When I disappear from here

 The following poem was written to the prompt exit from our local poetry group

When I disappear from here

When I disappear from here,
I'd like to make a dramatic exit.

I bow to you and hope
I've left something behind:

a smile tucked into a corner,
a memory that turns up unexpectedly,

a trail of glitter
that refused to wash away,

a poem that found
a secret door to your heart,
a window to your mind.

Maybe a hug.
A hand I held
when your words stumbled
from your lips.

I hope that when I stood
waving my torch like a madwoman,

you caught a spark
and carried it onward
without even knowing.

And if I nudged a shadow aside,
to help one small star
remember how to shine,

I shall leave
on the wings of the wind.

So thank you
for the lessons and laughter,
the company and harmony,
the kindnesses, large and small.

And after I've dropped my mic,
turn up the music,
laugh too loudly,
pop the corn
and keep the spark moving.

What spring did

The prompt for Poets and story tellers United was memories and dreams
I focussed on the memory part though 

What spring did 

A memory decomposing like a leaf.
I gather fragments,
bits of earth
but also of beauty
of what spring did,
that timid green
the blossoming,
the opening of a heart.

My mind stretches,
trying to fetch something
a fragrance,
lyrics forgotten,
but the melody,
the allegro,
still dancing inside me.

I carry it
as I carry all life within me.

When I spread the net
over the flowers
to gather the caterpillars
of the past;

Have they become
butterflies
inside me

or is it simply that my eyes
captured their colours
when the light
climbed the flowers?

 

Beyond the bend

The prompt for Poets and storytellers United is: if an angel were to give you a message, what do you suppose it might be? 

Well I can imagen what I would like to ask an angel and I suppose the angels message would be:

Beyond the bend

I could tell you what lies beyond the stars
but you would stop looking at them.
Maybe you don't need to know

how the spider chooses
where to cast its thread,

or where the hidden pathways lead
beyond the bend in the road.

Perhaps it is enough

to trust the way you go,
venture into the unknown,
listen for the voice beneath your thoughts.

And if you step into a puddle
watch it splash,
and smile.

Noise

Poets and Storytellers United asked us to write about a type of noise, literal or metaphorical.

Noise

We talked,
exchanged polite lines,
but beneath the words
a noise was hiding,

like the hum of a washing machine
where shirts turn
behind a glass window.

They can't escape.
They tumble and shake,
you can only sense
the colours they carry:

the black of anger,
the grey of disappointment,
the green of envy,
thoughts left unspoken,
swept under the carpet.

The noise of small red irritations
crawling like worms
through the wet insides of us.

I tied a ribbon around it
and let life be messy
let it be noisy.

Then I stepped outside,
closed the door behind me,
and breathed the crisp air.

Sky vapour still rested
on the flowers.

In the silence,
I softened.

Your hands were never empty

Back from overseas. I had a fantastic time in the Netherlands, meeting up with family and friends and discovering neighbouring countries
A bit rusty with writing and not 100% on topic set by Poets and story tellers United:
Take a negative concept and turn it into something positive. 
                 

Your hands were never empty

And you open your hands
to offer the best you have.

And sometimes
your hands are left
in the air,
like a tea towel
forgotten on the line,
hanging in the rain
because no one took it in.

And you learn
that not everyone is ready
to let someone
dry their tears,

and that if someone
doesn't want to walk
through your open door,
you are allowed
to close it again.

And sometimes
they took your hand
and pulled you
across a threshold,
and for a moment
you lost yourself
to the other side
as they took all of you.

And then you
braced yourself,
found your own ground,
and understood
that the word No
can be your friend,
helping you
keep your balance.

And sometimes
your hands have scattered seeds
in someone's garden,
and you learn
that not everyone
will appreciate
the flowers that grow from them.

But you also know
that some are delighted,

and others
have learned
how to plant
their own seeds.
And you realise
you were painting
the world
a little brighter.

And know this:
your hands
were never empty.

The Hidden Path - poetry collection

 

The Hidden Path - poetry collection

My poetry book, The Hidden Path, still has a number of copies waiting on the shelf. Many have already found homes, and I’d love for the remaining copies to continue their journey into the hands of readers who enjoy poetry, reflection, and life’s small moments.

NZ$20 plus postage - New Zealand only
Pickup available if you live in Christchurch

If you’d like a copy, feel free to contact me at marja.blom@gmail.com

For readers outside New Zealand, I’ve created a downloadable PDF for US$4.99, available HERE.

The collection contains 59 poems, divided into four chapters:

Chapter 1 — Scattered Seeds
Chapter 2 — Earth and Sky (Aotearoa)
Chapter 3 — The Art of Being
Chapter 4 — Becoming Whole

These poems walk a hidden path from stillness to movement, from shadow to light, and from what is held inside to what dares to grow.