PRESENCE by Edith Lazenby

I think the heart of a mother breaks in more ways than I can ever know…

I wrote this last year on my 53^rd birthday. It holds the feelings of sorrow I feel often, and strongly of late. I speak of the children I did not have. I speak of my dear my mom who I cherish to this day. I speak of grandmother moon who comforts me often as does the memory of my mom’s mother, who I used to think after she died would greet me when I passed on.

Mainly I speak of loss like a good friend for loss is sure and steady and near at hand. Yet though I say bliss is now a gift I cannot keep it is only because what bliss and joy I find lives in the giving, to the many friends, family and students I love.

On mother’s day I want to honor all those women who give and give some more.

I want to honor my mother who still knows who I am and offers her love to me every time we talk. And the love and wisdom that she is lives in me every day. She taught me compassion. She gave me the courage to care when it would be simpler to return to the days where it hurt too much to care.

I think the heart of a mother breaks in more ways than I can ever know. Yet with each crack there is a mending that gives mom’s what they need so they can feed their love to love again for the next moment, the next time need asks one to give when we think we have no more.

There is always more.

Presence

I play rolling waves

And AUM to take me to a place

That is softer than dew on grass

And gentler than a 5 week old kitten,

Mewing her needs, craving mommy.

I love my 4 furry children.

They’re all I’ll ever have.

Loss is not sharp anymore.

The twins I wanted.

The babies I grieved

In desire’s dream.

Loss befriends me.

We sip ice water,

We gaze at the moon.

We wonder how many

Moons I had to trace

Before we could sit,

In peace, grandmother moon

Blessing me these 53 years

With her constant care,

Giving me comfort

When I could find none

In family or friends,

Keeping watch

When I could not watch

Because I was drunk,

Crazy or depressed.

Feeling that bore fangs

And anger in fists

I kept clenched and teeth

I grinded. The hurt had to wear

That face to shelter

Hurts that claimed me

Since a teen: I could not care.

Now I do. I care for the moon

As if she were my mother

Who will die of Alzheimer’s.

I care because I can, because

I want to care with a touch

That loves as if each stranger

Were the child I longed to know.

Yes, loss is kinder now.

I shed those dinosaur tears

With a smile. Bliss is a promise

I could never make. Now

It is a gift I cannot keep.

Edith Lazenby: “I love to write. I began writing poetry in elementary school. Sometimes I write poetry daily, other times not. I adore Mary Oliver, her way of embracing the light while acknowledging the darkness. I teach yoga full time and find the practice has grounded me deeper in my body and heart and helped me move closer to what I call spirit. I also now edit for Elephant Journal and write for them as well. I live with my husband, who is my best friend, and 4 kitties. Life holds challenges yet with time I feel better able to live in the moment, moment by moment. All great teachers teach presence. I find each day is a lesson in being. The process of writing holds me and I find the craft teaches me something new each time. You may visit my blog 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!~

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

Journey of the Heart

Search This Blog