This Dawning Morning

I have a deep sadness

that dwells in the depth of my being. 

I release old stories

I live close to nature

I am a healer and a mystic

I know I feel whole, and I know I feel broken.

 

God I am so tired.

My body has a frailty I do not understand

I live in the present holding the light.

 

I found myself

I found my father

I nurtured my mother

in ways, she did not know, or understand. 

 

I feel I am slipping away this day,

and all around are blooming flowers,

quiet ripples and gentle rain,

as a new day has come again.

 

So, I will go on into this one.

 

This is a re-post from December 2020 when I heard the poem.

 

Roses Are Red Eyes Are Blue

He came as a lovely 'visitation',

dressed up and neatly shaven, 

never ever did he look this calm

as when he touched my arm

and slid beside me

on a street-cafe bench-seat.

 

They say you know when grace arrives.

You hear the words singing through 

the silent lift of spirit surrounding you.

 

And then his face was very close.

His shirt was the white linen best,

that one he wore,

when he was laid to rest.

He looked so well, his eyes were blue.

I looked into his face and said,

You are not dead?!

 

I remained still.

I was so happy to see him.

Then, the last lingering vision,

was that these new-blue eyes 

were wearing?

the wonderfully white linen shirt!

 

With the 'knowing' of mourning,

this joy will be

within me.

This is a re-post from that day in November, 2021

First I only saw the up-close face, then

as the image faded I saw the linen shirt.

 

To Be A Poem

 

"I believed I wanted to be a poet,

 but deep down,

 I just wanted to be a poem." 

 

Jaime Gil de Biedma

 

Photo credit:

Dan Gray, Graynoise.com.au