Head-on Collision

I enter the giant building
Aseptic walls, sterile scent
White robes, green scrubs
Beeps and hydraulic hisses

I enter your glass-door encasement
On your back, more still than night
Able only to move your eyes
Staring at the white ceiling

Harrowing sight before me
Your body stretched like a hammock
Metal halo encircles your skull
Held tightly with stainless steel screws

Our eyes meet, tears spill over
Trickle of pain flows down your cheeks
62 years now behind you
Uncertain terror of what lie ahead

Never again in this life will you know

Thrill of the hike
Glory of the golf swing
Wind of the ski slope
Frigid chills in your toes
Warm touch to your thigh

To hold a hand
To stroke a cat
To tie a shoe
To lift a child
To button a button
To zip a zipper

Flip the steak
Carve the roast
Pinch Mom on her bottom
Dance a Glen Miller swing
Click the camera

Foreign to the life that awaits you

Only dead weight beneath your shoulders

C-4 sever
One split-second
Cataclysmic aftermath


judithpiper
august 19, 2007
_____

In early July, 1983, Dad was in a head-on automobile collision. Life forever changed.
To read more context, click here: When Limbs Go Quiet

_____

From Whence Come I

Guide me once again,
dear muse

Deep into the wild
wherein lay my ancestry
abiding amongst the clover
upon the mystic Highlands

Where the goats do graze
and aye the zephyr's breeze
blazens my cheeks ablush

To step upon the grasslands
cradled with soft mosses
framed with black eyed suzies
and amber stalks of rye

Take me away as before
touch the golden silence
embrace the heart's own rhythm
befriending the seeds of life

Guide me once again,
dear love

12/18/11

Ledger's Balance

Time rushes through my life
like a river's untamed rapids
I embrace a rock for anchor
~but alas, I'm swept away...

Time trickles through my fingers
like water through a sieve
I clinch and try to grasp it
~with no affect upon the flow...

Time sits, patiently waiting
like a father for an absent son
I behold their yearned reunion
~and for a moment, glimpse eternity...

May our days spent by seconds
tip the ledger's balance
toward time that sits
~momentary glimpses of eternity...

february 12, 2oo8
judithpiper

***
~Nuff said...
***

Imprint

You call me...

tribal voice within
quieter than breath
awakening my essence

You coax me...

song i can't resist
luring me
with whistles on the wind

You envelop me...

beauty to behold
entwining melodies
embroidery within my soul

Is this the muse?
This tribal voice?
This heartfelt cry?
This whispering force?

With open face and open heart
I hear, I taste, I feel...
Vibrations of creation
No longer can lie still...

Humbly I acquiesce
Spirit's imprinted symphony...
Rhythmic ancestral echo
Tunes every cell in harmony...

Beckoning I surrender
With honor and a dance...
My heart glides in joyful unison
The triumphant shout of "YES!"

april, 2007
judithpiper
___

In my true believer days, the word "muse" was a dirty word...one that opened the mind to devil spirit possession. We were not to follow our hearts because the heart was deceptive above all else and exceedingly corrupt. Intuition was stunted, creativity stifled.

It may seem a small thing to some people, but for me to utilize the word "muse" was a big step toward freedom. Freedom...what an elusive thing...so many definitions, so many interpretations.
___

~ random thoughts in october ~

I am not quiet inside
There are hints of fear
Emotional bits letting me know

I am not in control

I know the feeling will pass
The hints will quiet
The bits will dissolve

I know the sun will rise

There are boils on my left thumb
They extend down my left wrist
They too will dissolve

Countless memories of hives

I dreamt last night
Of the big house with rooms not used
Of water leaks and mountain views

I dreamt of the auditorium

Five pianos and an organ
Furniture old and dusty
Crowded into every corner

We never did tour the bathrooms

My body ages and carries more weight
Exercise is no longer my lifestyle
Dramatic changes are on the horizon

Sometimes I miss Facebook

carol welch
october 31, 2010

Progeny

Inspired by Ron and Diane ~ originators of 10,000 Miles 10,000 Dreams.
~*~*~

Sweaty. Sticky.
Salty beads roll down my torso
Trekking poles aid my sinews
Sinews aged, one-half century

Ascent. Rocks.
I peer ahead
Daughter of my youth has stopped
Stopped to converse with two passers-by

Trudge. Halt.
I stand beside my offspring
Introduced to the travelers
Travelers of 10,000 miles, gathering 10,000 dreams

Unload. Chat.
The four of us
Loosen straps, unclick clips
Clips that hold the packs, packs upon our backs

Serendipity. Resonance.
Sharing details of our lives
Each keenly aware of significance
Significance of this wilderness crossing

Dreams. Boldness.
"What is your life's dream?"
"If you were 10 times bolder,
how would you change the world?"

