NaPoWriMo 2018 day 25: remember to keep an open heart

 

Remember what it’s like to sew your heart:

when you feel alone, yet yearn for love.

Stress will charge your fears, your pulse,

you forget to attach to what’s above.

 

A sewn-up heart has self-righteous thoughts

of revenge and shame and guilt,

the threads of life tie you up in knots,

you forget the power of your patchwork quilt.

 

Remember what it’s like to open your heart,

when you’re a blanket of multi colour,

resplendent in your everyday weeds,

ready to clothe and soothe the other.

 

Be forever open to heal your hurts,

 undo that stitch, untie that knot,

challenge the feel of being hemmed in.

Don’t let life be a chance forgot.

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NaPoWriMo 2018 day 22: a poem for stars

The pattern of stars  in the sky above my head –

as I lie on my patio chairs, feeling the evening breeze –

is scattered and twinkly,

but not distinct.

I ask them for an answer.

 

The lights from planes on their way to

destinations far and wide, flicker

and flirt with the stars,

evidence that another flight took off OK.

 

I need to know my purpose, why I’m here,

and why I keep messing up my life.

I look to the stars for an answer.

 

What seems to be a plane

is a star that shines bright,

that is having its moment

in the firmament.

I pray for an answer.

 

I look away, look back,

The stars in my night sky,

above my patio,

have rearranged

into the shape of a heart.

My heart that I must follow.

 

NaPoWriMo 2018 day 18: the wind on a not so brilliant day

I tried to tend it, but nature overwhelmed my efforts

What’s the point of even trying

with all that withering around me.

Yes, take the leaves and petals, leave the ground free and clean

as I want to face life, not death.

All the flowers are gone, and I want them back

No, you can’t take their smell away from me

and I’m not sure about your odour of jasmine.

If it’s meant to be the call of my soul

then I’ll wait for the wind to blow it in.

 

This is an upside-down take on original poem The Wind, One Brilliant Day, by Antonio Machado

The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.

‘In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I’d like all the odor of your roses.’

‘I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead.’

‘Well then, I’ll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.’

the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
‘What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?’

NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 4: my garden of spirituality

 

It’s the quality and direction of light that tells me

of presence, of a beam, of something greater than me.

Like torchlight from an invisible source,

it pools between thick leaves, through autumn cloud,

illuminating the darkest part of my garden.

 

The new-grown laurels have taken root,

wildly, greenly, not caring they’re uneven, mismatched.

They huddle around the scraggy old wooden bench

with its rectangle feet set firmly in the shingle:

a bench with a view, that leaves you with a sore behind.

 

The cheeky red berries shine crimson in the sunshine of youth

amidst the demure and dappled undergrowth,

their cherry fire and beaded little heart in full-bloom denial

of any future state of wither or decay.

An so shines the purity of that insistent beam of light.

 

my creative heart

inktuition creative heart

my creative heart has been

beating but not seen,

patiently not known,

hoping, lying in wait

that one day, like this,

I would notice its pulse

and take heed of its sounds

listen to its beat,

see all its signs,

act on its guidance.

Create, at last,

what makes it sing.

A full-hearted swing

at life’s infinite joy.

(pic courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net/cuteimage)