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 I am strong,
that I am free.

All that I need
already 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.

Jane Goodall

The prompt for What's Going On is remembering Jane Goodall: Let's contemplate this beautiful woman, in whatever way you wish. You might like to write about the animals and the natural world she loved.

This poem is a quiet thank you to Jane Goodall, for reminding us that listening to nature is an act of love.

Jane Goodall

Jane Goodall

The birds stopped singing, briefly.
The trees feel heavy today.
The chimpanzees sit quietly.
The sky exhales dark sighs.

The resilient earth feels thinner now
yet it keeps on giving
wrapping us in her quiet cloak
of joy, of beauty, of life.

Nature remembers Jane.
Her spirit drifts
in the breath of the wind,
whispering of curiosity,
of patience, of courage.

The silence is not empty, though
it waits, like a room,
for your voices to fill it,
to keep sustaining Mother Earth,
to give back to her,
to protect her.

Your life matters. You can’t live through a day without making an impact on the world. And what’s most important is to think about the impact of your actions on the world around you. ~ Jane Goodall.

I am not a lady, I am a woman

 written to the prompt I am not a lady I am a woman for my local poetry group

I am not a lady, I am a woman

I might wear linen,
drape in lace,
but I am not a lady.
I am a force.

Jeans on, hands full, heart wide,
I run families,
I balance worlds:
physically, emotionally, financially.

I am a force.
Leader. Scientist. Nurse. Teacher.
I shape the world,
sign my life alongside men and women.

I am a force.
I speak truth.
I build, I break, I rise, I run.
I ride life’s wave
fearless and free.

I am a woman.