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.

Child's View

O child in me

awaken

Remember to

recall

The joy of virgin

witness

First time that I

saw

Thrill to spy the ocean spray

moon dictate the tide each day

Dig my toes in seashore's surf

drip sandcastles along her turf

Watch the dolphin sail up high

smile and sparkle in her eye

Heart's delight as snowflakes fall

excitement at coyote's call

In wonderment watch the butterfly

unfurl her wings in first flight

Hold tight a kite on a string

feel the pull of wind unseen

O God I pray

I never lose

Eyes to behold

each day as new

december 09, 2oo7
carol welch


***
I don't recall in detail what was going through my mind when I wrote this poem, well other than a feeling of simplicity, dolphin smiles, kites, butterflies, and sandcastles.

This poem comes to mind now because I turned 50 a couple days ago. I had the thought that day, "I'm entering my 2nd childhood."

I do feel that way, sort of. I have a sense of exploration and discovery ahead. I'm excited about life, about learning, about all the colors of the leaves.

I still have a goal to hike the entire Appalachian Trail before I draw my final breath. I'll hike it in snippets or hike what's called a "flip-flop thru-hike." My son is going to hike a couple sections this summer starting in GA and going into at least TN, perhaps VA.

I hope I always remember to view life, at least at times, through the eyes and heart of a child.

Nanna

The accuser once more tolls
A whipping to accrue
Abruptly interrupted
The guiltless child in view

You appear once again
So much larger than before
Your countenance now forward
Instead of toward the floor

"Are you gonna whip me now?"
You ask with candid face
My heart jumps to my throat,
"No, it only causes pain"

Uncomprehending stare,
Maybe now she understands!
I'm wearied from the beatings,
And the scars upon her hands

I inhale deep, catch my breath
Tears trickle down my cheek
You have no tears left to cry
For the freedom that you seek

Yes, you have been my scapegoat
And now it's time to cease
"Will you help me learn to trust
And with myself make peace?"

11/02/08
judithpiper

This poem could be entitled "Unveiling, Part II" instead of "Nanna." I may change it at some point. I named the child in tattered frock Nanna. Together we'll discover a part of me that died...

For the prelude, view Unveiling.

Unveiling

You stand, a far distance
tiny in the remote sphere
Small, unpretentious, homely
Barefoot child draped
in tattered frock

Alone, downcast
you dare not approach

All is quiet as I survey the scene

Can it be?
Are you the one,
the scapegoat?
What are the wages?

You quietly fade
never once looking up
Your countenance
forever branded
within me

I will not forget


october 31, 2oo8
judithpiper

I am an expert at self-blame. That's not a good thing, btw. In identifying this core belief that has been central to my life for decades, I had to identify my scapegoat. In searching my heart and psyche, at first I pictured a goat. But that didn't resonate. I looked up the word 'scapegoat' in a thesaurus and found the word 'cat's paw.' That didn't work either.

With this on my mind I went to bed for the evening. First thing upon waking the next morning, my mind was met with an image of a child. Could it be?

For the follow-up poem, view Nanna.