The light burns brighter as my resolve becomes stronger.
Emotion clings to me,
the weight of it tugs on my feelings one at a time,
my tears drip like the wax of a forgotten candle.
Loss is a heavy burden.
Category Archives: poetry
Energy never dies, it simply changes
Leave a comment“As long as there is one person on Earth who remembers you, it isn’t over.” ~ Oscar Hammerstein, Carousel
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I speak aloud to them and their faces later hover in my dreams,
those gone before me.
Perhaps it was their time.
Maybe they were taken before I was ready for them to be gone.
They leave a void on my plane of reality,
a chasm of memories that I jump into during random moments.
I bathe in the forgotten sound of their laughter,
I warm to the memory of their embrace.
But their energy never dies.
They yearn for me to engage them.
They delight in the moments that I recall our past together.
I keep their memory alive with every thought of them,
each recollection of their journey with me.
If I take that moment to remember,
to seek what I saw in them in the physical world,
I give those reflections a new vitality.
When I look into the darkness,
I see beyond the black veil of loss.
I see the light they brought to my life.
The case that once held those beautiful spirits may be gone,
but the mark they left on my soul never leaves me.
They remain in my heart for as long as I am alive.
Each time I look into the stars,
I know they are looking back at me.
Their energy never dies.
~
Outside looking in
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My breath fogs the glass,
the palms of my hands
absorb the chill from the window pane.
I have not run away,
merely left the inside
to see it from another view.
The scene plays before me
like a TV drama.
The characters retreat to their dressing rooms
and the stage is empty.
The dialogue is unwritten
and replaced by silence.
Emotion paints the walls,
hurt settles like dust on the furniture.
My breath stops,
I cannot exhale,
the palms of my hands
absorb the chill from the hidden pain.
My reality looks so different
from my current view,
outside,
looking in.
~~
I apologize for nothing
Leave a commentIt has taken me a long time to get where I am.
It has taken strength and tears.
It has taken determination and a few breakdowns along the way.
But I am here.
There may have been a few detours along the way
but I apologize for nothing.
My path has led me to where I am now.
I have gained courage along that path.
I have learned to trust myself and my values
and not to second guess my beliefs.
I have learned that my thoughts matter
and that my advice is appreciated.
I have found strength in my wisdom
and I have found comfort in my gut instinct.
I have made many mistakes in my past,
but valued the lessons learned from those mistakes.
I have followed the roads,
but have been blessed by those detours.
I have accepted my life and where I am
because I am truly happy,
and that is what matters.
My life may not be what others think it should be,
but it is my life.
I am happy.
And I know the best is yet to come,
so I apologize for nothing.
The power of the written word
6 CommentsWords have always been a passion of mine. I can remember penning poems before my age was in the double digits and I loved to lose myself in books at a young age as well. Having said this, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to me that words affect many others the same way they affect me but today I was shown a glaring example of how words, my words, had a greater resonance than I ever imagined.
On August 30th, I wrote this poem (click here) about a dear friend who had gone into hospital the previous night. Writing, especially writing poetry, is very cathartic for me and allows me to deal with my emotion on a level on which I feel very comfortable. I had given the poem to the companion of the woman who was the subject of the poem hoping he could read it to her in the hospital.
Sadly, a week after she went into hospital, she passed away from a virulent bacterial infection that her body couldn’t fight due to the aggressive chemotherapy she had been undergoing. I never found out if he had read the poem to her while she was still conscious.
Today, I drove to the city with my friend and co-worker to attend the celebration of life for this dear woman we both had met at the lodge and absolutely adored. When her companion, Sandy, saw us at the golf club, his eyes welled with tears and we were both met with a warm embrace. He invited us to sit at his family table and treated us like we were a part of his family. After a toast to Joan and some funny stories, I found out that Sandy had read my poem at her funeral service. I was moved to tears.
As I write this post through many more tears, I can take great pride in knowing that my words fell onto the ears of so many others who loved her as well. One simple night of pouring out my emotion into a blog post turned into a tribute that hundreds of people were able to hear and know how much she meant to me. Words have connected me to her friends and family and for that I will be forever grateful.
Warrior
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Woman of strength,
the pain never shows through your smile
but I know it is there.
My affection for you began immediately
and, as we grew closer,
my love for your spirit and sarcasm
earned you a spot deep in my heart
where you will stay, always.
