Words Become Me
Sitting on the edge of day and last rays
She clings to the strings of her paper kite
Tighter in the nooks and crannies she kneels
Not quite loud but still she speaks
At night she counts the stars alight
Matching each twinkle to the shine in her eyes
Her heart is soothed when waves meet shore
No more counting, she quits keeping score.
~SM
Image (c) Heatherlee Chan
Dear Ram-shackled barn,
Your fear of the thunder storm must run deep
It came and rapped at your shutters
And yet you held firm till it passed
Still, you stood
A month went by and you believed the worst had passed
But clouds gathered and with them your fear grew
Darker it became as the hour drew near
Each floor board pressed down hard, nails dug deeper
Your shingles rattled slightly at the first gust of wind
And again your shutters were distressed when the pellets dropped
How do you stand?
Why do you continue?
This must not be easy.
The pain must cut deep when a board is broken
And you must mourn the loss of your once beautifully crafted porch
Bow out while your wood still has a hint of varnish left
For what is coming far outweighs what you have known
Choose a careful dismantling over reckless destruction
Please…
Sincerely,
Time.
Dear Time,
I know how you must feel considering all you know,
You think I should let go and allow myself to be taken down
Trust me, I will do no such thing. I am not as weak as I look
I have sound answers to your questions
Listen carefully…
My foundation goes deeper into the ground than you can ever imagine
Not even the strongest winds will uproot me from this spot where I stand
I admit when the storms come, I do hunker down in fear
Hoping my end is not near
And then I remember the foundation on which I stand.
He won’t let me go. He won’t let me be flung away from His hold.
He is how I stand.
Why do I continue?
Well, it’s simple…
You have visited the ruins in Greece have you not?
You know of their former glory and of the trials they stood
Yet you know how long they will be stared at in awe of their majesty
A good story cannot be told unless a bad one has been known
Let the storms come and reshape me
Let the rain and the sun repaint me
My only real fear is that I will be “carefully dismantled”
For “reckless destruction” will never come
Only continuous molding, reshaping and repainting till my day of glory comes
Faithfully,
Ram-shackled Barn.
Here within a winter’s horizon
Meted calamities break the dawn
Long daggers and pronged spears
Double edged renditions
Cogently charged
to press on ingrained iniquities
A lengthened penance
Timed over three scores
Unflinchingly still
We stay sitting
On the frontline
Till darkness illuminates itself
~SM~
Teach me love I say
And you say Love is sight
Love is seeing beyond the visible
Deep into the pits of self and soul
Past barricades built from hurts of old
To a person within that’s hardly grown
I’ll teach you Love
Love is the perfection of touch
It’s the hand lightly placed on another
The stroke of a cheek when tears threaten
Passionate kisses that turn earth to heaven
Tell me what you know about love
You smile and whisper, hear my love
For Love never stays silent, it speaks all truth
It is the music of a happy heart’s pound
The laughter that rings from an upturned mouth
It is the healing in the words spoken out loud
Ah yes, I know what Love is
It’s strange but the nose knows Love
A young mother sits curled with a freshly powdered tot
Gently soothed by the comfort of a bosom it barely sees
What more can you teach me?
Your eyes twinkle and gleam as you reveal these truths
My knees weaken when you reach in
Lips move from my collar bone to rest on my quivering chin
Why tell me what love is, when you can show me you whisper?
I moan each time your tongue tastes my lips
~SM~
Mama told me you would be beautiful even before you were born
Mama told me She dreamt of your eyes,
that they sparkled like diamonds;
Eyes that led all you would encounter deep into your soul,
seeking to understand all that you could know.
Mama told me She could hear the bubble of your laughter,
Gurgling deep and a comfort to many a traveller
Mama told me your heart would be pure,
rivaling the finest pearls harvested from the deepest shore
Mama told me you would be beautiful, long before you were even born
Mama told me She could not protect you
from the men who came and robbed you, raped you,
leaving you sore and bleeding, impregnated with an evil child
Mama told me how you hid in disgrace,
not wanting to feel more pain,
yet forgetting from where the hurt came
Mama told me She tried to remind you
that your glory days had not yet come.
She knew you had so much to give and so much to tame.
As did She.
