Category: A New Poem Every Morning

People Are

lindastudleyLeave a comment

People are like rhubarb pies;
Fragile, flaky, and sweet
Or tough, hard, and acidic.
It all depends on how gently they’ve been handled,
On how much sugar has been sprinkled on their lives,
On how much heat they’ve had to endure.

Lovers are like shortbread cookies;
Tender, melting, and seductive
Or hard, demanding and crumby.
It all depends on the quality of the basic ingredients,
On how much they’ve been manipulated,
On how long they’ve sat around waiting for you.

Okay, I said I’d write a poem a day for a year. I never made any promises about their literary quality. And apparently there’s just been way too many sweets around the house over the Christmas season… sigh.

 

#6

The Liberation Begins

lindastudleyLeave a comment

This may be the last year
we have a tree for Christmas.
It’s not like when the children were young
and stood on chairs to reach the top with tinsel.

So many things become meaningless
when disassociated from their past.
Second hand stores are crammed with
Mother’s teapots (chipped lid)
Father’s hand tools (dull blades worn thin)
Grandma’s hand crocheted doilies (small tea stain on the edge)
all abandoned by survivors who wonder
“Why were they keeping these things?”

I don’t want to be so busy curating the story of my past
that I have no time to create my future.

I want to let  go.

I rarely pick wildflowers anymore.
A fleeting memory of them blooming where they grow
infinitely more satisfying than a the longer,
sadder memory of them slowly dying in a vase.

Let the liberation begin.

 

#5

Where Did She Go?

lindastudley1 Comment

I know why the snake sheds her skin.
Self-reinvention being a hobby of mine, I envy
her ability to slide out of her personal slip cover,
her new skin gleaming and fresh,
A personal do-over.
 
I know why the caterpillar cocoons.
I, who often dream of flying, sometimes curl
up in my duvet and wonder how long
I’d have to sleep before
the wings grew.
 
And in that sleep I’d dream the answer
to every question, the key for every lock,
the solution to every problem.
I’d rise into the air, free from pain, doubt, and fear.
 
I know why the chameleon blends.
How many times have I wished my skin
would take on the pattern of the couch covers?
“She was here a minute ago” they’d say
“Where did she go?”

 

#4

A Morning a Hundred and Twenty Four Years Ago

lindastudley1 Comment

My grandmother was born a hundred and twenty four years ago yesterday to a world where the light bulb was still a new invention.
A child of the industrial revolution, she unwittingly rode a wave of technology all her life.

From a horse drawn world where steam engines
puffed and clanked, revolutionizing industry and transportation, 
to the slow motion moon walk on our black and white TV.
Technology walked along side of her.
She never learned to drive.

She was born the same year barbed wire was invented.
She was born before the gramophone, zippers, and the internal combustion diesel engine.

She was born before teabags, the theory of relativity, and airplanes.
Before cornflakes, cellophane, sonar, automobiles, tanks, Lifesavers, crossword puzzles, radio, stainless steel, fortune cookies and pop up toasters.

She was born before bubble gum and penicillin, before canned beer and the Colt revolver, before ball point pens and computers, before Silly putty, the Slinky, and the atomic bomb.

She was born before jukeboxes, drive in theatres, and the pill; before Superglue, Teflon, and credit cards.

She died around the same time Ethernet, Bic lighters, and gene splicing were invented.
And I wonder if any single life will ever span such an era of change again?

Happy birthday Nanny.

 

#3

The Light that Holds the Night at Bay

lindastudley6 Comments

And when I flip this switch the night outside will be gone
and all the windows will gleam with our reflections.
Reflections of you and me and the couch and chair
Reflections of the inner world we create and inhabit.

Like a wall of mirrors, the dark reflections on windows and
patio doors infer that what transpires without  
is not as important as what transpires within
I close my eyes and wonder

if the inside of my lids are like the mirror windows.
If I could turn on a light in my head
would everything outside of it disappear?
Would my mind be inundated with dark reflections

Of you and me and thoughts and dreams
As though the perceptions and memories of love
Were more important than the fact
I open my eyes in wonder and see as I’ve never seen before. 

Hold me.

 

#2

Every Morning

lindastudley1 Comment

Every morning he brings me tea
His morning ritual merging into mine.
He smiles and places the genesis of my day
on the cluttered table beside me
where it steams in a special mug – how many have there been?

The white bone china with the golden ring around the top,
The violet sprinkled, footed mug,
The greedy cup…
All eventually fallen from grace or a clumsy hand. 

For now it is a handmade, sea green mug, deep and dark
With a small chip that I overlook
Because I love it.
Like the chips he overlooks in me because he loves me.

And the tea, the tea
Hot water, teabag, sugar, milk
So simple yet somehow I cannot reproduce the exact same flavour
Life goes on through thousands of mornings
and only my tea remains the same.
He drinks coffee.

 

#1