My Soul Sings

Why do any of us write poetry?
Is it an expression of joy? of Grief?
Why do I write poetry?
Is it an expression of inner belief?

In the year since I've last written
I've experienced both extremes
Felt grief and joy and so much more
Emotions explode my seams.

I'm looking towards my future.
Deciding what I want from life.
Is it the stage, the lights, the music
Or to be a more normal kind of wife?

I think no matter which I choose,
Music will always be
What keeps me sane in a busy world
An essential part of me.

Is this why I write poetry?
To express what's on my mind?
To show what's in my heat?
To ensure my soul's not blind?

Yes, I think it is so.
This is from where it springs
This is why I write poetry
So my soul, once again, it sings.

A Dr. Seuss Christmas!

Falling, glittering snowy white
Blankets the world with beauty bright
Creating a peaceful quiet sight.

The fake tree that will never die
Over the stacks of presents Presides
Wrapped and piled oh, so high.

Then through the door with a crash
Cousins, Aunts, and Uncles dash
Adding their gifts to the enormous stash.

Merry Christmases, hellos, and hardy hugs
Fly about like so many bugs
And cider is passed out in Christmas mugs.

Dinner of stuffing and gravy is served
The light hearted mood by laughter preserved
As Christmas traditions are once more observed.

Then dessert of pumpkin pie
Is offered out in the wink of an eye
And greeted with an appreciative sigh.

And now to all it must be shown
How in our music we have grown
Before adults to presents condone.

The kids perform with skill and style
No one can resist a smile
Though the program sure does take a while.

Then finally they give the word
And though it may seem quite absurd
My memory seems to be somewhat blurred.

Where piles of gifts once lay wrapped
Lies paper in shredded torn up scraps
And somehow presents are in our laps.

Then off to bed with the younger ones
All cousins, daughters and yes, the sons
It's time to make the sticky buns.

For in the morning all too soon
Though I won't be up till well past noon
Breakfast must not be eaten, with a spoon!

What does my heart say?

Poised upon the edge
Of what I do not know.
Still learning how to stand
After a lethal blow.

While I am truly happy
I feel a hole inside
Something of me is missing.
Something doesn't coincide.

I need a certain something
But how am I to get this
When I know not what it is
Nor even what I miss?

Is there a hidden way
That I might soon discover
What part of me is empty
It's secret to uncover?

Is there something crying
From deep down inside
That knows all about me
When my intellect is blind?

I think that just perhaps
My heart might maybe may
See things my eyes cannot
Could I learn what it might say?

Live!

Look up,
Lift up your eyes and see.
There's a big world out there,
Big enough to fly free.

Look up,
Lift your head.
You can run and smile and laugh,
Your feet are no longer made of lead.

Look up,
At the beauty around you!
All of nature is singing,
And the sky is oh so blue!

Look up,
Feel the sunshine on your face
It's warmth upon your back,
As you dance through time and space.

Look up,
At the Mountains
Shrouded in wispy wonder
As raindrops fall in fountains.

Look up,
At the stars
Wheeling through the night
Burning away your ugly scars.

Look up,
And Live!

Sing Me to Heaven

I didn't actually compose this one. Jane Griner did, and Daniel E. Gawthrop set it for choir. We're singing it in I Cantori right now, and it's so beautiful that I had to put it up.

In my Heart's sequestered chambers
Lie truths stripped of poet's gloss.
Words alone are vain and vacant
And my heart is mute.

In response to aching silence
Memory summons half-heard voices,
And my soul finds primal eloquence
And wraps me in song.

If you would comfort me,
Sing me a lullaby.
If you would win my heart,
Sing me a love song.
If you would mourn me
And bring me to God,
Sing me a requiem,
Sing me to heaven.

Touch in me
All love and passion,
Pain and pleasure.
Touch in me
Grief and comfort;
Love and passion,
Pain and pleasure.

Sing me a lullaby,
A love song,
A requiem.

Love me,
Comfort me,
Bring me to God.

Sing me a love song,
Sing me to heaven.

Boston in the Fall

This one has been forming in my head since I went home for break a couple of weeks ago. It's still a work in progress, but it deserved to be written.

This morning on my window
An icy work of art
Jacks frosty calling card
Yet by the sun unmarred.

There's a crispness in the air
As I leave the house this morning
There is ice upon the lake
As only cold can make.

The leaves upon the trees
A burgeoning raging fire
Orange, Yellow, flaming red
Beautiful though almost dead.

I love this time of year
When Boston's at its best
The frost, the leaves, the wintry chill
Fall gives my soul a happy thrill.

Now I'm back at school in southern Tennessee.
Yet deep within this warm and sunny place
I still hear the forests burning call,
And wish I were in Boston, in the Fall.

Is There Still Love?

On their first day of school
Two children met
A meeting she will never forget
The beginning.

In a little red play house
Two children were "married"
A memory she has always carried
Child's love.

A huge shiny ring
With a bright blue stone
Now you'll never be alone.
A child's promise.

A wooden race car
A stolen kiss
One summer of purest bliss.
Gone.

The years drift by
Some go others stay
To themselves they say
Do they think of me?

Another summer
A dance on a hill
Darkness not the cause of her thrill.
Goodbye.

A proclamation of love
Met with another
Why so far away from each other?
Unfulfilled.

Crushed by fate
Two young adults
Tired of endless somersaults
Return.

A young woman
With a promise ready
A young man calm and steady.
Is there still love?