Archive for the 'poetry' CategoryPage 3 of 4

Stillness’ Whispers

Quiet day. Quiet mind. Quiet soul…

Quiet enough to embrace the gift that the quiet brings.

Quiet time.

Time to reflect. Time to dream. Time to listen. Time to breathe…

Time enough to remember and to know.

For in the stillness there’s time to gather up my courage…

for the times that make the quiet seem like a distant memory.

The stillness whispers to my soul, “Remember these times. Remember and be strong.”

These quiet times are like breath for more breathless days…

a breath that will lift me on wings of eagles -

to the place where my weariness is left behind.

So, in the quiet I will listen to the whispers…

I will listen, and I will breathe again. -A. L. B.

Peace.

Stillness’ Whispers

Quiet day. Quiet mind. Quiet soul…

Quiet enough to embrace the gift that the quiet brings.

Quiet time.

Time to reflect. Time to dream. Time to listen. Time to breathe…

Time enough to remember and to know.

For in the stillness there’s time to gather up my courage…

for the times that make the quiet seem like a distant memory.

The stillness whispers to my soul, “Remember these times. Remember and be strong.”

These quiet times are like breath for more breathless days…

a breath that will lift me on wings of eagles -

to the place where my weariness is left behind.

So, in the quiet I will listen to the whispers…

I will listen, and I will breathe again. -A. L. B.

Peace.

Escaping Shakespeare…

Being a poet and melancholy (in the larger half of my personality), I’m often drawn to the beautiful…yet somber. My love of Shakespeare is no exception. Of course, I love the romantic and beautiful things he wrote - but, still, my favorite is solemn and foreboding. I’ve loved it since my early teens, and now as an adult I still love it…but desire for it not to be true of me. Still, it’s breathtaking in it’s poetry and rhythm - Here it is:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”

The last line “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” reminds me of 1 Corinthians 13 where it speaks of eloquent speech and “tongues of men and angels”, but no love. Without love we are nothing but “clanging symbols”.

So, we avoid being relegated to insignificance by one thing: LOVE. Shakespeare wrote a lot about love, but often seemed cynical about people’s ability to really live in love…I guess all poets can be given to that.

I pray I will not become so cynical. I pray I will live in love so that at the end of my time on “the stage” of life, I will have not spent my time speaking of beautiful things…clanging, but not loving - and, in the end, “signifying nothing”.

Love wins. Love wins. Love wins

Peace.

Promises and Miles…

sunset in switzerland

Night is closing in on another day. It’s been a good day - especially for a day following a weekend sick in bed (those typically don’t go so smoothly). I woke up feeling weak and still a little run down, but really wanting to “take on” this day…a person can only take so much “staying in”.

It felt good to clean the house; it felt good to cut some roses; it felt good to go grocery shopping (with my boys) - good to get coffee with Byron, make a real meal for everyone and Robbie, make a lunch date with Amanda…do laundry - sit in car line - bake a pie - talk to my dad - take my temp. and it be normal…

I’m still not feeling 100%, but it feels really good to be acting like I do (fake it ’til you make it!). And if the sun will shine tomorrow - even for just a little while - I know I’ll start feeling like myself again. Plus, lunch with Amanda will lift me…time with good friends always lifts you up - it’s like a deep breath of fresh air. Friendship is like that…the best medicine! It soothes the weary soul…

I could write a poem tonight - I can feel it…kind of brewing. I don’t really have the energy for it, so I will try to just go to sleep without trying to write. But, if I keep feeling like this, I will have to just break down and put it to words…I can only put it off for so long.

Robert Frost writes:

A poem begins with a lump in the throat, a home-sickness or a love-sickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where the emotion has found its thought and the thought has found the words.

Whatever the thoughts are that need to find a voice…will be heard - they will find a way. Hopefully, they will let me rest first. Frost is the same one who wrote “The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep - And miles to go before I sleep - And miles to go before I sleep.” I love this quote - it’s how I feel most days.

I would love to explore the “lovely, dark and deep woods” of the pensive and poetic, but still there are “promises” and many, many “miles”…

So, I will go keep them and travel them.

Peace.