Feelings have a way of leaving me mute; I think this is one of the reasons I have feared them. Since talking is my perceived way of connecting, feelings (and the ensuing muted state) can leave me feeling somewhat disconnected to myself. The beckoning quiet of silence is my only friend. Poetry is one way I can express myself back into an awareness of connection with myself. I do not write in order to make a poem, I write in order to be the poem.
Silence Speaks
My thoughts have all escaped
I am left holding a bag of words
clock tick
candle flicker
tea steam
aeroplane whine
traffic drone
lawnmower sputter
if I pull them out
one at a time
motorcycle gust
bird song
heart beat
will I be the poem?
Listening To Myself
Today is the gift
I give myself
to listen to
the mystery
that is my ineffable spirit,
my essence,
the being that I am
beyond blood and bone
That divine spark
that says
I am
a poet
a mother
a daughter
a lover
a wife
a leader
a giver
a peace maker
a-live
The New Born
Why do I continue
to write, stretch, form and pump
words onto a page
when there are already
so very many words?
Words expressed daily, feverishly;
a working mother
expressing milk for her babe,
that new born voice
that can only be nourished
by the truth splashing
out onto the page.
Wet, fresh, life-giving
words
awake in my heart
with the already full grown
knowledge of my
life now loved
attended and cared for
my life
my very own
life
