Skip to main content

REMIND ME by Carolyn Riker

It is in the crisp shortened days of summer’s waning end and the lure of autumn that has me reevaluating...

Sometimes, I get caught in a tailspin of worry and doubt. Sometimes I get confused and lost on my inner path. It can be lonely when shadows suffocate. I seek comfort to shelter and fan the embers of my dreams while I sort through it all.

Although, many say, “We are never alone”, in dark spaces it feels intensely lonely.

Therefore when my beacon is dim, I have to rebuild my inner fortress with reminders. Feather by feather and ray of light by the flicker of candle, I climb a monstrous cave wall. The arches in my tunnel seek a connection through the windows of my eyes and I have to feel the purity of something leading; it’s a universal expansiveness I can hardly begin to describe.

This poem was birthed in my rise and frequent pausing. I had to grow into the words. I cradled my fears and found comfort. For it has been my experience, poetry and prose seldom abandon me.

Remind me
by Carolyn Riker

Remind me when the sun rests it will still rise
and the moon sometimes needs to hide
and it’s okay --  not to be okay
I’ll dwell in the arms of an ancient tree.

Remind me when lavender gets wild with age
it’s fine to let her flow freely
much like rose petals fall
to adorn the thorny ankles of her cane.

Remind me when sadness thwarts my perception
a clearing will follow the tempest
and imagination will once again spin
from fibers delicate as the bud of a dancing lupine.

Remind me how sipping warmth is a liquid embrace
and daydreaming is not a useless affair
it is the wings of a butterfly as it caresses flora
and graces life and honors the death of despair.

Remind me to be still in the sound of silence
and to unfold inside a spiraled shell of respite
where the sound of love extends
and softens the core of my rocky shore.

Remind me I am loved especially when I feel not so
to cherish the strong silvery locks of wisdom
and to favor my extra creases of said certainty
learning how age releases.

Remind me I need to wander freely
on grassy knolls and drift like an untamed river
especially when my spirit hurts, encourage me
to walk until the path of my creativity returns.

Remind me how slumber sounds like waves
and tears are the eyelashes of the sea and
how love reaches beyond the shores and
how the deepest beauty is felt and not
always what it seems.


Carolyn Riker is an elementary teacher, mental health counselor, writer and a poet who finds comfort and balance in her kids, nature, music and her sweet cat Copper.  She can be seen sipping soy lattes, nibbling on dark chocolate or savoring a full-bodied red wine. Introspective, forthright, kind and compassionate, she intertwines life with yoga, meditating and learning about Vedic Astrology and Ayurveda.  She also writes for Elephant Journal and Rebelle Society. Carolyn can be reached via her e-mail address carolynra7@hotmail.com or on facebook here.  




~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~ 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

  This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor

The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a magical winter sunset and full moonrise from the top of Firle Beacon in the South Downs... Unusually for me, I wrote the poem quite quickly and changed it very little before publishing it – perhaps the energies were working through my pen! Imbolc is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It’s a fire festival which I particularly love because of its associations with Brigid, the Celtic Mother Goddess of arts and crafts, clear sight, healing, inspiration and nurturance of creative talents – something which, through my writing, I am always trying to connect with.  I also love Imbolc because, with so much darkness and negativity in the world today, it is a time for hope, potential, visioning and initiation. With love and blessings as the light returns. Photography by Chanel Baran IMBOLC    by Caroline Mellor I am the dream of awakening. I am the returning of the night.  I am the tough green

WINTER SOLSTICE: A GIFT OF LOVE by Carolyn Riker

I’ve had several days now of alone time… It is unusual and a gift that I couldn’t see until I breathed it. I have been able to watch the sun’s rise through the grey of dawn and smile at the flickers of frost melting on the waving boughs of evergreen. It’s unique to follow daylight as it traverses the tempo of a cat’s soft slumbering purr. Night comes swifter and the glow of candles and the flames of fire comfort me more than the steady stream of always-doing-more. As much as I resisted, I needed this break. I had no idea how much my body was trying to tell me   slow down   until the exhaustion settled in around my joints. My eyes swam in molasses. Heaviness of I-can’t-hold-out-much-long, walked me to the throne of my nest. It’s winter’s gift of self-nurturing and love. It’s been a quiet proclamation of femininity and a need for comfort foods. Lemon crisps and cranberry, white-chocolate shortbread dipped in tea; I felt a hint of being pampered without