Poetic Doodles

Perusing some scribbles from my private blog, I found a few poetic doodles.
***

If rocks could sing
What would they say
Would they grow feet
Come out to play
Or would they stay
Under the ground
Watch us humans
Toil up and down

may 5, 2010
***

Be

Heart, smiles
Peace, deep
Life, breathes
Satisfaction, sweet

John, back home
Sarah, with Yerba
Joshua, on ladders
Carol, in love

Earth, spins
Sun, warms
Ocean, rolls
Moon, smiles

All is well

may 7, 2010
***

Backpacking Jingle

Quads, hamstrings
Trekking poles and hip flexors.
Quads, hamstrings,
Trekking poles and hip flexors.
Quads, hamstrings,
Trekking poles and hip flexors.

That's how I make it 'cross the mountain.

Feet relax.
Ankles supple.
Long strides.
Ankles firm.

Quads, hamstrings
Trekking poles and hip flexors.

That's how I make it 'cross the mountain.

mid-may, 2010
***

One

Oh Wind

Your kind breezes
kiss my cheeks

Yet I know the fury
in Your passion

Gently rest Your lips, I pray,
and may Our passions meld

may 30, 2010
***

daggers

Had a hard day today
A friendship died
And I'm very confused as to why or how

I endeavored to open the door
To talk, to understand
But the door was shut with my face in it

It hurt

Apparently I am responsible for the death
The friend told me
"You destroyed our friendship"

And I don't even know how I committed the murder

I never want to burden a friend
With the responsibility they need to defend me
I don't make a good defense barrier

Maybe that means I am a rotten friend
Maybe I can't be trusted
And now my heart wonders

Can it trust itself again


08/02/10
~me

~*~

Don't feel like writing the context. It is what it is. Though I am stunned by it all. I feel raw and numb at the same time. It will take some time to not shake inside. That shake that comes when I feel I can't trust myself.

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.

***

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*)

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.

Intersections

I like autumn

and winter

and spring

and summer

and up

and down

and sideways

and especially curves

on mountain roads

with fog it's hard to

see

the yellow line

at night

those little reflectors

help a lot

little eyes coming

up from the hardened tar

tar eyes

that's what they are

other eyes

live in the forest

whose pupils

shine like

lights

in the

dark

in autumn

in winter

in spring

in summer

september 29, 2009
judithpiper

****
One of my favorite activities at my job is communicating with artists. We mainly communicate via email, though sometimes via phone. Every so often face to face.

One artist who I enjoy going back and forth with is Ray. Ray is a collage artist, a musician, and a poet. He always causes me to chuckle, or think, or ponder. He has the most entertaining subject lines for his emails.

At work earlier this evening, I opened one of his emails entitled "M.T. Graves." M.T. Graves...hehe... I chuckled wondering what he'd be sending along. He usually always writes something about Artomat, and then throws in these side notes. This time it was about autumn, and the reality that stuff dies and decays in autumn. So I reminded him that the decay feeds the soil. It's all in good fun.

And out came the above ditty (a rendition) in response to Ray. He wrote back his own poetic verse; complex and dark with a hint of humor.

One of the visuals that came to mind was a memory of driving in thick fog at night in the North Carolina mountains some twenty-five plus years ago. The fog was so dense, I had to open my car door to look down at the middle line in order to drive; there were no reflectors on the lines.

All of a sudden the line disappeared. I applied the brake to come to a complete stop from my 5 miles per hour speed, if I was even going that fast. Panic momentarily struck my heart.

Then I realized I was in an intersection. I creeped slowly forward, and the line reappeared.

Seasons are kind of like intersections too.

Maybe that road has reflectors now, but probably not.

Dear John (The Real Thing)

~*~*~

You've tended my soul gently,
how can I repay
the goodness you infuse in me
the trust your heart conveys?

We've been through hell and back again
weathered tempestuous storms,
internal bruises, wrenching pains
through conflict courage forged.

You saw beyond my weaknesses
horizons I couldn't see
through buffets, trials, sicknesses,
endurance, forgiveness, mercy.

My heart forever devoted
with you I'll always stay,
love of my life, my soul
until our dying day.

And then throughout eternity
our lives continue to unfold,
with peace and perfect harmony
the stories yet untold.

may 17, 2007

I love you John.
With all my heart,
Carol
****

John, my dear John.  How my heart overflows with gratitude.  You have stood beside me through thick and thin. By the time May, 2007, came along we were continuing to help care for my mom, had survived and thrived through over a decade of helping care for my dad through his quadriplegia.  You had been by your dad's side when he drew his last breath fighting emphysema.  You stood by me through years of battling to breathe and function, physically and emotionally.  Been there when both our children were birthed.  Gone to work day in and day out; a hero for our family.  You even learned to cook a little bit.

By May, 2007, we had both recently made major changes in our belief systems and had survived an online and phone affair with both of us looking elsewhere to meet our marital needs.  Our deepest pains had been exposed; our marriage had been on the verge of divorce just a year earlier.  By 2007 we were welded so intricately at our hearts, like that of a Celtic knot which holds mysteries and bonds that almost nothing can separate.

