Fear of Bridges

They say

one must face

their fears,

take chances,

plunge forward

Under the bridge

is a gaping maw;

river rushes past

like life.

Love is like that.

I want to freefall

off that bridge and

be carried

to the open sea.

Tags: Poetry

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As some of you know, I've been doomed to have no inspiration or motivation to write anything new for some time. My resolution for this year is to write, regardless of it's worth. If it's bad, it is what it is, but I must find the damned muse. So here is the first try. Yes it's broken, but I have to believe it can be fixed.

Pachabel

Pachabel, plays soothing notes

drowning out voices next door

filling my being with contentment.

I smile, hear the boom of discontent

rising above the beauty.

For once, they hear ME too.

I am alive, though silent,

I feel though there's no touch.

I exist, even in invisibility.

Pachabel, becomes my spirit,

soothes, comforts and cradles me,

giving hope to a dismal day;

beauty resides in every note.

Harpsichord strokes my lonely heart,

leaving me with breathless sighs.

Violin touches the fabric of me,

reminding me of love's caress.

Let the neighbors be damned,

for now I am lost with Pachabel.

Tags: poetry

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: "Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."

Ode to Figgy Pudding

It 'twas the night before Christmas, she stood mixing a plum pudding;
Figgy pudding, they had called it as they sang the carols at the door.
Every year they sang the same thing, wouldn't leave until they get it,
Could not forget it, until they ate it, this damn pudding that they adore.

In her head she could hear the chorus, the chanting merry, just do it for us;
The figgy pudding, this loathsome pudding, that the maniacal carolers adore!
This year she would be ready, measuring carefully, kept hands steady ,
Careful not to drop it, hated pudding that makes them stop it, cannot drop it on the floor!

Hours later, it's still steaming, in the oven, as though is beaming;
Oh the horror, figs and suet smelling up her décor, she vowed right then, figgy pudding nevermore
Then she heard them on the corner, singing merrily one to another, ceaseless chanting, on the lawn
Frantic, she got the pudding, from the oven, she removed it, and heard them singing at the door.

We wish you a Merry Christmas;
We wish you a Merry Christmas;
We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Good tidings we bring to you and your kin;
Good tidings for Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Oh, bring us a figgy pudding;
Oh, bring us a figgy pudding;
Oh, bring us a figgy pudding and a cup of good cheer
We won't go until we get some;
We won't go until we get some;
We won't go until we get some, so bring some out here

We wish you a Merry Christmas;
We wish you a Merry Christmas;
We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

By now she was near hysterics, as she heard those hated lyrics, she carried the figgy pudding to the door;
Stood they there with cherub faces, rosy cheeks, teeth in braces, harassing all the neighbors on the lawn.
Out the door she did stumble, under her breath she did grumble, oh but she did tumble on the floor!
Figgy pudding splattered carolers, now they all WORE figgy pudding, oh the horror, simply drenched to the core!

Tags: Poetry, writing, Christmas

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Pride

Lipstick glides over satin lips

Painted pout a perfect silhouette

Skin smoothed, foundation laid

Preparing for another days minuet

Smoothing stockings with alluring pull

Although alone in her fluffy nest

Always mindful of every fluid movement

Fearing only being second best

She gazes into the mirror at last

Seeing past the mask so carefully applied

Glimpsing the wounded child beneath

Little girl that she meticulously tries to hide

Pride is the mask that hides her loneliness

Intimacy lost long ago with her innocence

Tags: Poetry

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The first poem here is actually a song written by an unknown person. The second poem is mine, inspired by the first.

The Holly & The Ivy

The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown.

The holly bears a blossom
As white as lily flower
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To be our sweet Saviour.

The holly bears a berry
As red as any blood,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To do poor sinners good.

The holly bears a prickle
As sharp as any thorn,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
On Christmas Day in the morn.

The holly bears a bark
As bitter as any gall,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
For to redeem us all.

The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown.

Christmas Carol, Author unknown

Holly's "white as lily" flower in the second stanza is an allusion to Christ's purity, through Mary.
In the third stanza, a correlation is drawn between the red color of holly's berry and Christ's blood.
Holly's thorny "prickle" in the fourth stanza is an allusion to the "crown of thorns" worn by Christ.
And the bitter taste of holly's bark mentioned in the fifth stanza? This could be a reference to the drink offered Christ as he hung on the cross. 

David Beaulieu, landscaper http://www.about.com He discusses planting holly with the oak and relates it to druidic, pagan, and christian histories. I decided to take the old lore of the Oak King and Holly King which in pagan belief are twin brothers, each reigning while the other is waxing and change it up, since some interpretations of the Holly and Ivy in the song were thought to be a gender issue, Holly being male and ivy being the entwined female...I figured I'd just go ahead and confuse the issue more since nobody knows anyway and make my own poem about all of it, winter, Christmas, and solstice!!! And that is how I come to write my "historic" poetry.  

