about happiness? After all, aren't we poetic types supposed to be full of woe? Well, sorry folks, but I just can't manufacture any angst lately. Oh, sure, there are things in my life that are difficult -- things I would change -- but in the end, I am a very happy person.

When I started thinking about the TFE's Poetry Bus challenge this week, to be still and feel what is inside us, I could only think of one line: I have loved and been loved. Have I had hardships? Yes. Loss? Absolutely, heartbreakingly. But through it all, I am blessed to be able to say that I have faith and I have loved and been loved.

For the full Poetry Bus challenge and to read the other (probably non-rhyming, maybe not-so-happy) Poetry Bus riders, go here. It's a talented crew and a rollicking ride!


deep within

a warm wind formed in rain skirts below the windowpane
stirs the curtains skips along the wall

travels gently down the hall skids across the cold stone floor blows in
through an open door to the heart-room of the home

where the woman sits alone works the pen that tells her art
thinks about the singing sound made by choirs of angels' wings

as they gather as they swing through the ether and of weaving at a loom
where the art reflects the heart of the weaver then a thought comes

fully formed from the wind where it was borne:  "Contentment deep within,"
in the poem that she forms in the music that she hears in the blessings

of the years in the people she has known in the love
she has been shown contentment on the wind skirts the curtains

rushes in mixes with her softest sigh weaves itself
into the dye of the fabric of her very happy life