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While I feel a deeper meaning to these words than I could ever assign, I know that
they come from a place beyond that we see, or we could venture to see ~
a place of love, and a place of tears.
It is both a blessing and a curse to the writer that finds words to express both within
the same sitting ~ within the same memory.
This is beautiful ~ for surely love makes sweet and sad
the same.
touch as were
there ever one ~
a moment so enticing
would take of leave
the aching in my heart
and bury me
in places rich with clover
a mile or two (no more)
than arms would reach
whisper to the morning
of the day I waited you ~
and smiles I gave
were all I had to pay
dream as I am dreaming
roll the clouds away ~
return me to the life
that is your heart
I am reviewing for the April competition for Rising Star Shining Brighter. As always,
I am delighted to find your entry to our humble contest. Thank you.
There are few moments in a writer's life that define us as much as that one ~ the one
when we know we are going to be published. The only one to compare (to shadow that one)
is the day we hold a book in our hands ~ a book with our name on it. It is proof that
even when we are gone ~ a part of us will remain ~ proof of our existence ~
proof of our words (our worth).
We are writers ~ the storytellers ~ those who live. Congratulations!
doubt me not a moment
when the page is turned at last ~
when twilight burns
against an empty slate ~
when ink is spilled
as longing ~
might I then deny the truth
was given me
and I returned to you
as slanted verse and broken line
tales forgiven life
literature I knew (before you came)
speak of me with tenderness
before the end is come
else stories I have told
be all I was
I am reviewing for the April competition for Rising Star Shining Brighter. As always,
I am delighted to have found your words.
Ahhh……..yes, those beautiful bright beings -
the stars that watch us. The ones to hold our wishes
and every dream – spoken or not.
And yet, I wonder of those – which are really there at all -
perhaps they burnt out years ago (and I have yet to find
the proof if e’er there was)….
And still……..they shine.
Extraordinary.
bring to me
a night of honors -
a canopy of light
where there the ancients play
amid the clouds -
watching me as I was watching them
from somewhere else -
remembering the nursery rhyme
I once replayed aloud
twinkle twinkle little star
how I wonder -
I am reviewing for the February Rising Star Shining Brighter contest.
I truly appreciate your entry and the talent you always bring to our doors.
I think it is the mystery of life that inspires us – that moves us to question -
that moves us to grieve. To grieve even for that which we do not know – for the loss
of one – especially one of love.
Surely the world mourns for the passing of a dreamer. Even the garden
fades with the wilting of a rose.
will then the curtain fall
as I was warned of once before -
forgiven by the veil that cursed between
the dying and the coming back -
the choice to love again -
forgotten now the sleep
that was the dream
This is exceptional work, my friend. I am in awe of your talents.
I am reviewing for the February Rising Star Shining Brighter contest.
Good luck and thank you for sharing your talent with us (with me).
It is always in the emptiness that we realize the fullness we had because of love.
We never noticed the hole until it wasn’t filled – we never noticed the silence
until it smothered us in the night.
And yet, love remains. Death ends a life, not a relationship.
That which we cling to remains as close as a breath – as near as a sigh -
a memory we can touch – right there.
For life is only death without love.
Heartfelt and inspired work. I am reviewing for the February Rising Star Shining Brighter contest.
I truly appreciate your entry and the talent you bring to our doors.
You and I both know that part of what you did was a gift to your
love – but it was also a gift to you. The gift of seeing through the eyes of love.
It’s so easy for people to forget the reasons – and focus on the ‘buts’, the
‘what ifs’, the ‘so what’…..that is a relationship.
Occasionally, we need to be reminded to see things fresh.
Do you remember those pictures from years ago that looked like a maze
at first glance, but hidden within was a treasure – another picture? It was
difficult to see the underlying masterpiece, but if you allowed your eyes to ‘go soft’,
there it was – hidden in plain view. And once you had seen it, you couldn’t not see it.
It was hard to remember the clutter.
Love is that way. Sometimes, we get so accustomed to seeing the woods
that we forget about the flowers. But once reminded of them, we can’t pass a
forest without remembering the bloom.
