Writing

without warning she STRIKES;
mother nature’s daughter, a force of reckoning.
ALL LIFE, animate and inanimate,
ARE AT HER MERCY.
HER BROTHER, the WIND, her partner in crime,
FORCES the Earth to bow
in their majestic presence.
NO ONE CAN ESCAPE her far reaching arms.
And when enraged, beware her ROAR
for it strikes fear even in the hearts of stones.
But with her power,
a seemingly blatant disregard for those on her path,
comes the promise of a fresh beginning,
a stillness born out of tumult,
And somedays,
She is as gentle as her name,
Rain. (circa 1988/89)

I remember writing that poem during a beautiful rainstorm. My mom was in the kitchen and I was at the age where I was “watching” her cook so that I could learn to do it for myself. But all I wanted to do was capture in words the magnificent power of Mother Nature. I remember being so excited to put it down on paper.


Sometimes I write to process an emotion:

ANGER

Darkness descends quickly
Day is usurped by night
The lines between love and hate
are made obscure in a fog of angry fury.
A heat, more scalding than fire and hot coals
invades my being, making insight inconceivable.
Like a red-eyed bull I explode:
A raging juggernaut at full speed
obliterating the innocent lambs in my path.
Awakening from my drunked hatredness,
I face the aftermath of my massive destruction.
Words cannot describe my undeniable remorse.
Wallowing in shame I place my head between my hands.
“Sorry” just isn’t enough. (circa 1992/93)

Other times, it’s a general reflection on an idea:


LIFE

Dark and murky
As the reflections of a shadow.
Taken for granted
As the features of a penny.
A kaleidoscope of unpredictable emotions.
A journey to find the meaning of self. (Feb. 2, 1995)


I wrote the following piece while processing an emotional attachment of the Boy Meets Girl and Girl ends up Obsessing over Boy variety. At the time I wrote it, I was on the road to self recovery:


On the road of life I went walking and spied you up ahead.
Easily I caught up and matched you step for step.
We walked in this fashion for about a mile.
Life happened.
It was what it was.
One day, you picked up the pace and broke into a jog.
Not giving it a second thought, I followed suite.
(Not giving it a second thought, I left my self behind)
(Not giving it a second thought, two had now left one)
Then you began to run.
I struggled to catch up and laughed at the irony:
There was a time I’d say in jest,
‘I’d never run unless I was being chased.’
(Ah, irony)
I caught up several times, but you seemed to pick up speed.
Finally I stopped.
You continued north.
I headed east.
On the road of life I went walking, the trees and sky my companions.
After about a mile, I spied a familiar face.
The one that two had left behind caught up.
But one was not the same as one once was.
With unconditional love, one smiled at me with open arms.
I hugged her tightly, tears blurring my vision.
I cried for her, I cried for me.
On the road of life went walking the naïve and the seasoned.
Talking the best of both personas, two became whole.
On the road of life I went walking and one day I smiled.
Everything happens the way it should.
All things work together for good. (2007?)

I wrote that piece because it felt “right.” It was the “right” thing to do at that time.

I find that I write when inspired. It seems to come from an irrepressible need to translate feelings into words. Sometimes I write in an attempt to gain clarity, to heal, to encourage or in some cases to celebrate.

These days, I find I write poems less and less. But although the form has changed, the need to put feelings into words still resonates deeply within.