SuziCate's Musings

Posts tagged ‘poem’

The Great Mystery

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My feet pointing to the ground,

my hands reaching for the sky,

as I came to be, and the old

thoughts traveled with me.

I drifted into dreams,

wrote myself in a song,

and danced into life.

There was no mystery;

it was the way.

I was born living this thread

connecting you and me.

I have not forgotten.

Have you?

I was not born of silence.

My tongue, forbidden to

speak the language of my heart

became twisted, my words obsolete.

Those sacred utterances were buried

beneath the grit and grain of lineage.

I plucked my medicine from

the earth and healed myself.

I carry no gifts. I walk in truth,

the way in which we’ve forgotten.

I’ll tell you my story.

You tell me yours.

We’ll pray, chant, sing, and dance.

I remember.

Do you?

I was born of flint,

forager of food,

and fueler of fire.

I dowsed the land for water.

I dowsed my soul for wisdom.

Both run deep.

I am the caretaker of land and spirit.

I run deep.

I claim what has been denied me.

I claim I AM.

Do you?

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Erasing the Line

A chalk line is drawn

across ragged asphalt.

Whose side are you on

shouts the schoolyard bully.

As one finger points out

three fingers point back.

We are all to blame,

but none will confess.

Words, words, words,

written, shouted, unspoken, accused,

do little to heal.

Our words, underground currents

of water, control the rise and fall

of tides that were and will be.

But those fingers who point;

Oh how they hold the power,

power to heal, to edify, to unify.

Tears do not soothe

the question of the schoolyard bully

as it taunts my soul.

I dig to the deepest of my native recesses

to the ancestral wisdom beneath

thrown stones and petrified sticks.

The ancient fires slowly burn

 from my toes to my heart.

 The answer quietly quivers

in my throat…Humanity stands upright

as it hits the air, hand extended.

The Seductress

(A Villanelle Poem, formula at end of poem)

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A tempest temptress waltzes in her virginal lace

Depending on the song of wind to direct her dance

As she flings her bridal ribbons across her face

 

She slopes and swirls dimensions of time and space

Tossing her cold, polished pearls of promised romance

A tempest temptress waltzes in her virginal lace

 

Men drop to their knees as others begin to chase

An enigma, this illusion of love; freedom’s chance

As she flings her bridal ribbons across her face

 

Booted feet at the hem of her gown, they race

Into a cloud of life’s indifferent circumstance

A tempest temptress waltzes in her virginal lace

 

A mere man could never keep an even pace

Of a wintry weather woman’s random rants

As she flings her bridal ribbons across her face

 

A gypsy travels on leaving only an icy trace

With a smile and a wink and a bit of a prance

A tempest temptress waltzes in her virginal lace

As she flings her bridal ribbons across her face

 

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

When Horology Met Love

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Careful not to make time the space

In which she fit her love, she found

Her heart more flexible than a schedule,

More steadfast than a caliber,

Stronger than a casing.

Knowing some things cannot be

Measured or contained she

Did not depend on slots or gears,

But on passion and knowing

if all calendars and clocks disappeared

love would live on…

From the Mountain Top

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My assurance sometimes dangled like a tattered leaf,

hanging by a filament and blowing in the wind. Those questions,

such difficult ones I was not experienced to answer, consumed me

as I stumbled over rocks and briar foraging my way

through the dense forests of your childhood. And so

we grew up together, nomads in search of answers to life.

We were not lost souls, merely students who learned

to birth our own sunshine and balance our own truths

between the cardinal’s throat and the space where his song

meets the air of least resistance. Flesh and breath became

promise.  With every candle blown out, this tribe created

from the wisdom within me ushers me into another scarlet

autumn more beautiful than the last.

The Manner in which Mountains Speak

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I’ve been standing a long time. I get tired.
I grumble, and sometimes I shift my weight.
Mostly, I am not heard. But I’m here to
Tell you I once roamed the bottom of the sea.
I saw the sun glistening through the water.
So I reached and pulled and I rose above the waves
Of all stirring around me. Now and then,
I create uproar. I spit fire and slip
My clothes into the valley. I protest naked until
Every bit of venom is poured out. Layer
Upon layer I build myself back up. You
Can see the bulk of history within my thighs.
You can see the crushing of my shoulders from the
Weight of the world. If you look deeply you
Will find the sparkly gems, castoff stardust
From the millions of years I’ve waltzed with the moon.

Chance

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Hiding beneath the crushing weight of life,

So fragile you barely existed at times.

But ever so softly the whisper

Of your soul reached the ears of love.

Slowly you unwrinkled a layer at a time.

And when you learned we all die someday

You began to blossom.

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