Beautiful and so very very lovely in the reminder to love.
once before
I can’t remember
how I slept or where I woke
dreamed of somewhere
warm and tender -
night was passed
as breath to smoke
as loving arms
around me folded -
whispers came as morning light
lost in loving (ever) afters -
daylight grieved
the sweetest night
I love this thought – this idea that the act of creation becomes an alternate
us – a divine personality as separate as a hat upon a shelf.
Details make the lie more believable". I've roamed thru old houses trying to pull
back women without voice and shivering, waiting for news of war, from
the feel of well water, or the smell of damp wheat and cedar.
With word, I've strolled though museums wondering about the hand that painted,
making up stories from an old photograph of railroad workers in Appalachia, four pages about the way a
porch is worn, how light looks at a certain angle - the warmth of a hand around mine. I've turned
women who are part wren and part wolf into rivals, imagined the daughter I don't have, lives over long
before mine began. Another life I knew before this one was started.
Through poetry, I've entered the worlds through the window that is my imagination. I spend summers with Cummings,
ride horseback with Sylvia Plath, and stay up late with Emily Dickinson. In poems, I can have lovers I never had,
only have on the sheet of paper.
Sometimes I wonder how people who don't write or paint or sculpt or dance or compose music deal
with what seems intolerably difficult, terrible or wonderful. I'm addicted to writing, even with its frustrations.
Poetry helps us discover the magical in the ordinary, gives us power, a way to shape, transform, rediscover, catch and hold,
like with dance, a way to feel alive, connected.
It's no wonder that I'm addicted. I'd just as soon stop breathing as I would entertain the thought of
not writing.
Inspired work, my friend. I am reviewing on behalf of the Circle of Sisters in conjunction with the
2011 North Star Contest. Thank you for your entry and good luck with the competition. I
truly enjoyed your entry.
I'm fairly certain there's a not a woman alive over 30 who hasn't felt this way -
who hasn't wondered what happened to the girl she used to be - who hasn't had moments
when she couldn't face herself - couldn't give herself the truth.
And then we move - we change - we breathe - we write -
and the story that is us becomes stronger for the moments we fell - the times
when we let go of common sense. We become something more than a reflection -
we become wiser and in our breaking, we become beautiful.
Wonderful work, my dear.
who am I to think again
of how I was before -
and who I was when I was someone else -
forgotten this the moments past
and why I couldn't see -
returning now the path I know
will take me back
to me
I found this to be refreshing and delightful - not only for the choice of word
usage (I love that word - alottabit) - but for the reminder of what is best of love -
the truth of love - the kind that makes us sweat but also makes us laugh!
Thank you for sharing this wonderful piece.
who was I before you were
I've wondered more than once
the way I came
it lies in darkness now -
and street lights feign
remembrance of your eyes
I am convinced that our greatest desire is to be loved – and that
desire can drive our worst behavior. Because we are at once filled
with something that makes us more than what we came with and we
will do whatever it takes to hold onto it – without realizing
that love never works that way. The more we try to hold it, the
more it slips away – or rather the more we hold on, the less
it becomes the thing we fell in love with.
That being said, there are two kinds of love... In the ‘safe’ kind,
you look for someone who's exactly like you. It's what most folks settle for.
But then (ahhhhhh) there's the other kind of love. Everyone's born with a ragged
edge, and some folks crave that piece that's a perfect fit. You'll search for it forever,
if you have to. And if you're lucky enough to find it, it looks so RIGHT, you start to tear
at your own seams, thinking, maybe I could look just as perfect. But then, of course,
when you try to get close to their other half, you don't fit anymore.
That kind of love...you come out of it a different person than you were when you started.
And that’s the kind of love that I thought of as I read your poem. Yes, I was fascinated
by the rhyme, but what kept me interested was the concept of pieces fitting -
love fitting with us just so.
was ever this
the place I came -
returned again to find
a memory of a love I knew
a fit was so divine
as lace to glove
and heart to hand -
how could I not be missed
for life was love
(and all I knew)
would trade
for just one kiss
Thank you for this exceptional work.
