Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Archive for the tag “life”

One

I live in a bubble, life
playing out around me in comforting
rhythms, familiar if not predictable.
Passive spectator except on those
rare occasions when the bubble pops
and the world stands forth, stark and clean.

Colours sing that three dimensions,
five senses,
one lifetime,
are not enough
to experience a world so real
and I know that if I could just stay
outside the bubble I could hold time
in the palm of my hand, vanquish
the dragons of pain, fear, and longing, see
inside hearts, and speak without words.

Then a random, mundane thought intrudes
and the bubble sneaks up around me again, clouds
the freshness, lulls my senses.
But just before the bubble closes I wonder
‘is this what becoming one with the universe means?
Was I there and I blew it again?
Will I ever find my way back?’.

I feel in my bones this world
I’ve glimpsed is a stepping stone
to eternity and if I could just stay
long enough to find my way
I would sprout new senses, fly
into a new dimension, the next lifetime.
The dragons growl.
The bubble closes.

Retrospect

Sometimes,
as the old name ghosts
through the new label.

Sometimes,
as I empty the folders,
shred the contents.

Sometimes,
as I delete them
from database and list.

Sometimes,
the mortality is deafening

My Mother’s Garden

Sometimes, in dreams, I wander
half remembered woods.
Sunlight casts flickering shadows of light
over the forest floor.

I am searching for the flowers;
the wild flowers and the tame flowers.
Flowers from every garden she ever grew,
blooming together in unlikely harmony.
I stoop, I pick, I fill my arms with the fat, fragrant blossoms.

Especially the blue ones.
She loved the blue ones.
I am picking this bouquet for her.
My life is a procession of flowers and memories.
A patchwork of the things she taught me
as we worked in her garden
Weeding, culling, training the vines
in the way they should go.
Training me
in the way I should go.

And I know she’s gone
but still I wander half forgotten woods,
content in the cognitive dissonance of dreams
that one day I’ll hand her that bouquet and
she’ll smile and say
“Well done.”

Pockmarks and Shadows

As I make my morning mile
I ponder the pebbles
strewn across the dirt road, they stand
unusually tall in the early morning sunlight.
Long shadow fingers point across the road,
like the tails of active blood drops
indicating the direction of travel.
And the sun travels,
peering into pockmarks from pebbles
leaping from tire and sole and hoof.
And perhaps we are all just pebbles,
whether standing tall or running away,
our legacies as enduring as pockmarks
and shadows on the sand.

 

#234

 

Just One More Revolution

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

 

The Garden Revisited

Dream you are in a garden.
Close your eyes and feel the sun tickle sweat from the back of your neck.
Open your mouth and gather the raindrops into your body.
Dig your toes into the soft soil and breathe in its sweetness.
Hear the thrumming of life sing to the beat of your heart.
Dream you are a garden.

#225

A Prayer and a Plan

I will take this day
just as it has come to me
and make it my own.

I will see the world
through eyes bereft of judgement
and life will be good.

And when the day ends
I will smile and say ‘goodnight’
and I will mean it.

#119

I Am Like a Restrung Guitar

Unwound, unwound, unwound
with lowering  moans and sighs the old dead strings
give up their place. A release
of tension. Freed from peg and anchor
they lie, silent on the floor.

New strings spring from enveloped coils;
leap out, eager to take their place,
to discover their voices.
Wound, wound, wound
with hopeful ascending trills
and the music is renewed
and renews.

It takes time and patience,
constantly re-tuning to reach the right notes,
but new strings are willing to stretch,
willing to take the tension
just so they can sing.

I am that guitar.
I have new strings.
Sing with me.

#55

Hooray

The sun is shining,
trees are applauding the wind,
life loves an encore.

#48

Perils of the Overachiever

Never go first down the garden path
life’s a journey, it isn’t a race,
and the person who’s first is always the one
who gets cobwebs in her face.

#47

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