Sea Star's Eternal Song

To Henri, who has lost his beloved wife Claude one month ago - she drowned during their morning swim together:

Beloved Henri, I share with you my words of loss and gain, for I can give you no solace but the knowing of your pain, as echoed in my soul. May the peace of the Living Peace be with you, now in your darkest hour.  May our sorrow string us to the joy, which we always will carry inside us, and Beyond, in completion of Love.


Desideratum

sometimes no one is near
but lilies
curled
in white silence

sadness
is a private solitude
sorrow
a constant
and a privilege

God has a way of giving us
freely
that which we ask for
by attitude
and by act

desideratum of being

pure
the lonely
knowing:
none can carry my burden

oh carnage of hearts!

own me
for I need separation
and a new bloom
of beginning:
balance
  harmony
        form

white lily
on red
        an act
of purpose

ikebana of birth



You are with Me, with Me and inside Him

You are with me, with me and inside Him
You are with me, inside where you belong
and ever here the tenderness we shared
you are with me, with Him and inside me

You hold my soul, my soul you hold inside
You show the smiles which never from me hide
forever sound the precious love we found
you are with me, with Him and inside me

You walk with me, with me you walk beside
You lift me up, you give me warmth and light
although I cry, I know you did not die
you are with me, with Him and inside me

And when we meet, we meet from sorrow freed
We'll walk together and in glee we see
for Love goes on, and on our love goes, Son
you are with me, with Him and inside me

Refrain:
You are with me, with me and inside Him
You hold my soul, my soul you hold inside
You walk with me, with me you walk beside
And when we meet, we meet from sorrow freed

Sea Star's Eternal Song

I see my fragile worth,
bruised, discarded and alone, tossed aside
a leaf, an inland seashore shrub, surrendered to decay,
like you

but seasons call and recall growth anew and I
(by divine drive) heal breath by breath, and bloom by bloom, whole
by that inner spark, so strong … I cannot yield;
so weak … I cannot shield …

I wander into coastlines lost, apart from frost,
remorse a cloak of crust of cold remembrance,
a dream once shared, now surface into heartfelt
pangs, preview of life to come …

so vividly, I feel your lips in tasteful touch
and intimate in shared discoveries of pulsing blood
and sparks of stars, caress of eyes,
passion, tenderly disguised ... and you

a breeze from southern sea, and I a wave, heaving, within
your swirls of motion and of frisky force,
breaking upon the shores of dreams
in memory of our love …

I step into breakwater's chill and silently upon
soft sand I kneel, give me, root every want
into this desert strand which keeps our faith alive,
a resurrected joy --

a tendril, timeless
and opaque: a sea star, an eternal song
in droughts of death.


Calico Curtains

I had a dream of you. Terminal, but drenched in warmth
and light, waiting upon your bed for death to come --
relaxed, with lips in smile.

But something else was striking in this dream:
you hung the curtains of your mother, those which you
always stacked away. Neatly handmade with its somber hue
of solemn brown in linen raw and beautifully cross-stitched
in contrasting string. At last they were up, those curtains
from your father's study, which you loved.

But there was something else I saw: you did not let it hang
in drapes of skillful art, but folded it away in twists
to let in sky and sun -- and our ever sea, which in the dream
I could not see but knew it was down there in shades of blue
within the bay, remembering you, your dogs and our children at play.

And while I dreamt, I thought: You are already dead, I know

Time has a way to catch up with a soul.

Could it be that this was not a dream, but you in resurrected
state, surrounded by all things that you held dear?
For in this dream of curtains pulled away,
I was not lonely anymore. You loved me as before.


I Looked into my Heart to Write
Poetry Form used: Cento
cen•to (snt)
n. pl. cen•tos
A literary work pieced together from the works of several authors.


I looked into my heart to write
a touch of cold in autumn night;
born of my voiceless time, your steps.
Remember me when I am dead.

Remember me when I am dead.
The dove, descending, breaks the air
when snow like sheep lay in the fold:
ghost-grey the fall of night.
Had I but lived a hundred years ago.

Had I but lived a hundred years ago.
Out of the wood of thoughts, that grows by night,
the seagull, spreadeagled, splayed on the wind.
You know what it is to be born alone ...
Remember me when I am dead.

Remember me when I am dead.
Born of my voiceless time, your steps,
a touch of cold in autunm night;
I looked into my heart to write.


Day
(i)

Night drowned in a well
called endless
Day.

Now stars are lost
in the Light of
of decay.

Fish me a Sun
in this black sea
of gray.


Butterfly Wreath

shades made imprints
and spaces
on concrete

between twigs of a tree
a butterfly stuck

dead and dry

sun
un-spun

its shaded side
mounted
the birth of beauty



in every room your name is etched
Myra Mirror

in every room your name is etched
on walls on ceilings and on beds
in doorways passages and loft
your fragrance lingers vaguely soft

in every drawer locker store
your memories flit as before
on every shelf on every rack
your eyes confront me staring back

your studio becomes a shrine
a place where I can free my mind
a safe-hold where you paint my pain
within the recollected stain


within the recollected stain
a safe-hold where you paint my pain
a place where I can free my mind
your studio becomes a shrine

your eyes confront me staring back
on every shelf on every rack
your memories flit as before
in every drawer locker store

your fragrance lingers vaguely soft
in doorways passages and loft
on walls on ceilings and on beds
in every room your name is etched

Sorrow's Hopeful Furrow

Missing you ... and heartbeat starts to bleed
its gaping wound, filling a well of sorrow.
Submerged, I drift amongst the weeping weed
that suffocates the growth of water lily seed.

But then faith seeps into pain's hopeful furrow ...
and I found us, entwined, floating alive, in flutes of reed,
towards Tomorrow.



In Deserts Waits the Seed of Growth

in deserts waits the seed of growth
a succulent
so silent in its solemn bed
of sand and loss
fuzzed by time's drag

a gloss awaiting hands
to lift away
the cover of dried hope
of pebbled crust
a diamond patient to the cut

a millipede which leaves its path
to die
in dark despair of dust
may channel light into the night
and miller may find millet by sheer trust

in deserts waits the seed of streams
the soul
remembers rain's soft joy
crabs moving criss-cross over soil
and rivers murmur their wet dreams


With deep Love and Compassion
from Myra