Creations Poetry & Art

9 11 haiku
by Paula Timpson

twice a day He cleans
the shores of all the worlds seas...
May you
forget, Live-

She Blends
by Karen Ethelsdattar

My tortoise shell cat, Cherie, blends.
She blends with the paisley sofa,
She blends with the Persian rug.
She blends with the deep colored
flowered cushions on the rocking chair.
Oh, how I would like to blend
wherever I go, never to be a stranger.

Inward Sail
by Kathleen Smith, Selden, NY

I bring this to you now
The soft crush of roses
Pressed against your furrowed brow
And the cool jade of polished leaves
Where likenesses perceived
So like you to sense there are two
paths that make the journey worthwhile

I bring this to you now
And here I place upon your altar
A token of my high esteem
All dreams within a dream
Are far too fragile to be seen
By one whose eyes are outwardly cast
Go inward sail, unfurl a wide all-seeing mast

Homeward will
I’ll steer you home
And give all to you
What little shall be known
What little lingers still…

Through Fish-Eyed Memory
by Arlene Ang, Spinea, Italy

Afternoons unhaze. Behind the camouflage
of cloud-blue curtains, my mother threads spells
through the kitchen.
From the school bus I cannot say whether cookies
or pancakes are on the table.

No sharp words from her only laughter when I step
from the bus with torn clothes,
sometimes stumbled wounds that nurses hurriedly gauzed. Perhaps a platter of fruit. Perhaps apple pie.

The point nests in hearing a new tale everyday.
My mother can weave magic from oven, stove or tree.
Every apron is a wand that summons a different dish.
Sometimes she lets me choose.

She tickles me into changing to cleanwear.
Then waits, pan-gloved among cream tiles,
to grant wishes for adventure and nourishment,
always ready for sticky-fingered hugs and conversation. Anything on the table is a banquet
when there is an extra helping of stories.

 

Haiku
by Gerald Starlight

We create our lives
By learning how to practice
Loving what we do

Waters of Trauma: Pathway to God
by Dr. Seena Russell Axel

Three weeks of trauma; feeling shaky & brain fogged
from the inside out;
formless and fearful from the outside in.

It’s not so unrecognizable a feeling.
Betrayals, divorce, death, even some deep life disappointments have carried me before through these white waters.

Yet, I haven’t dipped into “victim consciousness” depths for decades now … a sure plunge into insecurity.
Sensations abounding of being unsafe.

The life preserver of this dilemma “faith” … a hard commodity to find these days … seems the most essential tool now.
“Thy will be done” not mine, my post-anger mantra.

Treasuring life’s mysteries, accepting life’s pain are skills mastered long ago. It’s the unknowns I crave to know
That boundry my struggling learning edges.

So I sit and I breathe and still my anxious heart,
practicing the yogic art of surrender …
to anything other than the present moment …
communion with the Divine.
And I learn the arduous skill of patience as I practice.
And I get on my mat and breathe as I stretch.
Re-membering India, Deva singing to God under a full moon, Deeksha, and the power of Oneness.

In the presence of the Divine,
I am one with the universe, connected to all.
Trusting trauma this time ‘round
as yet another pathway to God,
another opportunity to practice my mantra.

So I sit and I breathe and I still my anxious heart.
Looking faithfully, consciously seeking clues from an unknown force charting my course out of this tidal whirlpool.

Sure that I’ll land on shores foreign to me now,
in states of vulnerability and wisdom never
before explored.
I yearn to know the borders of this continent,
yet accept that I am not …yet… to know.

Only, I am to swim in the ocean’s depths,
honoring the moment-to-moment
experience of being alive;
feeling the water’s turbulent coolness,
and trusting that land’s sandy beach-head
is not too far off in the distance