Soul Poetry

THE NIGHT BIRD'S SONG

 

The night bird

Not often heard

Sings her sweetest song

Just before the glorious dawn

That song resonates

While the Universe anticipates and lingers in the air

It says, I care, your pain I will share

As her last sweet notes drift away, there dawns the day

Her concert done, she greets the sun and flies away

Announces, the day has just begun

She returns at night in joyful flight to her concert hall

Little being so delicate and small

At the precise moment, her timing instinctive

Exquisite

The darkened forest listens quietly, waiting to hear it

What will she sing

The music---to escort the dawn, to gently bring

All nature holds its breath, waits to resonate with her

The ocean's roar

A kitten's purr

Stars close their eyes and wink their last

Tonight is past

The moon resigns and folds her silvery wings

Takes the mysterious journey to the other side of the world

The symphony of the soul

is the one

Which only the heart

Can see.

 

JUST WHAT TO DO

 

The flowers know just when to fold their petals

into sleep

The ocean knows just when to roll from depths unknown

With power mysterious and deep

Foliage knows when to shake off their "clothes"

Waiting for the Autumn wind which blows

Trees left bare

Do not have a care

Waiting for the Spring all dressed in translucent green

Showing off their freshening sheen

The weeping willow sweeps on in

Birds alight on its branches

A rest on fragrant pillow, trailing tendrils in the stream

Beautiful, extravagant

Show, as if in a dream

If a weed can push through concrete

What have we to fear

The challenges we meet

Bees Buzz

caterpillars fuzz

Swans glide

Chipmunks play hide and seek

Whenever a new life is born

Angels know just when to sing, their harps brushed with heavenly delicate wing

A celestial chord is touched and resonating

Heaven, at its best is celebrating

When a child is born, so is hope

Looking through life's telescope

At mysteries and stars and planets, far away

To try and get a glimpse

Who will God's precious child grow up to be someday

In Winter, rivers of ice just know when to break

But the ice around the heart carries an ache which only love can start

The iridescent hummingbird, rarely seen or heard

Finds the nectar and searches far

The heart goes where it will

Its mission to fulfill

Exquisite violins pleading, bleeding, weeping

Speak

Awakening a soul too long asleep

The wind knows just when to blow

We cannot see it come or go

The sun knows just when to shine

Illumined by the Great Divine

The moon knows just when to glow

Turning lights down soft and low

The music of the universe encompasses about

if we are quiet, we will hear it

There is no doubt

Little fawns on shaky feet

Their mothers teaching them

Whispering in a silky ear

I am right here, no fear

The desert awakens all so miraculously

We should all bloom, wake up and see

All nature knows just what to do

Would that we (as humans)

Know that too

 

THE WAKE

I sit alone at the wake

It comes and goes, the ache

I wear black on the inside

It appears as if I've never cried

I wonder who it is that died

There are no other mourners at the gathering

No eulogies or songs to sing

The casket contains and is closed to symbolize

Needs unmet

There are no flowers

The death of hope

Of saddest hours

This is a wake of solitude

A mourner's fugue

No pictures surrounding the dead

No one remembering

This is what she said

There are picture frames

Devoid of photos which should be there

Of a life where nothing was shared

Where the "murderer" never cared

The lights are low

The funeral director quietly asks

Are you ready to go

To take the journey

The burden to lie it down

Upon the hardened ground

All without a sound

The silent dark procession of the soul

The journey to be whole

From grief, relief

You must say goodbye, I know

You didn't want to "die"

Sign the guest book, take one last look

The funeral was over many years ago

The tears and pain, the anguish is something

You too well do know

The silent vigil you still keep

While wandering in your sleep

I must sit a little longer

And when I am ready I will go 

There is no one to stand with you at the grave

There was nothing that could be saved

Isn't it ironic that they call it

a wake

(awake)

 

Testimonials

  • ""Thank you for speaking the unspeakable.""
    Dr. Kim Anderson
    Psychologist