I am reading and reviewing for the December Rising Star Shining Brighter Contest,
on behalf of the Circle of Sisters.
Good luck and here’s hoping your New Year is the best ever.
Although I tend to not be a huge fan of form, I am
when it works.
In other words, when the form doesn’t get in
the way of my understanding. Then, I absolutely love it –
when I realize after reading something that it had form.
That’s when I have to say “wow”.
Maybe it was the subject matter that did it – that understanding
that we don’t always know (almost always don’t know) what is best for
us. We choose and we pray based on our little bit of knowledge
and likely a whole lot of ego. We can’t possibly understand the
bigger picture.
And because we don’t, the wise thing to do is to remember who
does and that for as long as we’ve been around, He’s had our back.
We don’t have to understand but we should never think He isn’t listening -
for He is ALWAYS listening. And further, He’s always answering us,
even when we choose not to hear.
asked I once
but where were you
stuck out in the cold -
and remembered me
(the way I was before)
heaven help me
know that I could never have it all
how foolish to believe
that less is more
Thank you for this inspired piece of work. As the psalmist says, ‘we’ll understand
it all by and by’……. Indeed, we shall. For now, we just need to remember
that someone far wiser is watching out for us.
I am reading and reviewing for the December Rising Star Shining Brighter Contest,
on behalf of the Circle of Sisters.
Good luck and here’s hoping your New Year is the best ever.
The more we fight, the more we fight........ The harder we resist the understanding
of who we are and what we are - well the longer it takes for us to get where
we're meant to be.
In my imperfections, I am perfect. That which leaves a scar,
makes me beautiful. My weakness is my strength!
when for a moment
I was found -
and looked into my eyes
was given love (to love myself)
removed of each disguise
the sweetest scar
which shines onto
the path of love alone
shall be my strengh
when I am lost -
the light to take me
home
Thank you for this exceptional (and dare I say - inspired) piece.
I am reading and reviewing for the December Rising Star Shining Brighter Contest,
on behalf of the Circle of Sisters.
I’m not sure why (but then again, maybe I am)….but this
reminds me of my father.
When I was young, I saw my father as something akin to
superman – there was nothing he couldn’t do and nothing he
wouldn’t do for me – for us – for his love.
It wasn’t until years later that I came to a startling
realization – that regardless of the god I had made him into,
at his heart, he was a man – just a man.
And as part of that realization, an amazing thing
happened – he became even more than he had been
before.
Whatever greatness we achieve, it is in part due to our
weaknesses. It is our weakness that gives us strength – it is
our imperfections that make us perfect.
I never met Christopher Reeves, but I have met other
celebrities and ‘heroes’. And almost without exception, it is
those who have known failure that amount to the most – for in
that moment – they are made humble and they are given
sight – the ability to see what they never could before.
Perhaps, it is that moment when they are given wings, such
that even if they were given a choice, they would not go
back – they could never ‘not know’.
For a while
I thought again to scars
and where they came -
red and ragged -
deep and painful.
But in time, I realized a
greater truth than even these -
that in my pain, I triumphed.
Beneath my scars,
my beauty slept.
Even the Phoenix had to burn before it could soar.
This is a sad story, but a beautiful one. It is a
reminder that we are all the same – we are all simple, fragile,
breakable. Regardless of what others see of our physical
self, that will fall away. It always does. But what lives on is
something much deeper – love lives. Through love, we know
immortality – for it is our chance to live beyond our
life.
One of my favorite movies (not just at this time of year, but
anytime) is the classic “It’s a Wonderful Life”. The basis
for the movie is that we all have opportunities to enrich the lives
of others. Those among us who are truly heroes – they’re the ones
who know only to love.
Ultimately, this story wasn't very long, but it sure said a lot.
Thank you, Jaya.
I’ve been accused of making things too easy – and for me
I suppose, it is easy. It’s as easy as making a choice. It’s as
easy as getting up and going on.
I certainly realize that not everyone is me and while moods are
most often temporary, depression is a cancer. I’m not by any means
saying that I don’t understand.
