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.

***

Embellishment

~*~*~

Thoughts.
In and out

Shoes.
Some with laces
One goes on right foot
Other slips on left

Gloves.
Some with snaps
One covers right hand
Other protects left

Earrings.
Some with anchors
One pokes right lobe
Other pierces left

Rings.
Some with stones
These band fingers
Those circle toes

Tattoos.
Everywhere


02/28/2010
judithpiper

****

My first thought was shoes. And I went from there.

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.