Category: Solitude

What Moses Must Have Felt When Looking Upon God’s Back

Image courtesy of pinterest.com

This is an older poem that I’ve dusted off and changed around a little. The end is entirely new but in keeping with the hike in Colorado that inspired it. I was so struck by seeing the one tree leaning upon the other I did not think to whip out my phone to take a picture of the sight. In that moment of observation of the trees, it seemed a violation to do so. 


In the woods
two trees stand,
equally rooted,
firmly in the ground.

Yet, as if deciding
it a curse of solitude
to try and touch a Sky
who never reached back,
one turned 
to touch the other,
leaning its trunk
against its forest mate’s.

And so, I found them,
standing as lovers,
one resting upon the other,
limbs entwined in embrace.

I lowered my head 
out of respect mingled
with a bit of embarrassment
at glimpsing their
beautiful intimacy.


I  turned,
walked down the trail,
crunching dried leaves
beneath the fall of my heavy boots
as I continued on among the trees
in  silence and solitude.

The Dirt of Chimayo

Image is my own
As if you erupted
from an eternal spring,
an immortal thing,
I gave you away
when last I prayed
here at Chimayo.
When kneeling
I scooped the healing dirt
as I spoke silent prayers of thanks
for my heart bravely facing
shocks of resuscitation
after years spent
barely beating
in stuttering grief.

Upon return today,
I kneel to scoop
the healing dirt,
asking in silent prayer
a blessing of forgiveness
for giving you away
too easily—
thus, killing you,
bleeding you of all hope,
beyond resurrection,
beyond resuscitation.

In the dirt of Chimayo,
this healing earth,
from this place of faith,
sifted through my hands,
I bury you, a mortal thing,
I gave away too easily
to an undeserving faith,
in this dirt of Chimayo.

Twilight Days

image is my own

days spinning faster

now toward twilight it seems

hours before dawn

 

years ago hours

lived, died, born again screaming

before twilight’s edge

 

watch the dawn hours

spin, dizzy and drunk with years,

into twilight’s grave

https://godoggocafe.com/2022/11/08/tuesday-writing-prompt-challenge-november-8-2022/

Bandaged, She Walks

image courtesy of drnimaplasticsurgery.com

Bandaged, gauze covered, blanketed--

now--



She never thought of bandages

until one wound oozed infection,

a malevolent fluid.



Thus, she learned of cleansing wounds,

bandaging them for protection,

changing dressings.



Twice, she thought her wound healed, scarred over,

rejoicing, removed her bandage.

Twice, her scar split open, infection returning.



Resigned, resolving to keep her bandage always,

Refreshed daily, keeping infection at bay.

https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/category/weekend-writing-prompt/

An Autumnal Baptism

Image is my own

Caught in the evening downpour,
I am washed clean of summer.
Summer’s red rock, red dirt dreams
Sluiced from me with this autumnal drenching.

Morning greets me with a cool hand
Of sunshine upon my brow.
Autumn whispers of a harvest
Under skies of bluest topaz.

A clear, clean, honest reaping
In days yet to be had.

Freedom of Wings

Image is my own






Haunting seen
In darkening clouds
Of chrysalis dreams
Where wanting,
Where desiring,
Haunt seen
Cease existing--
In this capturing
No ring 
pierced through
Butterfly wings
Dripping still
From newly emerging
Dreams not tended.


	


	
	






	
	

		
Fractured Twilight
	


	

		

Image is my own





https://amanpan.com/2021/07/01/eugis-weekly-prompt-twilight-july-1-2021/




Walking in fractured twilight


Is the smoothest time of light and mind–


A wish made–


To braid reality, this curve of light, with sweetest memory


Thus, so entwined


One begins to hope,


Believing in miracles once again


To spite all fractures made of years.
	


	
	






	
	

		
My Silent House
	


	

		








 


My house is a quiet house,


Always various shades of silent—


Though Etta blows silky smoke throughout the rooms,


Though Nina tells me that I know how she feels,


Though Storm Large with Pink Martini might ask me to come sway with her,


And, at times, Freddy proclaims we are, indeed, champions,


While the evening news drones mundane atrocities of the world each day


And the dogs may bark, trying scare the workers across the street away—


My house is silent through it all, echoing noise in its quiet way,


An orderly, meandering contented existence does it hold.
	


	
	






	
	

		
The Willow Trees
	


	

		

Image from Pinterest





https://onewomansquest.org/2021/05g/24/vjs-weekly-challene-trees/




 




In the stillness of days between,


The willows long to reach across the stream,


Breaching distance impossible.


Without the breeze,


Their branches hang in solitude,


Their leaves nearly tears,


Longing drips with want heavy in the air


Until finally—thunder—


Lightning— A breeze teases,


Limbs reaching,


Almost, nearly touching—


And then the wind begins,


Whipping one direction,


Then another, almost swirling,


Limbs, leaves touch


Across the stream


Solitude breached.


	


	
	






	
	

		
All Things New
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Dreamtime










Storm clouds rode in





Upon a sky soaked in sunset red.





Wildflowers bowed their heads





Down on either side





As I drove by





Smiling, thinking of all things new.





Once home, I stood in the yard,





Arms akimbo, welcoming the new—





What the storm, the wind, the rains





Would bring—





As gently as their nature could—





All things new, clean, green





With spring.