like the trees it is time for me to let go of the child broken, haunted by old ghosts lingering poison
to wake up get over myself dance naked in the breeze less green but open-hearted wild, brilliant joy
to heal the trees will show me the way home their secret all must die a bit each day to live…let go…breathe
I have grown quite sick of myself…the wallowing in past wrongs, unresolved issues, the self-loathing practice of sabotaging myself time and again because…what if? I’m sorry, if you know me well, for dragging you along with me through the muck. Enough already. Maybe it’s the tug of the looming new moon, but I’m over being a victim. This moment, right here, right now I am determined to be a tree. The dead leaves I’ve clung to for so long serve me no purpose but to stifle me from fully embracing the coming spring. New beginnings happen every season. But you have to let go to taste them!
I thought this was a good time for a look back. Autumn has taken hold full force here on Bramlett Mountain, with the leaves blushing orange, gold, and crimson and the trees letting them go to ride the wind. The hummingbirds have set flight to the tropics. The days are growing shorter and the mornings are dusted lightly with frost.
As I reflected on the past several months of poems that made it to the page despite my too busy life, I was struck by how moved I was to read the words again. It’s been an unsettling time for the world at large, and in my own corner of it, having let go yet another life-long companion to the rainbow. Four sweet souls this year. Gone. I don’t know that I have fully grieved for each of them as their departures came too soon…always too soon…before I could catch my breath, another and another.
Because of all this, it seems my writing is tinged with melancholy. And yet joy has a way of breaking through even in the darkest of times. Nature reminds us it’s time to let go, to slow down, to rest. I’m listening. How ripe am I for resting, for breathing deeply…for letting go!
A ReVerse Poem - Sunday, October 16, 2022
despair is like a tidal wave there is not much that can be said your dreams are clinging on the brink the wind rushed trees, the sky, dark gray there’s a special place in hell for you, just beyond the veil, while we weep joy breaks through of resilience, audacity, of life.. as most lives go, pendulums swing as the world grows darker by the day the bitter and the sweet you will wonder where time’s gone, to embrace moments of joy, how odd it feels like a whisper summer fades fall leaves, gone with the wind
A ReVerse poem (a practice I started many years ago) is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time.
how odd it feels this dark drear night as sheets of rain and milky fog obscure my sight while puddles swell earth waterlogged from outer bands that sweep the sky a monster with a single eye, a tempest wielding misery over a thousand miles, its bitter tears from too warm seas brings half a nation to its knees odd, i think, to taste the rain that's caused such pain to neighbors i will never meet terribly connected, we, and yet so far, so very far away
A reading of last night’s poem. Thank you, Peter, for always coaxing me out of my comfort zone. Peace, healing and restoration to all who have tasted Hurricane Ian’s fury…❤️
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