No life is wasted if it can move a heart.
No heart is hardened if it can touch a soul.
No soul is lost if it can still reach out,
grab hold, hang on to life,
and move a heart, and touch a soul
and roll around the circle
just one more revolution.
#232
With anticipation of magic,
imagery, and thought provoking
plot twists and double entendres.
Hopefully, with a wistful longing
for some word or phrase
that will speak to your heart and set you free.
With acceptance of the consequences
for what the words kindle within
as the poet bravely holds the mirror to your soul.
#88
My heart is like a china trinket
that’s probably seen better days.
Covered by a brave patina
where hairline cracks cross and craze.
Where hairline cracks cross and craze
like a roadmap to despair
like a web without a spider
that time does little to repair.
That time does little to repair
for time is blithely unconcerned
that my china heart grows fragile
with every lesson it must learn
With every lesson it must learn
to weave more silk across the chinks
that living has incurred because.
my heart is like a china trinket
#328
Tu ma sauvé encore une fois
Cœur de mon cœur
Mémoires du passé dans vos chansons.
Le fil fragile, incassable.
La musique.
#305
(English translation: “You saved me again, heart of my heart, memories of my past in your songs, the fragile thread unbreakable, music.”)
When our logic failed
reason gave me no answers.
Hearts filled in the blanks.
=
Like rainbows flashing
we ensnared the headlong lies
from nature’s alcove.
#286
The second haiku is an anagram of the first haiku
After all these years I still delight in your laughter,
still live in your eyes, as you live in mine.
After all these years, going forward to forever
is the same as going backwards, or just standing side by side.
After all these years, how did life get sweeter
when we were so certain it was perfect at the start?
After all these years our souls have grown together
two trees that twine their branches, impossible to part.
After all these years, it seems like a hundred,
and it seems like a second, all at the same time.
After all these years, one more is just a number,
cause we count our lives in other ways, after all these years.
#269
Happy Birthday to my darling partner.
What are you searching for?
I may touch upon
a chord that sings for you
but still…
the notes will eventually fade
and you will be on your own again
to search or to create a poem
of your own.
Take heart and write,
write your heart and perhaps
you will touch upon a chord that sings for others.
But if critique is your only way to interpret,
this is not the poem you’re looking for.
Move along.
#258
Oh to write a poem or song
and own a few words for a while,
to make them mirrors for your heart and then
to throw them all in to a little Crown Royal bag
like scrabble tiles,
shake them around, listen to them rattle,
then pour them out and start again.
Life the puzzle
Poems and lyrics the clues.
#221
I
Wild roses still bloom
even when I close my eyes.
Petals do not wait.
II
I still hear my heart
even when I plug my ears.
I sense the beating.
III
Past breezes still play
through forgotten memories
waiting to be felt.
#187
I think I need an exhaust vent on my aura,
just to bleed off the built up pressure
between my skin and my ethereal veil.
An overflow valve on my brain would be handy too,
much of the contents float off anyway so I may as well
channel it off on a regular basis and avoid messy spills.
And a governor on my heart to
make the beat a little less erratic.
A neat little syncopation might be nice.
I may need a dehumidifier on my tear ducts,
a regulator on my sleep patterns, and
an auto correct on my eating habits but mostly
I think I need an exhaust vent on my aura.
#174
My CD "New Traditions" is available for listening or digital download
My CD "Breathe" is available to listen to or for digital download
Linda Studley is a writer, songwriter, independent recording artist, and sometime graphic artist living in Northern BC, Canada
Linda Studley 