Oak King and Princess Holly

Mighty oak, king of the forest
Limbs outstretched and wide;
Ye overshadow all in thy glory
Reigning in stately magnificence
When days are long and sun is high

Small and petite princess holly,
Adorned in a gown of lush green
Shy in the face of the forest king
Beauty shows her face when he sleeps

Everlasting evergreen, berry laden leaves;
Gives all mankind hope for eternal life
With a show of her blood red tears
She blooms in everlasting hope at Christmas
In memory of Christ's thorny crown

© cdarr

Tags: Poetry

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The Collection

I feel a sense of acceptance as I wrap each vase,

careful not to pack them too tightly in the box.

The knot in my stomach keeps twisting

as I remember the lies that match each one.

Empty now of flowers, empty sentiment long gone;

as gone as the men who sent them, signing their name.

Such a colossal waste, perfect flowers now dead

~but somehow never forgotten.

I line them neatly in paper wrappings,

sealing the box at last with masking tape and memories.

They remain as entombed as my ability to trust again;

kept in the attic, sealed with hope.

Tags: Poetry, writing

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Peace

A lone woman journeys through an enchanted forest in the early hours on a frigid winter morning. She hears the soft crunch of snow underfoot with each step that she takes, as if the mere presence of her passage ripped the very fabric of the world. Silence, that roaring exclamation of one's soul, engulfed her being, wrapping her in it's solemn embrace; cradling her in serenity, swaddling her psyche in contentment.

She sighs, audibly, as if lying in a lover's arms in the afterglow of ecstasy, her breath a puff of magic, seen as a wisp of smoke in the frigid air. Her presence was an enigma here, foreign to the stillness of morning that lay untouched by human hand or foot; virgin snow, pristine, pure. Here, amongst these sacred trees, she sought solitude. Here in this holy cathedral, she sought God. Here in this stolen moment in time, she sought self. More precisely, she sought to lose self in the seeking, for only when one frees themselves from their own needs, their own wants and desires may they ever attain that truth in which they know not, yet understand fully. That is the mystery; for in mankind's headlong and raging journey of fulfillment, they miss that which was already theirs, that inborn knowledge of godliness that their whole being dreams of, fights for, covets. In each resides a spark of the divine, deeply imbedded within from birth. She kneels, meditating on creation, the breath of life given from God to man, immortal love from Father to son; the gift of life, of breath.

In the stillness of dawn, she watches as the sun rises above the frozen horizon. Light reaches and enhances winter's perfect beauty, radiating a glow causing the snow to glisten like diamonds, icicles capturing the sunlight to shine like crystals, prisms of light mirroring the glory of days dawning. Around her, the trees watch on, secure in their own place in life's wheel, from seed to sapling, sapling to greatness, providing oxygen to the world; to their eventual fall to death, becoming one with the earth, fertilizing rich soil with their nutrients and providing a fertile bed for growth and rebirth. So simple, and yet complex, this world; beautiful and orderly in its simplicity. Content, the lone woman begins the journey back to the land of the people, carrying with her a prayer for peace. Footprints are all that she leaves in her wake.

Tags: Poetry, Prose

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Roadside Wildflowers

Once,
not so long ago,
wildflowers bloomed
along rural roads.
Milkweed reached
for sunshine
until they burst open
in beautiful pastel colors
from pods smooth as silk.
Black Eyed Susan
happily soaked up sunshine
alongside tiger lilies
and daylilies,
green fronds waving
at those driving by.
Cattails stood
alongside marshy ground
or near creek beds,
waiting to fluff and puff seed
magically into the wind,
spreading beauty
and nurturing birds.
Wild blackberry bushes
grew in huge stands,
as birds feasted aplenty.
Poke berries too
fed our feathered friends,
though staining hands
and clothing…
but what a pretty color!
I remember digging up
sassafras root
to make tea
and hunting morels;
such was the way
of life back then.

I miss the wildflowers,
those hardy American beauties,
now as lost to us
as our own values,
disposed of with pesticides
in the name of progress;
destroyed
in favor of Unitarian thought,
conformity
and stark
narrow minded
world views.

Tags: poetry

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Firelight

All is quiet,
everyone having fallen under night's spell;
slumbering amidst the cadence of crickets
and the occasional flash of fireflies.
Night-song harmonizes
with the crackling fire,
creating a sensory experience
of lost memories of man
as I watch his lonely dance
around the blazing fire.

Fire paints the wall sienna
framing his primal silhouette.
His shadow dances
against the stone wall,
reminding me of ancient cave drawings.
I am mesmerized by his form;
movements as fluid as the mountain stream.
Orange flames lick the night,
as night sighs in a passionate glow.
I am transported in time;
racial memory set free
by the magic of firelight.

Tags: poetry, writing

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