The Garden Green

lindastudley4 Comments

The garden of my dreams is green on green,
every step alive with sighing shadow.
Each twig and leaf a real and sentient soul
whispering peace with every snap and bruise,
forgiveness in each drop of sap it bleeds
to heal my heart and send me out renewed.

Pondering the cost of my renewal
I wonder how I could have been so green
to worry those old wounds until they bled.
Mem’ries pool upon the floor like shadows
that in the morning light will leave a bruise,
a dark patch on the floor boards of my soul.

It must be such a tender thing,  this soul,
to be in constant need of renewal,
easy to hurt and all too quick to bruise,
to bloom in shades of yellow, mauve, and green
not unlike the garden, deeply shadowed,
the only place I can staunch the bleeding.

It’s dawn now in the garden, daylight bleeds
through leaf and bough and lands upon my soul
spreading warmth and dazzling the shadows.
I rise to face the world again, renewed.
and watch the rising sun lick the trees green,
purple night recedes like fading bruises

The coffee sings and hiccoughs as it brews,
dribbling stains like rings of ochre blood
across a tablecloth of white and green
sprinkled with daisies that some lonely soul
stitched upon it long ago renewing
faith that simple things can banish shadows.

I close my eyes and I see the shadows,
the green on green where every blooming bruise
becomes a flower in a world renewed,
where strength to carry on runs in the blood,
where one can always save a wounded soul
within the sacred garden, green on green.

There is no shadow so dark or bleeding,
so damaged, so bruised, that the tired soul
can’t find renewal in the garden green.

 

#338

Okay, I’m throwing it out there – who knows what form this poem is written in? The first one to answer correctly gets a copy of the book.

 

Considering the Possibilities – (not a poem)

lindastudley3 Comments

As the fulfillment of the self imposed quota of poems looms closer, I consider the possibilities. 366 poems. Obviously not all of them are/or will be worthy of publishing – some were just me, grasping at something that rhymed with straw, but all of them helped me to reach the original objective. To write without filters, to ignore the inner critic.
I believe that this year of verse will be a personal acheivement that I will use to propel myself into more and different artistic challenges. It is not simply an achievement because of the 366 poems it spawned, but because I actually managed to summon up the dicipline to write and post something every day for 366 days running. Aside from the usual inescapables (like eating and sleeping) I can’t really think of anything I’ve done every single day in the last year. If I can do this then I can attempt other goals too, and I can reach them. And the reason I posted this and all the poems to my writing blog was because I wanted company when I reached the goal – I wanted other people to say “Hey, I can do that too!” as they set their own personal goals. I still have 29 days to go and I can’t tell you how much your kind words and comments have meant to me along the way. They were often the drop of water in the desert that kept me going.
So – possibilities – I want to publish the book and somehow I will make that happen. It will most likely not contain all of the 366 poems. Rather, it will be a ‘best of’ book. But the poems will live on here at the blog. I may also select about 10 of the poems that seem to lend themselves to being songs, and arrange and record them (I could put the CD into the book!).
I have toyed with the idea of doing a year of  ‘a poem a week’ accompanied by artwork. That, perhaps, will get me back to the drawing board – literally! 
But whatever I do and whichever artistic turn I take – thank you for joining me on the journey. This journey may be coming to a close but I guarantee there’ll be more!
Stay tuned for the final 29.

Linda

“The Poet not Quite at the Bottom of the Well Anymore”

We Are the Ones

lindastudley4 Comments

We are the ones who take the chance
Who sing the song, who step the dance
Who dare to try, who lose control
and don’t care who might see our soul,
the ones the world’s sweet song enchants.

And in our search for  true romance
We take a stand, a lover’s stance
Against indifference, hard and cold.
We are the ones.

Come sing the song, come step the dance
Give up your heart and take the chance
And open up your eyes, behold
as possibilities unfold.
take back your dreams from circumstance.
We are the ones.

 

#337

Not a rondel, but a rondeau – inspired by a comment from Tony!

