The softening

We learn early to hide our pain and to tuck it somewhere deep and hope time will do the healing for us. But the body remembers. It waits patiently for us to turn toward it, not with judgment, but with gentleness. The Softening speaks to that moment of courage: when we finally touch what hurts, and in doing so, discover that pain isn’t a punishment to be endured, but a part of us longing to be seen.

The Softening

We hide our pain,
tuck it into a corner of the body.
It cries for attention.
We ignore it,
hush it with distraction or addiction.

One day, with a trembling hand,
we reach toward it.
It softens,
feels seen,
and crumbles into ease.

When we step into pain,
give it space to speak,
lean into it,
note it,
without judging.

Our heart opens
and holds us,
like a mother holds her child:
not to fix,
but to soothe.

The heaviness sinks into the earth.
From this ground,
a seed of imperfection
absorbs love
and breaks open,
slowly growing
into all that we are 
a flower
opening to light.

Some days

Some Days
To the small miracles that need no reason.

Some days, bells ring crisper,
cutting through the air with clarity.
People add notes to your song,
carrying melodies
that make your heart sing.

Some days, the fragrance
of jasmine bedazzles you,
and flowers, bursting red and blue,
reveal their intricate shapes.
each petal a line of poetry

Some days, the air shifts
and runs its hand through your hair.
The waves kiss your feet,
then retreat in joy.
The warm sand crackles in delight
as it carries you.

Some days, your heart
overflows into the world.
Let the earth remember
your footsteps.
Shake dreams from your sleeve,
colour the world
with your heart.

Letting go

The prompt for Poets and storytellers United this week is gut punch

Letting Go

I took a gut punch
when you slowly drifted from me.
I tried to catch your light in a jar,
but it slipped through my fingers.

So I released your echo to the wind
and mourned.
At the core
still,
love.

Once, my arms stretched,
inviting.

Now they rest
along my body,
rooted in the knowing
that I am my own wide sky,
able to hold
and to let go.

I’ve learned,
that love and pain
can share a breath,
that I didn't harden
that I am free.

All that I need
lives in me.

Oxford Terrace, Christchurch

What's going on asked us to write an ekphrastic poem 'Ekphrastic poetry has now come to be defined as poems written about works of art. Along with this, it usually includes how the speaker is impacted by his or her experience with the work.'

I have a framed poster of this painting in my house. It is painted by a local named Jan Rasmussen of Oxford Terrace in Christchurch and it was painted before the earthquake 

 

Oxford Terrace

The Bridge of Remembrance
smiles over golden cafes,
while the earth hums softly beneath.

A man in a red jacket
chats in golden light
as if the day itself
were shaped not by hours,
but by blue sky,
red and aqua parasols,
ochre and amber leaves,
buildings and flowerpots,
clinking glasses,
voices deepening like sunlight.

A lone table mirrors flowers,
and the crisp white of a man’s shirt,
savouring the quiet pleasures of life.

The city’s warmth drifts in,
settling gently into my mood,
painting a smile across my face
like colour on a canvas.

From Amber to flame

 

October light

 A poem for Poet's and storytellers United written to the prompt October

October light

The October sun spills light on her path.
She sees only her shadow,
head bowed,
mind drifting into dark corners.

The grass opens its pockets
a crumbling piece of paper appears,
poetry carried on paper wings,
by currents too gentle to notice.
She inhales the scent of wet earth.

Lines land, waking sleeping seeds;
like a prayer, they enfold her heart,
weaving webs of hope,
threads of quiet beauty.
She carries it through her days,
a shy smile lingering on her lips.

Life trades feathers for stars,
water for words.
The October sun spills light on her path
and witnesses spring in the eyes of a woman.