Corridors. Doubt.
My mind freezes
Searching its corridors, unsure
Unsure of my life's dream

Video. Sound.
Of the 10,000, I am 241
Daughter is number 242
Number 242 recorded on the digital screen

Humbleness. Pride.
I listen as Number 242 responds
And it dawns upon me
It dawns upon me that I behold

Before my eyes and with my ears
My life's dream fulfilled
One of my own 10,000 dreams
One of my own 10,000 tears

10,000 tears of gratitude

august 19, 2010
carolwelch/judithpiper
~*~*~

My 22-year old daughter and I took a couple-night backpacking trip in August 2010 along the Appalachian Trail in New York.

Our route began around 7:00 pm from just south of Perkins Tower which is located on the top of Bear Mountain. We pitched tent after about a mile on an open area with some rocks overlooking an awesome view of low mountains in the distance and a Hudson River tributary, the light diffusion from NYC visible all through the dark hours.

The next day we proceeded North, trekking through Bear Mountain Trailside Museum, which is a zoo featuring local animals. Yes, the AT goes right through the zoo, white blazes and all.

Upon exiting the zoo, the AT then leads the hiker across the Hudson River on the sidewalk of the Bear Mountain Bridge, traffic whirring by under the bridge cables and towers. Eventually, the AT exits 'civilization' and re-enters the woods. I think that wooded area is known as the Hudson Highlands.

By the end of the day, we had hiked some eight to nine miles and pitched tent at the soccer field of the Graymoor Monastery. An awesome place which provides a cold shower and running water. Two luxuries for a backpacker. We camped that night with another backpacker, a section hiker who is a New Jersey State Trooper. I joked to my daughter that we were well protected - a state trooper on one side and a statue of Jesus on the other. Ha!

The next day, we headed back to Perkins Tower. It was due to an incident on the return trek that the poem originated.

Along the trail we met two beautiful people, as most AT backpackers are. I do really mean that; I love backpackers and hikers.

These awesome folks are Ron and Diane. They are hiking 2100 miles and then biking 7900 miles. Along the way they are collecting 10,000 dreams, one for each mile, via video recording which they then blog.

This collection will be combined into an art project to inspire people, folks of everyday life, to have hope and to reach for their dreams. What an awesome project!! Here is their website, Journey of Dreams.

When Diane asked me the question, "What is your life's dream?" my mind became paralyzed. Paralyzed because of a recent personal relationship conflict that had affected me at my core self and had left me in much internal distress and self-doubt. Just that morning I had journaled asking myself, "What do I do now? What is my focus?"

Anyhoo, I came up with one of my dreams to share for their project. They recorded my dream. I am the 241st dreamer and my daughter is Number 242.

I stumbled with my answer as the camcorder looked at me.

Then it was my daughter's turn.

And as she spoke, I realized....

that my children are my greatest dream fulfilled. They are awesome people, in spite of my (and my wonderful husband's) parenting blunders. I treasure the decades we have been blessed to grow together. And now, my young adult children are my friends, at least as much as one can be *friends* with their kids.

What greater fulfillment could I ask?

Brings to mind a song from my Way days: "Sometimes I forget that I've been given, my life's dream..."

[An added funny. Ron and Diane live in Asheville, just a few hours from me. Ha. Life and serendipity.]

~Thanks to Ron and Diane for the inspiration~

****
Sarah appears at minute 5:26 on Ron and Diane's Journey of Dreams Webisode 6: NJ/NY.....

Lessons from Darkness

Winter
cold, windy, dark

Faint reflections of obscure light
struggle to reach the floor
through the forest trees.

Apparel
silk, wool, down

Each weathered traveler
layered with coverings
for protection from the elements.

Insulation
boots, gloves, hood

Each expiration my breath echoes
as I peer beyond my quilted cowl,
relieved by the sight of human forms.

Sheathed with weather proofing
hiding from the crystal-laden steel air,
our contours appear similar.

At least we have these openings
through which to look around,
assuring ourselves that we are not alone.
Survival

A clearing in the timbers.
To the east?
The same landscape.
To the west?
A denser, darker patch.

Some go east.
Others go west.