The Cold War

lindastudley1 Comment

Some enterprising cold germs occupied my throat today
in an over night incursion  –  in a stealthy, sneak attack .
While I slept they planted flag poles, declaring their intention
to conquer and to colonize my respiratory tract.

I can feel them making forays as they do a reconnoiter
gathering the intel that they need to make a play
to revoke my immunity, to throw down my defences.
I need a secret weapon to throw into the fray.

So I douse them down with grape juice laced with Echinacea.
I rest and I drink fluids and eat vitamin C pills.
I’ll not further the imperialist agenda of these cold germs
by going out and coughing  and making others ill.

I’ll fight this battle on the home front and I will give no quarter,
as the advancing forces offer no quarter to me.
As soon as I’m victorious I resume my place among you
but til then, wish me luck, I’ve put myself in quarantine.

 

#336

Fine Lines

lindastudley2 Comments

Fine lines can be strong,
as spider webs are to flies,
as dreams are to us.

As dreams are to us
so are flies to the spider
spinning his fine lines.

Spinning his fine lines,
sometimes fate leaves a back door
unlocked, unguarded.

Unlocked, unguarded,
we want to slip the leash but
fine lines can be strong.

 

#335

The Load

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Dig deep, dig deep.
Memories keep
every beat
of your heart in a velvet vault.

Eyes wide, eyes wide.
See what’s inside,
between the lines
that are written all over the wall.

Pull back, pull back,
memories lack
every day’s knack
of adding bends in the road.

Hold on, hold on,
bend and be strong.
When is it wrong
to refuse to carry the load?

 

#334

Time for Tea

lindastudley5 Comments

The kettle grumbles
before it shrills its warning
That it’s time for tea.

Cups clink together,
Chivying for position
Oh, it’s time for tea.

Teapot steeps and dreams
a quiet, gentle brewing
Yes, it’s time for tea.

Teapot tips and pours,
turns clinking into clunking.
Soon it will be tea.

Spoon giggles, chases
milk and sugar round the cup.
Now, it’s tea. Yes now.

 

#333

Too Early

lindastudley1 Comment

The Thanksgiving turkeys are gobbled and gone.
The pumpkins have all disappeared.
The poppies have all slipped from jacket lapels
as we come to the close of the year.

With each passing occasion the early birds squirm
like the worms they are destined to eat
“now?”, not yet, “now?” not yet, “now?” they whine
Oh, alright – but just don’t blame me

When your house is the only one lit up at night
and stands out like a thumb
that is sore from counting out money to burn
on décor that’s thought tacky by some. 

Well you might win a cash prize for the flickering lights
but I’m willing to wager a bet
that the cost of your monthly electrical bill
those winning will never offset.

And now that the end of November is lurking
like shoppers who wait for a sale,
more LED lights come on down the block
on an even more grander scale.

Don’t get me wrong – I love Christmas and all
but the preamble’s just way too long
The only thing I do this early for Christmas
is practice my Christmas songs.

#332

A Toast to Toast

lindastudley1 Comment

A toast to toast
it makes the most
of bread that’s slightly dry.
Spread margarine
or maybe pean-
ut butter and then try
not to drop
crumbs down your top
they itch so all day long,
they shift in your shift
and slip in your slip
down where they don’t belong.
Though muffins are sweet
toast can’t be beat
for a place to put your jam
Or for homemade
orange marmalade
or scrambled eggs and ham.
And bagels are fine
if you don’t mind
a hole where the jelly gets caught
and then falls through
and drips on you
and leaves a sticky spot.
So toast the toast,
heart of the most
important meal of the day
and sweep off crumbs
and lick off thumbs
and go upon your way.

#331

The Dark Before the Dawn

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In the dark before the dawn
when all things merge to black and grey
I wonder what would happen if
one morning they just stayed that way.

If the light lost all its power
to refract the spectrum’s hues
and everything stayed black and white
no reds or yellows, greens or blues.

Like I thought the world once was
before colour photography
when I was small and leafing through
old photos of my family

In rickety photo albums filled
with relatives, all long gone.
Grey smiles, grey clothes, grey sunsets
that turn to dark before the dawn,

where all things merge to black and grey
before the lights turn on.

#330