A single stem lay in my palm,
The bloom vibrant in this unsettling calm.
Storms begin to brew.
Determination drives my will
To pluck apart these petals few.
My tribute to you at last.
For you, these petals lay upon the sand,
Waiting for the water to rinse the shores of land.
Footsteps echo from the past.
Slowly each petal flows out to sea;
Each taking with it a part of me.
Lightening flashes in the sky.
Electric currents pull me to
Water’s edge and remind of you;
Your will as strong as thunder.
As the last petal to the horizon rides,
Upon waves that come in with the tides,
I free your soul again.
Laughter dances in memory’s air,
As the petals finally disappear.
And with them the ache lessens.
Promises kept, and so you see,
I have kept within the better part of me
My favorite parts of you.
– a draft
So there is nothing quite so wonderful and daunting as discovering almost 20 poems that you don’t have typed up into your archive.
I picked up a journal last week that had many of the poems I wrote from the year 1990-1996 including about 2 dozen that I have never typed up. The poems were flagged, so at one point I planned to type them up, but I obviously never did.
Most of them are from my days at University. Several of them came out of my main relationship during that time. This, in fact, is probably why I didn’t type them up at the time I was going through the process. My boyfriend from those years was killed in 2007 and I did most of my poetry transcription in 2008-09. I can see choosing to not deal with these poems at that time, when the rawness of his death still existed.
I’m glad I have found my peace with things as much as I ever will, because I truly enjoyed reading and typing up these poems, and look forward (after some serious edits) to sharing some of them. The time when we are at University, in our early twenties, can be such a unique and tumultuous time in our lives, and watching the person I was grow slowly, and sometimes painfully, into the person I would eventually become, is fascinating now that over 20 years has passed.
It is interesting timing that I find these while my poetry book is on hold due to ‘stupid computer problems’ (because don’t we all love it when the processor cable of our laptops comes disconnected). I can take the next three weeks to work on them, and pick what I want to include in the book.
So, to those writers and poets out there, you never know what you’ll find your inspiration in, it could be an old journal you haven’t loked at in over a decade.
As her soul weeps in fear.
Lost to dispair as she stares at the ground
Fresh earth entombing one she held dear.
As twilight fades and darkness comes
The nighttime symphony softly sings
As her solitude enshrouds and her heartbeat thrums,
Such a forsaken figure, the end of hope death brings.
Forever seems such a very long time
Whispers in the Twilight
The purple hues blur the world
As the sun sets in the west.
A lazy sense of finality settles
Like a mantle of time upon my shoulders.
Turning the corner visions assault me.
A bird chirps from a nearby tree.
I look around expecting you to be
Near enough– I could reach out and touch you if I tried.
Shaking ghosts from my mind I walk on down
The stairs to my comfortable home
Knowing I’ll be greeted by the wagging tail
Of my only child.
The comfort of having something there
Is never lost on me, though,
So I smile, pet the wriggling pup
Hang up my coat, and greet the cat.
There you are again.
The comforting scent of familiarity
Wrapping me in the memories of
Love and friendship.
I must be loosing my mind.
Muttering to my pets, I drop my keys and open my
One piece of mail, only to toss it aside in disgust
Turning my back on the offending junk as it
Floats down onto the growing pile by the trashcan.
Unconsciously, I glide over to the stereo and soon
Music fills the room.
Looking down suddenly as yet another memory
Flashes though my mind and I chuckle at my find.
A bottle overturned— The pungent scent that had been
Taunting me since my return home–
Slowly dripping down the dark wood
And onto the carpet.
Avoiding the memories both
Joyful and poignant: the loss of you still fresh,
I quickly clean up the mess
And push aside the slight twinge of disappointment.
I knew you weren’t really here
And the ghosts were merely figments,
Yet, the possibility lifted
The stress and exhaustion for just a while.
Memories are a comfort.
And while I turn back and
Wander into my bedroom,
I failed to see a small
Gift left for me…
The white rose stands in the corner
Quiet and regal, wild in it’s mystery,
Bowed slightly in acknowledgment
That anything… can happen…