In Pain
By scm | April 18, 2012
I share my friend’s sorrow tonight.
Your vitriol stings her
Your poison wounds her
Your hate strangles her
Her children are our children
We eat, breathe, pray, love, and bleed. All.
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Buy a pen.
Wander around the block.
Write some words.
Eat some chocolate.
Take a nap.
Draw with new pen.
Listen to music.
Talk to neighbor’s child.
Cuddle with dog.
Water the grass.
Steal a line. A good line.
Write more words.
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A single Saturday rose
Reminds me in gentle ways
to love, listen, give and forgive
Even as the petals dry and leaves wilt
A single Saturday rose speaks of love
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Take the boat around the lake one more time,
Let the bow explore the shallows between the rocks and sand bars,
You will find what you need if you listen
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The Blues
By scm | April 14, 2012
I was drawn to blue.
Sapphires.
Oceans, sky,
My bathrobe, hyacinths, sun glass,
Our sofa, the bedspread, my running shoes, that favorite candle,
Blue, all blue.
But now, purple is creeping into my life.
An odd shift that I’m not going to analyze.
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Holding On
By scm | April 13, 2012
She held his hand, letting her thumb trace the spaces between his fingers
His breathing, in and out, kept time to the ticking of the clock
And then the clock stopped,
And she knew she had to let go.
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Sleep
By scm | April 13, 2012
Sleep doesn’t come easily to me anymore. I fall asleep fine. But, if something interrupts my sleep, it’s all over. And I am finding the more I think about writing, the more I think about writing. The other night, the cat decided to jump on the bed and sit on my chest, purring loudly. Once awake, I started analyzing the plot to a story I’m working on. I really like one of the characters, but I hadn’t developed her enough. Finally, I had to get out of bed and write. (Thus yesterday’s poem about finding morning to be a relief.)
I am also taking the advice of writers who say we have to be willing to write badly. After years of writing only nonfiction (as a journalist) or posts on my blog, I am treading carefully into creative writing. It’s painful, at times. Yet, I take seriously this gift of time to explore my creative side through painting, sketching, and writing.
And, now, back to work….
A Thought
By scm | April 12, 2012
As the sun shows its bold self
Morning rituals bring relief from night’s wondering
A new day sheds light, shaping thoughts and worries into perspective.
Such clarity comes regularly, if we give it a chance.
Such sweet intervention is welcome.
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The worn path that leads from the tall Oak to the raspberry bushes
reminds me of my grandmother.
She once planted tulips and asparagus,
filling the spaces with blues, pinks, and yellows.
In her cotton dress and wide-brimmed hat,
she dug and sifted, clearing her garden of impossible weeds.
Dreaming of books and poetry. A writer.
I only knew her in her garden.
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