Posts Tagged ‘summer’

Ah, nature. Ya gotta love it.
I got out into the warm sunshine today and worked on my garden. It’s a fairy garden full of cute little ornaments and it looks very mystical. There’s lovely flowers and Kentucky blue grass neatly trimmed, weed whacked and fertilized. A freshy pruned bush perfected the scenery.
I sat down on my lawn chair breathing in the fresh air as I admired the beauty created by all of my hard work.
Isn’t summer wonderful, folks? Sure it is!
Everything went fine until an effin’ mosquito bit me right below my eye, blew up my face and turned me into a mongoloid. Great! Just freakin’ fantastic! No amount of makeup in the world is going to cover this mammoth quasimoto lump on my face. I’m going to look really cute looking for work tomorrow.
Marya sticks her tongue to the side of her mouth and slobbers. “I am not an animal. I am a writer.”

Years ago, one summer
I came upon a little hummingbird,
no bigger than my thumb.
As it fluttered about a flower
in search of sweet nectar,
I stood, frozen in time, and
was mesmerized by its grace.
I’m not sure why,
or what compelled me,
but I ran inside
to get my brother’s BB gun.
As I raced back to my prey,
I did not think
of my actions, or
of consequences, or
regret.
But only of the thought,
“I wonder if I can get it with one shot?”
At that moment, it turned to me
as if to say,
“What a beautiful creature.
so full of life, and
love, and
compassion.
It is a wonderful day to be
alive!”
But I did not listen.
Instead, intent on my mission,
I aimed, and
pulled the trigger.
And in one thoughtless moment,
a tiny lifeless body lay before
me.

I am now thirty- seven years old.
And since that summer of my youth,
A thousand memories and regrets
I have.
And one that haunts me still
is a small one.

If only . . . I had listened with my heart.

A poem I read and wanted to share eh..

I am

Posted: June 21, 2010 by Marya in Poems
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

I am …
A woman
With a full heart, hidden
Somewhere in an empty room …
With eyes not quite of autumn’s gold, and yet
Neither all of summer’s green;
I wonder …
If love is a tale made for children —
A granting of sweet dreams in their innocence —
A honey-coating to help their throats
Choke down the bitter draught …
I hear …
A voice that whispers warnings, half-formed,
Bodiless as hope, until I swear I cannot draw
Another breath unless this spectre be unmasked,
His lies mangled ‘neath my righteous tread;
I see …
A woman, proud, uncompromising,
Diaphanous as air — less, even, than the tears
That fall in desolation about her weary feet,
Salt poison pooled upon the withered ground …
I want …
A measure of quietude, a certain silence,
The echo of alone which heals me of dreaming,
The nothing that stills the wanting,
The numb, the cold that laughs at pain;
I am
A woman,
hidden …

I pretend …
That I can live forever — that Time
Has no puissance but that which I afford Him —
And so, I can wait, I can be happy tomorrow,
Sleep is for the dead; but its ghosts haunt my waking …
I feel …
Too much — too deeply to be directionless,
Too real for imagining, and yet the familiar eyes
Hold nothing of recognition — only my reflection —
A meeting of shadows in sunlit glass;
I touch …
The downy wings of hope, in wonder,
In reverence, in need, in hunger;
Alas, it burns my fingers as a flame,
A sacrilege, self-defined …
I worry …
That I am alone; that in my longing
I have forsaken all — but oh, what reward,
What smile divine should light the path to freedom —
And how can I but heed the siren’s call?
I cry …
For having too much, for fear of bursting,
And then, when by the pouring of my soul
I lie, a vessel emptied, I cry again
For what was had, and lost;
I am
A woman,
empty …

I understand
That life is what you make it,
That sometimes, the coat of many colors
That marks your triumphs brightly, blends only
To loneliest of grey …
I say
That we are made by life, shaped,
Broken, perhaps — unmade and voided —
But always, the core of us remains, waiting
With only faith, with trust, to be reborn;
I dream
Of bluest waters, reaching
With unnatural hands toward the faded sky,
Of dolphins that wander in seas without limits,
Carrying me water-breathing past corals and clouds …
I try …
To lead by example, knowing
That merely the telling holds no power;
A gift of giving is merely a day, while
A gift of knowing spans forever;
I hope …
That my darkness holds you gently,
That pain is halved by sharing, that feeling
Wields nothing past the words it summons,
Except that it touch you with only healing …
I am
A woman,
only.