I need a change,
I choose west.
Besides, I've heard it's always darker
right before the dawn.

We enter the haunted thicket
frostbite in the air,
darkness swallows us.
Our bodies gather closer,
it feels safer that way.
Necessity

Huddling we trudge.
The temperature amongst us rises,
some remove their hoods.
It's nice to see a human face again,
to hear another voice in place
of my echoed breath.

The warmth gives rise to hope.
Survival with grace

We struggle through the thick darkness,
no longer obscure human figures.
Forced to travel more closely,
it is clear our forms are uniquely shaped.
Each contour has its place along our sunless path.
Necessity with grace

Landscape changes,
darkness slowly fades to light,
images become lucid.

Sunlight
limpid, warm, inviting

Sun shines clearly
streaming lightly to the floor
though the scattered trees.
Grace

Layer by layer
we discard our protective garments.
Our outlines now in full array,
beauty to our eyes
deep appreciation
each mortal significant, distinct.

Survival, necessity, grace
Life, significance, purpose

Darkness to light
Unveiled

may 3, 2007
judithpiper

***
Perhaps I'll add the context later.

I think I tire of adding contexts.  Ha!

Be Gentle with the Tide

At ease among the young ones
Their eyes display no pretense
Therein I find a rest
In their honesty of heart

Why do grown-ups find it hard
To say the words I'm sorry
Why is it viewed as weak
Why does it offend

Words have finite limits
Mere reflections of the deep
Ocean's depth is fathomless
The origin of our soul

Please be gentle
I promise you the same
If ever my tide is rough
I pray you, let me know

Before you set your sail


april 29, 2oo8
judithpiper

***

It is obvious I am neglectful of this blog. I do want to update it, along with my neglected archive over at Poetry Pages (PPs). And the thousand other things I want to do. I hope there is an eternity. I don't think I'd ever get bored!

My last entry in my Poetry Pages archive is dated March, 2009. I have written some poems since then but haven't recorded them into my archive.

So today, April 24, 2010, I decided to peek back (via my PPs archive) into the month of April, 2008, to see what I had written then. I picked "Be Gentle with the Tide," obviously.

I enjoy young children, hanging out with toddlers. I like them; they like me. We giggle. We sing. We converse. We play. We get along so very well.

Their eyes, their eyes. So very deep, so very tender, so very innocent.

There is nothing to prove between us, other than to simply be.

And when we hurt the feelings of the other, we say, "I'm sorry."

I wish it were the same more often in the world of big people.

Sometimes the eyes convey more than the words.

Eyes. Depth. A peek into the ocean of soul where the tide ebbs and flows. From where life begins and ends. The tide.

***

Paradox

Upon my porch I sit
Wrapped in the morning melody
Birds, breezes, cicadas
Singing in perfect harmony

Weeping willow in full array
Swaying with the tune
Sunbeams dance upon her
Tiny lights, a multitude

Yet the oak leaves are not shimmering
Nor the elms, nor the figs
Only the weeping willow
Displays one thousand glitterings

Tears perhaps, is she crying?
Yet her display is not of gloom
Rather tiny sparkles glistening
Tears of God renewed

Splendor of hope
Upon the weeping willow

judithpiper
july 4, 2007

***

Not much need for explanation. The prose simply describes that July morning that I wrote the poem as I sat upon my back porch. The weeping willow was the only tree that glittered in the sunlight, the leaves still damp from a gentle rain or dew. A breeze lightly danced the leaves, and thus the shimmerings.

Tears are our friends.

In the wee hours of today, February 25, 2010, this poem comes to mind as I listen to a Leonard Cohen song, "Hallelujah," sung by K.D. Lang. {Thank you Chris.}

Perhaps the song brought this poem to mind because love (and life) can be such a paradox.

Am

Sitting upon cushioned chair
Tapping on the keyboard
Pausing to think, take a breath
Slurping on a smoothie

Leaning back on two wooden legs
Smiling, words drifting through
Rubbing hands so as to warm
Sighing, stretching, yawning

Almost time for bed
But first a toasted
English muffin with
Blueberry spread

Dollop!

02/13/10

***
Just sittin' here noticing myself.  What my body is doing.  It makes me smile.  I like simple - like muffins with blueberry spread after slurping my blueberry smoothie.

Unfinished

Oil can in aged hand
The Tender slicks the gears
"They rust when they have sat awhile
Moistened by only tears."

"I'll get them working one at a time
Squeak and turn until they're smooth
Time, patience, no rush at all
They'll almost be like new."

