A new song

Malagy invited us to write poetry or prose inspired by a quote from the last book we read. 

All the books I read lately were about refugees or had an element of it in it
The last book I picked up in a book barn was a poetry book.
Yes, again Poems about migration.

I believe in signs and recently started a course to teach ESOL to migrants and refugees. I look forward to it. I am a bit nervous as well, as English is my second language.

A new song

She lost 10 threads of hope
20 threads of peace
Her garment a dimming light
Her song sank like a sunset
They called her a refugee

Carried by a current
Where would she wash up?
Her mind, entangled in a spinning wheel
with a thousand threads
They called her a refugee

She caught remnants of another life
the tunes of her grandma left behind
a heavy sadness settled
She lost fibers of her woven fabric
They called her a refugee

One morning a new melody arose
spun from a daring sunset
Some took her by the hand
embraced her in a new land
They call her a friend

The Poetry book I found is called On the Move, poems about migration by Michael Rosen

Quote on the book

What you leave behind
Won't leave your mind
But home is where you find it
Home is where you find it

When I am quiet

Written to Rosemary's prompt What do you hear?
for Poets and Storytellers United

When I am quiet

When I am quiet, I hear my
soul wanting to wear the hazy sky
and dance in draped dresses
on the ashes of misery
and sing a song about slices
of sun, cutting out the night

When I am quiet, I hear
an invitation to the dream world
which sits like a shiny diamond
in a cloth of fog, greying out life
Let its light materialise into
the fabric the soul is made off

When I am quiet, I hear
voices of longing for the high tide
to submerge in emerald pools
where the strong make waves
to create a current of change
to build a place where all belong.

When I am quiet, I hear
beyond the voices, the noises
you can hear the truth
born from an intuition
filtered through reason
till poetic tunes are formed

Marja Blom

Age, a work of art

Magaly from Poets and storytellers United invited us to write poetry or prose inspired by the following quote

“Youth is the gift of nature, but age is a work of art.” 
Stanislaw Jerzy Lec

 

Age, a work of Art

Youth has left me a long time ago
it is now a treasured star
in the constellation of my memories
I remember the lightness
when I travelled without baggage
when love danced as if caught in a breeze
under fluorescent lights
where butterflies got released
from boxes of illusion
My canvas contained a few colours
passionate red but also Indigo
I wasn’t aware yet of the array of hues in
which life is capable of presenting the blues
I splashed in shallow water

Age is the bed in which wonder wakes up
With age I learned to navigate 
the art of sculpturing my live
I chiseled depth and meaning 
carving a scar for every lesson learned
Sculpting wrinkles for all the work done
My pallet of colours increased
Green for learning like a leaf, to let go
Yellow for learning to shine like a light 
Purple for learning what is most important
he tāngata, it is the people
The alchemist of time created a palette
to paint my life the way I imagined
as a creative adventure
as a work of art

Marja Blom

In memoriam

 In memoriam card

My mum past away 2 years ago. It was Covid time and I was not able to go back to the Netherlands to say goodbye as the country was locked. That was quite hard. My mum was not the general mum. When I was young most were stay at home mums. My mum worked 6 days a week in our shop and had 4 children. So you can imagen that she couldn't really dedicate herself to us. She did the best she could with what she had. We always had a good Christmas and we went on holiday together. She was the one who always kept the family together. Later on she tried to make up for lost time. The following poem I wrote for her memoriam card.

My mum and her 4 children

In Memoriam

Clouds drift along the horizon
We wander restlessly.
a beacon has disappeared
You who showed us the way
You who brought us home
You who gave the word family power
like the sea pushes the waves
like the sky carries the birds
The water is calm now
The power has sunk
in the depth of the sea
The birds do not fly today
The air is empty without you
and filled with our tears
The sweat breath of the wind
still whispers your words
Music of a bygone era
Words that will be re-used as seeds
to grow and flourish in us
to fill the void
just like the reflection of your light
and the echo of your smile
the gift you gave when
someone brought you flowers
or when we rejoiced you
with our presence
Now there is only the rhythm of rest
in which you have descended forever

Kindness

Rommy from Poets and Storytellers United, asked us to write poetry or prose about someone who made an impression on you as a child.

I don't have any memories of people who made an impression on me when I was a child. I can remember many after that. They had all one thing in common: kindness

Kindness

Many special people added
colour and music to the ordinary
essence of my life and turned it
into moments of magic

This shines through in
the way the song of the bus sounds
since the bus driver made me smile
under the closing curtains of clouds

This shines through in
the purple and pink hues of my spirit
after a teacher praised the fruit of my perseverance
Many promises popped up on my path

This shines through in
the way a room lights up like a wood fire
after a doctor gave me attention and care
I nestled myself in the warmth of his words

This shines through in
the way the wind makes the leaves spin
after a musician spurred me on to dance
I peeled the skin of the fruit of life and tasted joy

Spread your feathered wings of kindness
Be the hands and hearts that heal
Change the world one smile at the time
It will be the dew on the flowers of your life

Marja Blom

Souring secrets

Rosemary from Poets and storytellers United asked us to write about telling secrets.  I used to have many. They were the secrets of my mind. But I can say I can't think of any secrets I still have.

Soaring secrets

Secrets were dropped in the drawer of my mind
I couldn’t trust them to the birds of the world
who wanted to eat and spit out these seeds of my soul
In a dark and confined space they were safe

But these secrets longed for freedom
so what a treasure it was to drop my mask
to let out the parts that belong to me but not
to society as these parts were regarded bad or mad

Now I am older I release them every day
I pour my heart out, shout, dance and sound out
that I belong more and soar on a dozen wings
so dance with me and be the beauty and the beast

Marja Blom