What I’m saying is that most of us have power we never use - power we
never even own up to having - the power to stand up, the power
to move on, the power to change. Instead, there is a large population
that chooses rather to stay down - to flounder in the trenches –
to roll around in the muck. And some of those
are oblivious to the power they have.
I have found from my own experience that the longer you stay
down, the harder it is to ever stand up straight. I should never have to
entertain the choice – live or stay in bed…… And if faced with that choice,
I’m wise enough to know that living is the right choice because after a while,
you won’t even see it as a choice – it’ll simply be a part of you.
And that’s true whether the choice is ‘live’ or ‘stay in bed’.
We all have demons and we all have baggage that we tend to lug
around – and that’s okay for a while. But then it’s time to let the luggage
go – to choose something new.
To choose to live. And the very act of living is a tide;
at first it seems to make no difference at all, and then
one day you look down and see how much pain has eroded.
You can't look back - you just have to put
the past behind you, and find something better in your future.
forever I becoming
all I’m ever meant to be
when given of the choice
to live or die
when asked would I
be burdened
with the weight of yesterday
would that I dream
would that I choose to fly
Emotional and telling!! The sure signs
of a strong woman! Hallelujah!!
I love it for its honesty – its truth – its crazy,
silly attempt to express what most of us never realize
in our writing – that while we may wrestle with
words, verse, rhyme, meter, font color, size, etc.,
it never occurs to us that a reader might
have the same problem when they’ve
stumbled upon our words.
Even when I revisit my own work, I stumble
at times for it is hard to find the exact
temper I was at when I wrote – to know when
to breathe and when to sigh – and when
to say ‘amen’….
“Like a word on a page that you’ve printed
and read a million times, that suddenly looks strange
or wrong, foreign. And you feel scared for a second,
like you’ve lost something,
even if you’re not sure what it is”
Thank you, Marc. I am reviewing for the November Rising
Star Shining Brighter Contest. Thank you so much for your entry,
and for treating us with your words.
I’m not really sure how this can move to be any more
complete – and maybe that’s the rub. It is; it’s just been
filed inappropriately.
For all we are and all we do, we are almost always
a work in progress – steps (count them one by one) from where
we started (where we shall return). Always, it is the knowing
that pulls us – the desire to know how the wind feels
against the pines, how many songs there are of the cicadas,
and what wonders are revealed to the sparrow….
We dream, we sleep and we find that place -
miles from where we rest – another us becoming. Such is
the true nature of a writer – to tell of both worlds. The
stories and the nonstories – a constant attempt to tell of a life
not lived.
This is exquisite work and I am in awe of your talents.
of other lives
I can’t recall
the moment come to death
of lips that whispered lowly
come away
of verse and chapter quoted
to books I failed to read
though searching
brought me back
and I obeyed
a summons to collection
pulling at the past
remaking of an end
before beginning
the chaff before the wheat
blossom without soil
within each birth becoming more
of me
a story to be written
undaunted by regrets
when came the darkness speaking
a whisper raised in breath
I imagine a couple dancing – free as gypsies – free as
the wind. And a voice – a deep resonating voice
singing this song – and in the singing, the woman
(this wild Irish rose) spins and spins – drunk on
the music – drunk on this love and this man.
I truly enjoyed this – although you already know
that I tend to choose pieces of a much deeper meaning –
And yet – what could be deeper than love? And when
discussing the meaning of life, how could we (why would we)
ignore the most fundamental piece of understanding -
that which is love? Ahhh…….there (my friend) lies
the true meaning of all that is worth understanding.
suspended there
some pretense of the truth
as cold the silver
crevices
dust between the names
sleep to separate
the kisser from the kiss
forgiveness from the one
who longs to hear
forever still
a silence seems so loud
from this we are
to where
we’ll surely meet
breathe aside this mossy
veil – that I might
understand
words to never
wet the lips
keep us now apart
Truly magical and a song I’m sure will be stuck
in my head for days.
Years ago, I remember reading an interview with Tom
Clancy, in which he identified the difference between reality
and fiction. Fiction has to make sense.
I’ve never forgotten that. Sometimes the simplest
things stay with us. A very wise woman also told me once
that wisdom is quite simply ‘what works’.
