SuziCate's Musings

Archive for January, 2011

The Whisperer

This is a villanelle poem written to the prompt “a shadow” for KPC writer’s group

I’ve never grown into the strong woman I want to be
I do not know this person who whispers deep inside
I’ve been diligently hiding behind the shadow of me

I have lived my life in chains refusing chances to flee
I bask in the light of security provided by false pride
I’ve never grown into the strong woman I want to be

I am a padlocked door, without the means of a key
The rivers running within me have long since died
I’ve been diligently hiding behind the shadow of me

I’ve pleaded to my God, clasped hands upon my knee
I’ve born an ancient nameless sea of tears I’ve cried
I’ve never grown into the strong woman I want to be

I do not know this whisperer. For my eyes fail to see
This is what I tell myself when really I have not tried
I’ve been diligently hiding behind the shadow of me

I dream that this whisperer will one day set me free
to show me the way to live as if I have never died
I’ve never grown into the strong woman I want to be
I’ve been diligently hiding behind the shadow of me

Spiritual Unrest

It was an inner itching, a yearning, an uneasiness,
this emptiness inside me that ached and roared.
I did not know I was in a state of spiritual unrest.

The gnawing told me I needed to begin a quest.
I was clueless. I was dead. I was totally floored.
It was an inner itching, a yearning, an uneasiness.

I was hopeless, and confused, a total mess
as my head and heart argued, emotions poured.
I did not know I was in a state of spiritual unrest.

Within this turmoil, I knew I’d never find rest,
so I started with all the questions I had ignored.
It was an inner itching, a yearning, an uneasiness.

This thing I was missing I had never guessed.
I had simply surmised that my soul was bored.
I did not know I was in a state of spiritual unrest.

With inner peace and freedom I’ve been blessed
as my life, love, hope and grace have all soared.
It was an inner itching, a yearning, an uneasiness;
I did not know I was in a state of spiritual unrest.

What Could Have Been

Because I have no voice,

I can not tell you of my pain.

Because you took away all hope,

I can not tell you what could have been.

Though you have placed your God in a box,

I know my God has never lived there.

Because I have no voice,

I utter incoherencies that He understands.

Because you took away all hope,

I cease to exist in your mind.

You say we were better off this way;

I guess we’ll never know.

Because I have no voice,

I can not soothe your pain with a lullaby.

Because you took away all hope,

I can not shine upon your life.

And though you say I never existed,

why do I haunt the corridors of your heart?

One Shot Wednesday

Cracked Pot

Almost every household has one

A simple earthen pot of fire brightness

No one knows how the first tiny chip occurred

For a time, she remained functional and beautiful

with a vibrancy that warmed the room

Through the years of use, the crack grew, stretching

from her base to her lip, scuffing

her shimmering glaze, contents trailing her travels,

They rendered her useless and stashed her

upon the mantle, to be admired from afar

but tucked safely out of reach

Kaleidoscope

when the cool winds blow

through the valleys of your soul

and the rivers within have frozen

when you are ever still waiting

for that tangerine warmth to surface

the mountain tops and grace your shoulders

when you feel time is not on your side

as you hear the echo of every tick and every tock

and you can’t look in the mirror because

you know it is proof of what your life has become

what could you possibly do at this point

to lift yourself from this state of nonbeing

meet that cool wind with the heat of your breath,

the breath of your soul has the power to melt glaciers within

and though you are not aware of the rapids or ripples,

your reflection radiates with the sun shining

over your river that flows within

savor the ticks and the tocks, grasp every moment

and bask in that glow of orange

if you must shatter that glass and smile

see your lips stretch from piece to piece

and your eyes twinkle in possibility

turn and the colors change just as you forever will

because though you’ve never known

you are a beautiful magic mirror

in an ever turning world

Complacency

You trudge the long way home instead
The ball of fire slips from the resting sky
Dusk settles on the earthen path ahead

Shadows stretch and pause in your head
As you refuse to succumb to another lie
You trudge the long way home instead

The world is motionless, as if it’s dead
The quiet of night almost makes you cry
Dusk settles on the earthen path ahead

You think of the words that were not said
Had they been, you’d have had no reply
You trudge the long way home instead

No need to question this life you’ve led
And nothing changes by asking why
Dusk settles on the earthen path ahead

So you eat yet another story you are fed
You are satiated; you let out a tiny sigh
You trudge the long way home instead
Dusk settles on the earthen path ahead

Looking Back


I trampled the rubble of memory, stone by stone
Pulled gems from earth and blew off ancient dust
And still I found nothing more I could have known

I dove into self, into blood and marrow of bone
I paddled the calm and surfed the waves of trust
I trampled the rubble of memory, stone by stone

Realizing it was my task to approach this alone
I covered every corner, touched all I felt I must
And still I found nothing more I could have known

Through time and reflection, grace has grown,
polishing and replacing pieces touched by rust
I trampled the rubble of memory, stone by stone

For every mistake and sin for which I have atoned
From the depths of soul another bit was thrust
And still I found nothing more I could have known

Layer by layer, my quilt of life has been sewn
Though not every stitch of each life seam is just
I trampled the rubble of memory, stone by stone
And still I found nothing more I could have known

***This is my first attempt at a Villanelle Poem
Villanelle:
It is nineteen lines total consisting of five triples and a final quatrain
Poem with six stanzas
The first five stanzas consist of three lines, the final of four
All a’s rhyme and all b’s rhyme with the repetition of lines A1 and A2

Formula:
A1
B
A2

a
b
A1

a
b
A2

a
b
A1

a
b
A2

a
b
A1
A2

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