This So Far


Four seasons have come and gone
With the breaking
As stumps are left in the distance
Resembling you and me.
It’s the end of winter
And the spring is filling
With rebirth all over.
A part of me knew
This wasn’t us,
But I couldn’t
Accept the changes.
I needed to mend my life,
Search for my sum,
And allow seasons to come naturally.
This much so far is me
Untouched but recreated
Through the passages
Of time here.
You won’t be celebrating me
But I toast to the new
Divine feminine awakened.
You must know this so far,
Even contemplate
The answers to all those questions
We pondered
With long conversations
Throughout heated nights.
I didn’t fit in your world.
This so far is mine
And I will never be back to you
As the woman I was
When I left.

Be My Poem

Let your spirit fill me

With delicate expressions,

Dictating a romantic ballad,

Holding on to adjectives

Then…

Slipping from your tongue

In sweet rhythm

Cascading into my ears

As water folding over us.

Let your hands hold

Verbs and nouns,

Us as pronouns,

Beginning and ending

Tracing each line and space

Of my body

Cautiously placing

Each moment into silhouettes of pauses

And

Shading the imagination with

Tension, intervals and length.

Be my melody,

Reciting a sonnet, haiku, free verse

Until

The final closure,

An exclamation to end all words

With…

a…

deep…

sigh!

I love you…Millie

Remembrance

Something woke again

after a long sleep of doubts,

anger, hurt and questions

that buried me in an open tomb.

I had forgotten my power,

the thoughts that co-create

with the Universal aid of intentions;

those same delicious frequencies

that magically take me here and there.

I had forgotten,

waking up with such joy,

that I skipped out of my room

while bones cracked and stretched

reminding me to slow down.

I don’t care.  This is the meaning of living.

This is the ebb of sorrow and joy

taking it all and pasting it back together

without giving up. 

It’s easier to give in,

give out, and forget.  No more!

I have been sleeping in such darkness

for too long and allowing no one

to turn on the light.

Clarity arrives with rest and prayer. 

I hear the ringing of truth in one ear.

I see the element of surprise ahead.

I taste the juices of excitement.

I smell the sweetness of success

for all that I have put out into the openness.

I’ve returned.

I am home in me again.

It’s been a long time…too long.

The heart echoes softly, “Welcome back!”

I love you…Millie

Intergrate

Ask me anything
And I will tell you
All that you want
To hear.

But look into my eyes,
Touch my spirit with yours,
And I will sing
All that is me
From the heart.

That is all I am.
Don’t ask me.
Let me be your reflection
And love will
Turn one
Into two.

Y Poetry?

One of my closest friend who’s a phenomenal writer, asked me a question the other night, “What is the purpose of poetry?  Why do it?”  I gave her a short answer but throughout the last few nights I have thought long and hard on this.

Poetry is my favorite type of writing.  I have thousands upon thousands of poems.  I have no clue how many since a lot of them get thrown away.  I write one or more a day.  Do the math!  I’ve been writing since I was a little girl.  I write poetry because it tells a story in minimal words. It shows through simple phrases how or why, when and what…etc.  It requires the holding back and manipulation of allowing another (you the reader) to enter through lines of voyeurism. Fiction, narration of long stories, well, they tell you how to feel.  Poetry places it so you inhale each line and make it your own.  I don’t care about form, style, punctuation, vocabulary, or anything else that marks a poem as a literary work of art.  I want to know how it feels inside of you and you translate it into words.  Poetry, to me, is the simplicity of adjectives through emotions.

I look back at times at old pieces from years ago and the anger, frustration and sadness fall line upon line.  Yuck!  I can’t even go there but I recognize that it was a part of my life.  I held poetry imprisoned with lack of emotions.  It was forced without flow.  Some of these poems were held in shackles, bonded to some kind of structure, forcing out what I thought was good writing.  It wasn’t.  I am by no means an expert in literature.  I often times don’t manipulate English well enough to be coherent since it is my second language.  But, something is said about finally allowing poetry to write itself without control.  When a line wakes you up in the middle of the night nagging with persistence to birth it on paper, well, that’s a poem from the soul!

 

Words fall out quickly when we allow the emotions to unload onto a page.  I believe poetry is a song from the heart.  Worrying about rhyming, structure, and other important literary elements stops the flow of what is really inside.  Yes, these parts that make a poem should come way later after the words are out and about.  Let the spirit of your truth say what it needs to share.  Don’t hold back.  Allow each word to come out without restrains, handcuffs, and enforcement.  Poetry is not about sharing with an audience.  It is about releasing and surrendering.

 

So, why write poetry?  Hmmm!  I believe to exhale the gaps between the heart and the outer world.  When I write a poem I come in contact with Spirit, the part of me that finds freedom.  Any other form of writing doesn’t come close to it.  The older I get the easier each line falls out.  And, that’s why I write poetry.  It is allowing another to hold my heart in theirs for just a few seconds at a time.

 

(dedicated to A.M.)

Be My Poem

Let your spirit fill me
with delicate expressions,
dictating a romantic ballad,
holding on to adjectives
then…
slipping from your tongue
in sweet rhythm
cascading                        into my ears
as water folding over us.
Let your hands hold
verbs and nouns,
us as pronouns,
beginning and ending
tracing each line and space
of my body
cautiously                      placing
each moment into silhouettes of        p a u s e s
and shading the imagination

with tension, intervals, and length.

Be my melody,
reciting a sonnet,        haiku,          free verse
until
the final closure,
an exclamation to end all words
with…
a…
deep…
sigh…!