Your illness will never dampen your spirit,
because you are fire,
and with that fire comes light and energy.
You show courage in your time of uncertainty
and you wear your suffering with grace.
You have an air of strength
in spite of the weakness you feel,
and you inspire me with your determination.
Woman of strength,
may you continue to bless my life
for many years to come.
I love you.
A Heavenly wish on Mother’s Day
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She birthed me and swaddled me,
she showered me with love.
Her arms always embraced me,
they fit me like a glove.
Her words were the only ones,
that could help to heal my scars.
Hers was the only light,
that would comfort me in the dark.
She woke me up to play with me,
she laughed at all my jokes.
She sang with me to old musicals,
although she couldn’t hold the notes.
Her faith in my abilities,
has stood the test of time.
She’s the portrait of what a mother should be,
and I’m glad that she is mine.
So, here’s to you, mom, on this special day,
my love for you has no end.
You’re my giver of life, my confidant,
and will always be my best friend.
And though my wishes are sent further today,
into a world I am unable to touch.
I know you hear my words of love
and they will forever mean just as much.
Time is running out
2 CommentsI have been blessed over the last six months. Not only have I been able to work full-time at a job I enjoy, I have been able to focus the substantial increase of my spare time into the things that I am truly passionate about.
I have always been a creative person. As a child, arts and crafts were my go-to hobby and when I reached the age of eleven I was introduced to the art of writing. My grade six teacher urged us to express ourselves in ways that I had never thought about and from that moment, I was hooked. I began to write poetry and short stories. I was so addicted to words that I got my library card and became a voracious reader.
I was also introduced to cooking at an early age and, under the tutelage of my dad, learned to create meals that did not come from a recipe. I learned to experiment with flavors and was able to create some impressive dinners with simple items found in any pantry. And I made a point to commit his cooking faux pas to memory – NEVER make scrambled eggs with Egg Nog!
I have been able to take all of my spare moments over the last few months and really focus on the things I love – cooking and writing. This past weekend, I added three thousand more words to my novel-in-progress and spent some time in my own kitchen creating some fantastic and creative soups for myself and my family. The time is slowly running out for me to have the time to focus on the wants instead of the needs. Soon the resort will be back in full swing and my spare time will be a dim memory of my past.
My email address is a glaring reminder of how I will spend my remaining days and nights before my world changes – “carpe diem – seize the day”.
Time in a bottle
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Is my hourglass broken?
Are the grains of sand in my time capsule
so infinitesimally small
that time goes faster than it should?
Most days, time is irrelevant.
But when those hours are important,
when those minutes have meaning
and those seconds truly count,
time races by,
turning the moments that we relish
into time we are made to reflect,
turning the present
quickly into the past.
But as those moments pass by,
as those seconds hastily morph into hours,
I can only smile,
knowing that those hours that passed so swiftly
were well worth the short time
that I got to enjoy them.
The writer within
7 Comments‘There is something wonderful in feeling the presence of the writer within you, of something wilful that seems to have a plan’ … George Saunders
~~
Until I began writing my blog, I had never actually called myself a writer. I dabbled in poetry as a child and thrived in it as a teen, I began to write short stories in my early twenties and thirties but calling myself a writer felt like a lie. A few of my poems were published many years ago but that moderate success never brought with it the title of ‘writer’.
Blogging opened up a narrow passage for me that eventually widened into an avenue. The more I blogged, the more I found my voice. And the more I found my voice, the more confident I felt about my words. I had to master that voice before I could ever be convinced that calling myself a writer was even close to being accurate.
Now my writing avenue has blossomed into a two-lane highway. I am drawn to that macadam and travel the road with more confidence than I ever have. The voice that I hear in the back of my head telling me I can write IS wilful and does seem to have a plan. The book that I had envisioned years ago, the one that sat lifeless in the obscured corners of my brain, now seems to be writing itself and using me as a vehicle to record its story and the nuances of its characters.
Feeling that writer within me come to life and feast on words is a feeling I can only liken to euphoria. There is something deeply intoxicating about being able to lose yourself for hours and create four thousand words of text that seem exciting and suspenseful. I can only hope that when I finish writing the book someone else will share my passion for the story and help me promote myself from the title of writer to published author.
polysyllabic profundities 