Morning has broken

But also repaired

The shadows of darkness

Are no longer there

Shadows departed

Make room for the light

Day is upon us

Good-day to the night

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Kampala

September 2019

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This week’s poem inspired by the slow processes that move under the surface in our lives, processes that one day yield results we thought would never happen.

Healing

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Standing still until the sediment settles

Visibility slowly reappears

Sentiment softly settles

At home in my own strange life

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Sound of Sunbirds in Neem trees outside

Fledglings will fly

When feathers form

Scars fade in their own sweet time

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Kampala 2019  

This weeks poem, about the superficiality of so much of our everyday conversations, when we need so much to try to support and understand each other.

How are you?

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I’m good, I’m great.

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(Though of course at my age I carry some baggage.

There’s a lot of life behind me, some death,

There is pain that gives pleasure, and pleasure that gives pain,

A lot to be grateful for and some cosmic injustices.

There are mornings when I wake with a smile on my face,

Others with tears streaming, nauseous with guilt and pain.

I face the days, sometimes with a spring in my step,

Sometimes my limbs dragging themselves until habit takes over.  

There are days with so much energy that nothing is too much

And those hours when my brain aches with effort,

There are times I’m so present I see every leaf

And times when I’m with those many I’m missing.)

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So yeah, I’m good

        …….. and how are you?

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Kampala, 2019

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This week’s poem must speak for itself, as I am lost for words. Sometimes there is just too much to say, too much to express, too many facets. Sometimes a few words must point the direction, and the reader must do the rest.

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A shriveled seed

Soaked in water,

Sprouting

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Traveling a map,

At the edge,

Life

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Things never believed in

Made real,

You.

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Kampala, 2019

Today’s poem, inspired by everyday events.

Perfection

Perhaps the most perfect evening ever,

Though there is nothing very spectacular

 As it fades in various darkening shades of blue and gold,

The chorus of love-sick cicadas and birds making their final calls  

Can’t drown out the not-very distant roar of traffic,

Air is cooling, though bricks remember the heat of an hour ago,

Nothing very remarkable, but something, anyhow,

That makes it all worthwhile.

Kampala 2019

A second poem, after the long break, just to show that I have been writing, and it isn’t all gloom.

Seasons

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Spread of moisture through sponge,

Emptiness pulling from within,

Nature filling vacuums,

Energy equalizing,

Slow spread through soft tissue.

Flowers opening in sunlight,

The first slipping of cells never parted,

Letting go of what grew together.

Fruit ripening,

Sweetness seeping from and towards light,

Mystic of nature’s chemistry,

Changes that bring us back to the start.

Leaves drying

Sap slowing, thinning

Connections gently severed

Carried by a breeze to make room

First for winter.

Then new growth.

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Kampala

2018

Finally, after endless technical and inspiration issues and complications my website is working again.

This first poem is inspired by life’s complications at a time in my life which is, to misquote Charles Dickens, the best of times, but also the complex-est of times.

Never the Same

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It’s complicated,

While I mindfully try to think with only one voice,

A babble of voices shouting other regretfully thoughts,

Distractions from moving towards where I’m trying to go to make sure I avoid

Getting there.

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I’d express it,

If I didn’t worry so much about what they might think,

They, who’ll probably never read it, and almost definitely not get it,

Who I don’t care much about anyway, and certainly have no idea what they feel

Or think.

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It’s not that simple,

The layers on confusingly contradictory layers,

I hold that evolving view until new evidence comes to light,

Contradicting, reinforcing or utterly disproving while I passionately try to explain

Mainly to myself.

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It’s fascinating,

Yet even I am not listening with much focus as double,

Triple tasking, one screen flickering blue in the background, while another

Trembles for my attention, there’s early morning birdsong calling to my soul

But also breaking news.

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I’m surviving

Strong as steel in the face of bone crushing circumstances,

Thoughtfully supportive, logically dealing with more than everything

Or pathetically procrastinating on unimportant, insignificant detail,

I’ll finish this afternoon

.

Kampala 2019

Testing, testing

I am not posting any poems at the moment due to problems with horrible spam. I am trying to solve the problems, but it has proved to be very difficult. Sorry for that! Rilla

The first poem I’ve shared for a while. Within the poem, an explanation of why it has become harder for me to write. Hopefully the writing will also help to fill the blank.

Blank spaces

After the realization, a blank space grew inside me.

Mainly it’s grey, though there are days when it darkens,

When it grows, the aching edges reach my throat,

I become silent and if I speak my voice feels like sandpaper,

The sound flat and hard, laughter an impossibility.

Mainly it lies quiet, but always conscious

Until some place, some person or situations stirs it.

I seek solitude, avoid the superficial, but also the digging too deep:

Noise and meaningless talk of nothings, shopping for unneeded things,

Meditating, writing poetry and getting really drunk.

Kampala, 2019