Mama told me about the child you bore,
out of your womb yet who cursed you
and trampled all over your back,
breaking your skin with its clawed grasp,
draining the very core of you
Mama told me how you tried to fight back,
to lead that child to a better path,
to make it stay and listen,
to make it pray yet leave the missions
Mama told me She wanted to help you.
But She couldn’t.
She tried to fight for all of you
but you gave up on Her
and opened your legs up to every hunter, digger and blacksmith you met.
Mama would have fought for all of you,
if only you would have fought for Her too.
Mama doesn’t fight any more
Mama only tells stories
of how beautiful
She once thought
you all would be
And stay?
Will you stay?
You can’t stay
This thing
Is mystique, it’s betwixt,
Running up steel-like tabs punching in the temporary permanence of a thing undefined
This thing,
Turned upwards to face the powers beyond the screens and chemistry seeking validity from the most important source
This thing,
Strong, pulsating, driving a conversation – thick, heavy, breaking the concrete foundations that were laid down pre ’embers.
This thing
Gives sight to the unseen thoughts that once heard words that were false but rung true even on clearest nights lit by a full moon, This thing.
Could confuse me, This thing
Could renew me, this thing
Could undo me.
He tends his garden, his price possession
I watch through stained kitchen panes as he moves and turns
Gloved hands pick up a creeping branch and prod it with a stick
Skillfully the soil is turned and its thirst quenched
This plant is done, he moves to the next
I follow his gaze and they land on his roses
As if to comfort them, he silently poses
Intensely observing
I watch still as he traces the path leading to them with his eyes
“Not now” he seems to say. Now is for the shrubs
Leaning down he picks his sack and swings it over his back
A builder’s back, sinewy muscles pulse and flex
Telling a story louder than words could have dared
I don’t enjoy this part of his routine
I prefer to wait till…well he saves the best for last
Turning I look to my own potted mounds
Lined up against my kitchen walls
I shudder to believe they will not green and bloom soon
And if they do? Whose hands will tend them as he does his roses?
Quickly I turn and only just miss his last step into his rose garden
Beautiful is his raw rugged presence amid the delicate reds and yellows
Here he takes off his gloves
Here he feels each petal stem and leaf
Here he crouches low and speaks “coo”
Here he smiles with his eyes
Here he cries
Here his skill is an art
Here his time is not rushed
Here his soul is at peace
Here his stand is at ease
Here his blood drips against thorns
Yet he doesn’t back down against the pain
He prunes, digs, and waters all the same
Here he does his best
I long to see touch feel him
Yet I dare not step on sacred soil
I stand instead in the space between the front door and the back door
Desperately waiting to hear a knock at the front,
Longingly hoping for that crack of light from the back
However, I’m neither torn nor perplexed
I live simply in my comfortable space
Watching, waiting, praying
Till the day my gardener comes.
Holding on to an oily rod
Counting the stars that fill a cloudless sky
Packing sun beams in a box for our lady of snow
Seeing sound
Hearing light
Phenomenally impossible
Even for a phenomenal you and me
Golden sunsets before dusk
Cattle grazing in the field
Winter giving way to spring
Spring bringing forth summer
Birth
Death
Naturally occurring things
As real and true as the unrealness of you and me
Steps taken forward
Glances made backward
Yes I’m still here
For now anyway
My phenomenal you
Don’t settle for an unreal me
It would be phenomenally impossible
Even for a phenomenal you and me
Prickly heat rousing me from a slumber
Seeping in and hauntingly familiar
If this was a light, it would be amber
Warning me not to step any harder
Blindly, foolishly, the meter goes higher
Crazy, depraved my thirst cuts deeper
Heat, smoldering, hot like lava
My lips, pursed, they stick together
Planned, unplanned, fate took over
Confused, bemused, the game’s played longer
Strategies, tactics, you won’t be the winner
How can you win, when it’s so much bigger?
Two steps closer and I take four back
I’ve walked this route and can stay on track
Hands stretch out and mine stick to my side
Heart opens up and I play the doe eyed child
Don’t think it’s easy, on the surface ready to peel
It’s rooted deep, this feeling that I feel
You wouldn’t understand it, even if I let you near
Overwhelming, crippling, they call it fear.
Words By SM 