I do hope there is an eternity in which we will learn more of each other, and continue to weave stories of hope, of life, of victory.

Happy Anniversary to both of us, 25 years ago on September 15, as we exchanged vows, tasted the salt, and sipped from the cup....

~*~*~

bags123

In upstate New York lives a man
Intelligent, witty, and kind
He gardens to harvest his land
While composing rhymes in his mind

That later spill onto the page
Keys clicking to and fro
Sometimes he must rearrange
To perfect the rhythm and flow

He likes tennis, biking, a smoke
Conversing with family and friends
I say he's a mighty fine bloke
With a heart where love never ends

If in your travels you meet him
Present him this rose from me
Thorns removed from the stem
I've gleaned much from his honesty

judithpiper
september 3, 2008

***
bags123. Who or what is that?

It is the forum name of a poet I admire and adore. His name is Gerry Spoor. (Oh that rhymed! Ha!)

In August, 2008, bags (as he is affectionately called) penned a few tribute poems for various members of PoetryPages.com . So I penned one for Gerry. It is from my heart.

In January, 2007, an ex-Way friend with whom I had recently reunioned encouraged me to find an online forum on which to post some of my poetry. This friend sent me pages of online links. I perused four links and picked one that resonated with me. It was a perfect fit. :-)

Poetry Pages was my first step outside of Way/ex-Way contacts on the internet. The forum was like a breath of fresh air - encouraging, humorous, believing in others, not trying to fix one another, and understanding that poetry is art. It is expression. Bags123, Gerry Spoor, was part of that mix, one of the wonderful souls I met on Poetry Pages.

Gerry is open, up front, kind, honest, and funny all in one. He left/leaves an imprint on me many a time to help not take myself too seriously, yet to endeavor to treat life with dignity.

I am going to post some of Gerry's poetry on my blog over the next week or so. How much remains to be seen.

To read more about Gerry, click the links below.

A Poet Learns to Be Unread
Meet bags123
Gerry's Poetry Archive on PoetryPages.com

***

Free Me from this Bitterness

****
Sin of lies revealed
Conscience eye left with choices
Denial - hidden reality
Justification - double standard
Exposure - surface truth
What to believe, what to discard
In this world run by lies

What rests beneath these fabrications?
Labyrinths of circumstance
Crossroads of life's decisions
Heartaches of trying to survive
In this world run by lies

The great judge inquires
Eyes filled with deep compassion
His voice resonant with virtue
"What is the plea?"
In this world run by lies

Heart engaged, I search my soul
Honestly I do not know
Some counts guilty
Some counts innocent
In this world run by lies

Poised with sobered kindness
Timbre rich with mercy
Gently smiling he replies
"I understand, I've walked the path"
In this world run by lies

His tender grace floods the soul
Cleansing streams cascade my cheeks
He carefully atones each stain-filled tear
Absorbing the bitterness in my heart
Boundless bowels of forgiveness
The only exit
In this world run by lies

july 19, 2007
carol welch

****

Within a few months after leaving The Way, I got involved with an ex-Way online forum, Greasespot Cafe (GSC). It was a scary step, to post on that forum. I had never in my life posted anything on the web. (That sure has changed now. Ha! )

GSC was helpful for me. I was able to read about others' experiences, connect with long time friends from decades previous, read about the side of The Way that The Way kept (keeps) hidden from its followers, decompress and share some of my own emotional upheavals, and more. It was the first place I began to have a voice.

As time went on I began to feel that perhaps some of the same black/white thinking, us/them mentality was prevalent at GSC as was in The Way. I would push those kinds of thoughts aside, after all this was an ex-Way forum.

Close to a year with my involvement on the forum, I had a major disagreement with the administrator. I also began to learn of another side of GSC. A web of toxic relationships, censorship, and even scapegoating began to emerge. At 1-1/2 years of involvement with the forum, I found myself caught in the web. The experience was painful (an understatement) and I realized that the GSC forum was no longer an emotionally safe place for me in which to participate. Was I wrong? Was I right? What were my thoughts? Was I deceived again? Was I a perpetrator? Was I lying? What was true, what wasn't true? I had thought this was supposed to be a place of support for me after exiting The Way.

There were many layers and more than one answer to all my doubts, questions, internal turmoil.

One GSC member in particular caught within a GSC web, I felt was a victim and a perpetrator. I felt anger and at the same time compassion. I felt for the individual trying to put myself in their shoes.

Thus this poem was born.

Maybe someday the relationships I had there can/will be healed. I just don't know how to approach them yet; I still feel unsafe, except perhaps at a distance.

For me the only out is acknowledgment and forgiveness.

Otherwise a bitterness can devour the soul, again murdering the heart.