We sit and watch his nimble hands
Abe and Nanna at my side
His confidence always near
His quiet way soothes our minds

february 25, 2009
me
***
 It remains unfinished.

But, The Tender has his own blog.  (*wink*)

Maybe someday....

I wish the world were kind
but it's not

I wish that money grew on trees
but it doesn't

I wish I could smell colors
but I can't

I wish I had gills to breath underwater
but I don't

I wish I were thinner
but I'm not

I wish humans treated one another better
but they don't

I'm still hoping though
and always will

november 6, 2009
me

***************************
Just thinking about stuff.

Wow.  If all mankind could see all the thoughts of one day of all people....well, I just don't know about that....

Now and Then

What is it that you seek
Peering past, o'er your shoulder
If only you had rear eyes
Your neck would get some rest

Why not stop?

About face, look forward
Vista wide
Neck relaxes

Until you strain to hard

Failures, losses
Successes, gains
Some past, others future
 
This moment
The only guarantee

Time in a bottle
Moments in pictures
Dreams await in visions
 
This moment
A time to sew

january 29, 2009
judithpiper

********************************
For months I've had on my list to update my poetry archive at PoetryPages; it was last updated in March, 2009.  Today, I found the above poem in my poetry journal, the one I scribble in...words and phrases.  Though it had been written in January, I never did post it on my archive.

I asked myself, "What was the context of this poem?"  I had written it to enter a poetry challenge, which I never entered. The challenge stated certain words that needed to be in the poem.

My mom died two days after this poem was written.  Interesting timing.

I could swear I've posted this one somewhere, but perhaps not.

Untitled & Faction

Untitled
~by mightfall

breathe into me

let your soul seep inside a moment

and we'll be together,

somehow.

gather yourself in the rain

and i'll love you there,

outside in the cold velvet night

where only our arms are warm,

where we need us

and us alone.

i want to be trapped in darkness

with only your eyes the light

and our hunger the only air to breathe.

the rain wouldn't stop

i guess it never will

until our fervent touch

drives away obscuring clouds

breathe into me

we have life, laughter, love,

just breathe

****

This untitled piece is not written by me or for me; but hey, what woman wouldn't love this? Perhaps one reason it touches me deeply is due to it's reference to 'breath.'  Breath, which gives life.

When the author, 'mightfall,' requested comment on it, I simply stated words that came to mind, that which I felt.  ~ melding of souls  ~ distance is no factor ~ bond is deeper than any distance can divide ~ same rain falls upon both, yet...together...depths are unfathomable ~ two as one ~ same breath ~ no hunger ~

I first met 'mightfall' (the author's screen name) in December, 2007, on PoetryPages.com.  'Mightfall' has been another instrumental person in helping me sort through my time with and after The Way. We chat online regularly, have spoken on the phone, and visited via webcam.  He loves  his wife, his dogs, his homeland, fast cars, the beauty of life, and more.

Shortly after we met via cyber waves, 'mightfall'  learned that I'd been involved in an abusive religious group.  He had no idea regarding my involvement with GreaseSpotCafe.com  (GSC), the anti-Way online forum,  and the unpleasant manipulative experiences I'd had at GSC. He'd never even heard of GSC.  With the knowledge of my involvement in an abusive religious group; yet without the knowledge of my involvement with GreaseSpotCafe, he penned a quick prose for me entitled...

***

Faction

~by mightfall

They had you in their greasy little palms, didn't they

And they went to squish and mold you like clay

To serve their whims, will, and foul devices

But you are not clay; in their grasp you broke

Like a bird in the too large hands of a too small child

I just wonder, did you keep the pieces in a box,

and if you've a warm and loving home

and some glue?

 He must have been writing via intuitive cyber waves. :-) Ha! His choice of words definitely had my attention, and we've been communicating ever since.

Thanks to mightfall'  for his friendship and wisdom.

Open Hands

***
At times I don't feel good enough
to approach certain folks of rank
who in my eyes seem holier
where my voice begins to shrink.

In their presence I am small
yet they have been kind to me
but seldom do they let me see
that side of them that's dirty.

I cannot hide my filthy side
it's part of who I am
through it I find redemption
the need to hold a hand.

Perhaps we would be holier
if we allowed with candid face
our dirtied souls' exposures
and open hands that offer grace.

judithpiper
april 30, 2007

***

Hmmm.....

I don't really feel like explaining this now. Perhaps it needs no context.

***