Saturday, January 29, 2011

Week Four Poem: Be. And Be. And Be Some More

As if one ounce of well wrought effort could affect a change.
Can it open a rose?
Can it hurry the petals
As they unfurl into the dew-dropped morning?
With sheer will and determination
Can you smell the heady scent
See the blood-red velvet petals sooner?
Can you hurry it along
With careful plans and cunning acts of wisdom?

For you think you know
The way,
and how
and what to do
If only you could do it.
As if your human effort
Makes any sort of difference.

Will you miss the beauty of the bud
And the tiny miracles of opening?
Twisted up with making it so
And wishing for it to hurry.

Be.    And Be.    And Be some more
Just show up, don’t worry.
The blooming is inevitable
The rose the bearer of its glory. 

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Week Three Poem: Landscape

The inner landscape of this life is
Irrigated by fonts of dreams
Crashing in burns of gem-toned rivers
Come to rest in a still pool
Gathered there, all the paper-doll wistfulness
Of ‘what if’ and ‘when I grow up’

A meadow rims the pool; replete with Life.
A closer look.
It’s shifting surface obliges with what I want to see;
Successful vanquisher of the challenge -
Eternal beauty and poise and strength -
Laughing in the arms of Love -

The fair vision is doomed to fade.
Altered, mined and harvested
In mindless pursuit of where I was going.
The burns run dry, tapped by frivolity and vanity.
The cracked mud bottom of that iridescent pool
Reveals forgotten coins tossed by a careless hand
Spent on wishes that were not mine to make.

Buzzards roost in a dead tree whilst
My body turns inevitably toward it’s earthly refuge
And the dreams of youth turn gray
Evaporated on the dry-dust air of age.
And time passing.
A whirligig mocking
On the edge of a gem-toned pool.

Oh, regret!
Most foolish of man’s foibles
Makes a wastrel of a thrifty soul.
For it’s impossible to feed the
Gaping maw of self-reproach
With anything but love.
And yet I try.

Desperate flutterings
To break the laws that bind me here
That I may fly into the Flame of God
I am rewarded only with singed wings
Cast down; broken and empty
Upon the altar my own Idolatry.

This landscape is most beautiful
When I cease to strive
Let Nature build a nest in my hair.
What do I know of meadows and pools and beauty and truth?
Lay down regret and put self-importance to bed
They are a blight upon the simple serenity
Of a watercolor mountain peak
Reflecting the light of dawn.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Week Two Poem: Winter Blues

This wintry landscape of ice blue and gray
Stirred by the North Wind’s finger
Surrounds me on all sides
Holds me bound to its chilly breast

I am a reluctant human to greet the day
When it is so adorned in frost and white
Leaden feet plod toward my work
Away from my warm bed where I'd rather be
Toasty in the arms of my love all day.

A shiver runs up my spine
Deft fingers ache and turn clumsy under an Arctic kiss
Scrape the windshield, pray the heat cranks up soon
Watch for black ice and white ice and snow banks and plows
When did I get so old?

The forecast is bleak, more ice on the way
Too warm for snow and too cold for rain
Ice pellets encrust the world in a crystal wrapper
Kids are out of school again
At least they find some joy
In these wintry days

The sun sets early - though it’s later each day
On the way home I stop by the mailbox
It’s alive and blossoming with garden catalogs
Tomatoes and tulips, cabbages and columbines
I stick my nose deep into their colored pages
And play make believe

It’s 82 degrees and breezy
The lull of the hammock swinging back and forth
And the sweet heavy scent of lilacs and lilies
Makes me drunk, satisfied and sleepy.

Would that I could be intoxicated by such a vision
And pass out cold; hibernate until the Spring
When I awaken with the daffodils
A new fern unfurls to greet the yellow sun.

Friday, January 7, 2011

The Beat Goes On

The beat goes on
My heart in time with Creation
Tries to race ahead in useless pursuit
A Self-indulgent and spoiled child
Barely remembering to listen 
To Be

The beat goes on
In spite of depleted and dilapidated dreams
It steadily metes out the measure of lives
Moments slip into days and years
Am I listening?

The beat goes on
Regardless of joy and the desperate grasping
To grab hold of honey-steeped moments
Lingering too long
Sweetness turns to vinegar
Move on, Daughter of God

The beat goes on
 Tumbled into the sea of want and love and Maya
Ours is to dance;
The beat of life’s eternal Source pounds in our feet
The Bhindu in the Heart that breathes every atom
Bedazzles with azure and vermillion skies

The beat goes on
It does not wait nor sit idle
While I contemplate the value of actions
Shooting arrows from the quiver of my desires
Into the heart of manifestation
I dance with what emerges

The beat goes on
It does not slow for me to figure it out
To cast aside regret or wishful thinking
It patiently reminds me with every universal thrum
Now is all there is; what will I make of it?

The beat goes on
Will I love more?  Cherish more?
Laugh more?  Want more?
Yearn more?  Ache more?
Will I awaken and know?

The beat goes on
Eternity can afford infinite patience
With a wayward daughter
Meandering and sometimes lost on her way home

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Week 1 Poem: Whistled Up To The Sky

Inspired by a recent barrage of cowboy images in movies and books. Not to mention, my dad was a range riding cowboy when I was very small. I like to think that he dreamed of Mom like this and their love brought him home safe. Enjoy! ~ Cassandra

Whistled Up To The Sky

The lonesome hours of a cowboy’s life outnumber the sage on the plain.
Hours filled with dust and sweat but always alive with dreams.
Dreams woven of moonlight at midnight and whistled up to the sky.
A cowboy’s song; a spell is cast; a mournful lullaby.

Long dry notes blown over sun chapped lips are gathered up by the wind
To dance amongst the twinkling stars and cactus blooms so sweet.
The cowboy whistles his lover’s tune and cannily checks the herd.
The beasts are calm tramping along; no camp; the weather’s good.

On a perfect night with the stars so bright and the wind caressing him just so,
She is conjured from the notes of his song and the depth of his very soul,
She is borne on the scent of cactus-bloom and the tang of evergreen.
Airy fingers comb the hair on his cheek; soft as a kiss in spring.

A hundred miles and six days in the saddle away from home and his love
On this magical night she rides to him on a steed of silver and white.
His song calls his lover and holds her there; she rides the night trail by his side.
A hundred miles and six days in the saddle; he’ll soon hold his bride.

She lights the way cast in silvery gleam, the stars twinkling with her laughter.
She fills his mind and fills his dreams and keeps him ever after
Moving down the trail and closer to home, till he’s safe in her embrace
He is at home wherever he roams when he sings to feel her grace.

New Year's Resolution

So, I am declaring it here - for whomever to see - that my 2011 New Year's resolution is to write and post at least one poem/week for the whole year.
I do hope some of them are brilliant. I fully expect some of them to be rough and in need of reworking. But the point here is to JUST DO IT! Yeah, like Nike.
I am looking forward to the challenge and the ways that it will  help me grow into an art form that I really appreciate. Who knows? Maybe poems are the way for me, and novels will come later when I have more time.
Many blessings to all of us in the New Year. May our hearts be glad and our hands be offered up in service to a greater good.

All love, Cassandra