***

An Eagle Soars

(The sequel to likeaneagle)

**********************
To Carole...
"Death of a Friend" 
by Loren Robert DiGiorgi - Composer, Performer, Producer
(click #3)
Thanks to Loren for sharing his exquisite gift.
********************************

Beauty more splendid than lily of the field
Bubbling like brook that sings
Strength of Appaloosa on the plain
Wisdom of redwood standing tall
Grace of eagle in flight

Your every heartbeat enlivened with hope
Every breath energized with life
Every cell performed its task valiantly
Some tore down
Others rebuilt
They battled the best they could
Served until the last breath

In Autumn light, red and golden hues,
A tree sheds its final leaf
Cloud lets go a snowflake
Icicle prisms dance your song
In Spring, the sweet aroma of new life
Will honor your every breath
The giant mammal will slap her mighty tail
On the ocean waters
Your laughter and awe to recall

Know you are honored
The ship in the harbor awaits
I hope one day we all shall sail
As far as our hearts desire

Thank you for being a friend
Thank you for sweet memories

November 25, 2008
judithpiper


I had written the poem likeaneagle in August, 2008. It was a prayer for Carole, a prayer for strength and tenacity to be able reach beyond the despair of the medical diagnosis of cancer, stage 4. Carole had great hope and much support from family and friends.

Carole and I kept in touch via phone, email, and some US mail.

I received a photograph from Carole via US mail around November 18. Ships were afloat in a harbor. With it was a note; it was one of Carole's favorite spots. She had taken the shot while visiting the harbor in the last few months, September I think.

Around November 23 I received an email from one of Carole's daughters wondering if I could make a trip to see Carole. Of course I felt some guilt, but Carole understood. I wasn't well enough from major surgery I had had in August, a full hip replacement with some complications. I simply couldn't make the trip.

I received an email sometime late on November 25th. Carole had drawn her last breath. My heart broke again....as it does writing this post. Yet it also smiles for the blessings Carole bestowed, her goodness and grace and sweet laughter that still echos.

I revised likeaneagle, in Carole's honor, to An Eagle Soars. Both poems were read at her memorial service which was held in Chicago, her hometown.

I hope one day there is that great ship on which to sail together. And it better serve Carole's favorite wine!! And have some Scrabble boards. :-)

To Carole. May she sweetly rest, until then....

likeaneagle

****
To Carole....
"Stage 4" by
Loren Robert DiGiorgi - Composer, Performer, Producer
Thanks to Loren for sharing his beautiful gift.
****

Beauty more splendid than lily of the field
Bubbling like brook that sings
Strength of Appaloosa on the plain
Wisdom of redwood standing tall
Grace of eagle in flight

May your every heartbeat enliven with hope
Every breath energize with life
Every cell perform its task valiantly
Some that tear down
Others that rebuild
Harmonic choreography
For which they are uniquely designed

The bandit visitor to depart
Knowing this is not
Its time or place....
And never will be

I see you strolling the riverside, camera in hand
Basking in Autumn light, red and golden hues
I hear the crunch of snow beneath your boot
As you delight in prisms of icicles
The sweet aroma of spring with new life
Awakens your senses
Summer finds you on the sea,
Enthralled by her giant mammals
As their mighty tails slap the waters

If I could, I'd be with you now
Know you are in my heart
Day and night

August 30, 2008
judithpiper

(An Eagle Soars is the sequel to likeaneagle.)

*******************************



Carole had gone to the doctor some time in July, I think. She thought she had a hernia. The nurse practitioner that she saw told her that Carole needed to go for other testing right away. It appeared Carole might have cancer of the liver. That's a far cry from a hernia.

After further testing Carole was diagnosed with cancer (stage 4) in her colon, in her liver, and in her lung(s). It was hard to believe. My heart sank, to put it lightly.

Her family didn't like the 'C' word, though they knew it was the reality with which they were dealing.

Carole's daughters cared for Carole every step of the way. Appointments. Lifestyle changes. Family time. Laughter. Love. The basic necessities of life. Research on cancer and how they could help.

Carole and I first met on an online forum. At the time she lived in NC and we got together a few times. It was always a pleasure. Her screen name on that forum was likeaneagle.

Carole exhibited a love for life, always endeavoring to think the best of others and to give them the benefit of the doubt. One could tell Carole anything; she would keep it confidential and she wouldn't judge another with challenges as weak. She had lived through her own hell; most people were unaware of Carole's story and the heartache she had endured.

Shortly before Carole moved away from North Carolina, my husband and I gave her our van. We had been given a Ford Explorer. Carole needed a better vehicle. One of her daughters drove her to Winston to pick up the van. We went together to get new license plates; one for her van and another for our Explorer. The van and Explorer ended up with the same tag letters and numbers, except for one different number. Hers ended in the number 3, ours ends in 4. (Or is it the other way around?) After that, Carole and I used to sign some of our correspondence with our license plate numbers. *chuckle*

She enjoyed nature and photography. She was enthralled with the change of seasons and the whale of the sea. It wasn't unusual to receive emails from Carole with photos of great whale tails, icicles, autumn leaves, and ships.

I received my last photo from Carole via snail mail, less than a week before she died. That is a blog for another time.

***********************************