Life is hmmmmmmmmmm…….life is life. Life is our life -
the sum of all the parts that are us – from the very first time we
breathed until now – until this breath. This is our story.
And almost always our story is the result of choice. While some might
attribute it to fate, I'd venture to say that most fate is also the result
of our choices - it's just that by the time the consequence rolls around,
we've forgotten the choice.
Sometimes fate is like a small tornado that keeps changing directions
You change direction but the twister chases you. You turn
again, but the wind adjusts. Over and over it is and you wonder why.
Why?
Because this isn't something that blew in from some far off place,
something that has nothing to do with you. This is you. Something inside
of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the chaos,
close your eyes, plug your ears and hang on.
For life is about making it through that storm – the one that is you. Because
once the winds have passed, you’ll have no clue as to how you made it through -
how you managed to survive. In fact, you may not even be sure the storm is
over. But what matters (what really matters) is that the person who survives
won’t be the same person who first knew the storm.
And then – then we (you) will understand. Or as a great visionary once said,
‘when you reach the end of what you should know, you will be at the beginning
of what you should sense’.
thoughts return in silence
lest we forget the need to breathe
but that’s another story
(I have known)
I believe
in more than this
a place that we have known
(though not the same)
was not for us
to have the words
for something without name
I find your writing to be introspective – and am pleased
to know you know.
What a wonderful ability we have – the ability
to question – to wonder – to dig and search – to find -
and search again. And always (always)
to question.
Whether you believe in God or not is irrelevant
when it comes to understanding. For without Him,
the mystery becomes even more perplexing. And with Him,
it’s quite another puzzle – why we are given minds such
that we question the nature of the puzzle when we
are the puzzle. We are more than the answer,
we are the question.
I love this piece – for it is a reminder that we
have none of the answers – and we have all the
answers. The way is quite simply the way – our way.
There is something infantile in the presumption that somebody
else has a responsibility to give your life meaning and point…
The truly enlightened view, by contrast, is that our life is
as meaningful, as full and as wonderful as we choose
to make it. That in our searching, we will always find what
we are looking for – no matter what.
When you look for the connection of things, you’ll see them but
you'll also start trying to see signs in just about everything.
It’s quite a trick to remember that most of the things that happen
in this world aren't signs. They happen because they happen,
and their only real significance lies in normal cause and effect – in what
we do with them.
You'll drive yourself crazy if you start trying to pry the meaning
out of every gust of wind or rain squall. I'm not denying that there are
actually a few signs that you won't want to miss.
Knowing the difference is the tricky part.
Life is a continuous mystery - sometimes terrifying - sometimes maddening.
But always provocative and always interesting. And although it’s
meaning is often beyond our grasp, it should never be
seen as meaningless.
I’m not sure
but seems to me
there are ways
and there are wonders
much more than we can see
things we know
(we never knew)
when took us by surprise
dreams denied the want for sleep
sight beyond our eyes
Thank you for this insightful reminder of
our wonderful ability to question – our journey to know
our own truth.
Not long ago I was talking with a friend about
the homeless situation. She commented on their
presence, their increasing numbers, this and that. She
also expressed sympathy for their plight.
I too, am filled with emotion and concern for them -
but another part of me – a deeper part of me -
is envious of their freedom. I am envious of the ability
to carry all that matters on my back –
to come and go – as a leaf –
as the tides.
That is what this piece means to me. Whenever we are
overcome with the weight of living – it is in moments
such as these that we are reminded of our
temporary nature - that we are merely passing through
and that we own nothing.
When we understand that, we are both humbled
and comforted – knowing that we are part of a greater plan -
and that life is fragile. We are fragile!
if e’er I was
forgotten
as a leaf blown out to sea
and tossed atop
the sweetest white of foam
passed unnoticed
circumstance
beyond the seeking sailor
as waves were crashed
against my fragile form
always there
to balance
between the earth and sky
tides to move me closer
to the shore
pulled and pushed
left to lost
still upright to sail
wiser now
for winds that found me
home
Thank you for this beautiful reminder of
all that matters – all that quite simply (quite beautifully)
matters.
