Friday, December 23, 2005

a woman

sometimes -
sometimes, she struggles,
not to desire

so very much;

not to love,
and more elusive still,

she labours not to
love so very much
not to inhale too deeply -
so when that
first breath does come
her inspiration
will not be

small whisps of clouds,
that danced upon tall summits;
when it comes at all.

to love so much,

she trusts.
Trusts that even with closed eyes
on her darkest nights a radiant

red light will softly
dwell upon her sleeping eyes and enfold
itself around her,
that she may embrace
and abandon herself in the
exquisite pain

of her
wide open soul


she seeks to shield
herself away
from this love but,
she cannot

remember how and so,
she goes
from day to day -
with heart
embracing gracious trees,
gazing on
her radiant moon,

passions of the sea,
loving her earth, with a joy
that makes her ache

Loving a man
for all
that he
for all that he
will never be

with all
of herself

loving a man
and somedays,
she wishes -
it all away


Kathleen Callon said...

Came over to leave a comment about the miners, but then got lost in your poems.

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE your "pomes". They're... perfect.

Can't wait to read more.

Kathleen Callon said...


Sometimes I wish I was Canadian. My husbands grandparents are from Vancouver and one of my great-grandmas was French Canadian. (I hear under an ounce is legal in BC, which is very cool.)

When my kids ask about war and politics I tell them what I think (without the explatives), but always tell them that when they are older I want them to be informed and to make their own decisions.

We live near the largest Marine base in the US (maybe the world) and lots of the dads of the kids here are in Iraq, but even here you'll see an occasional "Bush lied and troops died" or "Peace is Patriotic" sticker (my hubby has one).

Your "pomes" are PERFECT, pagans do rule, and I have to run out to bring my daughter the lunch she forgot in my truck. Peace.