It matters not what we think of war – what our beliefs
on life or afterlife. It matters not whether we believe
in God or the liberties afforded to us by our birth (by fate or
circumstance). It is of no consequence who might have
passed before us.
No matter my belief in LOVE as the ultimate
defense against war, still there is the soldier that deserves
my gratitude and my respect.
In fact, he deserves everything I have
to give for without him, I would not be. Without
his sacrifice, I would be enslaved. I would be without
freedom to choose what I believe and what I love.
And so, yes, this piece touches me for it speaks
to the fact that almost without exception, there are no
expectations from us – not even the want that we appreciate
and honor them. For that’s not why they do it – they do it for the greatest of
all reasons – they do it for love - love for brother and country.
And THAT is all I ever need to know.
when from the battle
weary came
exacting none
the cost for me
knew that I might
never know -
the price of liberty
I wish we lived in a world where we would never know
the word ‘war’, and yet I know that always, there is
a price to be paid – and I am eternally grateful
for those who eagerly pay. I pray God reserves
the biggest house for them.
I must be a hopeless romantic – for always
I am moved (in ways I cannot pretend to understand)
when I read a story or lyrics - a poem or a ballad that tells
the story of love. It is a story that never gets old.
Maybe it’s like the song says, it’s a “tale as old as time”.
But if there were one
thing I would return for, it would be love.......
I absolutely loved this piece despite the fact that it was a bit
sad -- but then love does that, doesn’t it? It makes sweet and sad
the same. Regardless of what it takes, we eagerly give,
and even when all seems lost, we wait (we beg)
the chance to love again...
...and always we go there in our dreams.
Although I find it hard to imagine losing love in
the midst of living – the losing of a life – I know it happens
and it grieves me to think that anyone must nurture the place
where someone once lived (where they loved)….
And that I think is the moral of your wonderful
story – that people die, but relationships don’t. That
which filled us, always fills us. If love could stop,
then surely it wouldn’t be called love. Love is (in my
humble opinion) our way to immortality for always we remain
in that time and that place – with that love.
Yes, I am hopeless – but I see no need
to change.
I dream
not these of sleep
or leavings to become
another world awakens me
I dream
as death
would ne’er deny
the persistence of love
as longing – though our bones be cold
we live
from this
we shall depart
upon a dark voyage
into the place of destinies
waiting
Exquisite as well as mesmerizing. Maybe that’s because I
know we live in a world that has yet to understand
the power that we have – the power that is love.
I’d love to say you’re asking questions that have
never been asked, but I can’t. What I can say is that
you will (absolutely) find the answer because the answers are
always different – your answers aren’t mine
(nor should they be).
When it comes to love, you’ve said it well – you stumble along
the best you can (head up if you have the strength) and pray you
get to where you’re wanting to go!
Think of it as hiking the
grand canyon in the dark – the best you can hope for is not to step
off into the abyss.
If you manage to do that,
and hold on at the same time, you might as well call it love.
But even if it isn’t, it’s worth the WONDER to find out what it is.
Even if you lose it all, it’s worth it.
It took me a lifetime to realize
things don't get lost if they don't have value –
you don't miss what you don't care about.
was never mine
to understand -
this place that has no name
swirls between two living souls -
and never are we
the same
You've posed an interesting question - how does God view
this creation - this earth, these frivolous thoughts and desires.
I like that.........and I would venture to guess
that He discovers it all - over and over again - through our eyes,
with our hearts and our souls entwined.
He surely never tires of the sunrise,
or the beauty that is maple in the Fall. Else, why would we be given
them again and again?
Always, this world is recreated through the eyes
(and with the hands) of the Creator.
dare I wonder
what was come
and how we came to be
I pray my heart be opened
by love -
at last to see
Truly amazing work, my friend. Slow down indeed - for in the details, we truly
understand the love that gave us life.
I am judging for the October Rising Star Shining Brighter
contest. Thank you for your entry, and for sharing your many
talents with us. I wish you much
luck with the competition.
Much love,
Bobbie
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