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~ Linda R Davis, Raven of Peace & Poetry

Bits of Poetry

Monthly Archives: December 2014

His Own Springtime

21 Sunday Dec 2014

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Cardinals, Death, Monsieur du Miroir, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Omaha, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spring, Winter

A few words might satisfy

The feverish yearning of my soul

for some master-thought,

That should guide me

Through this labyrinth of life,

Teaching wherefore I was born,

And how to do my task on earth,

And what is death.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, from Monsieur du Miroir

 

 

When the shadow is lifted,

There’s the only the boy,

And the first thing he does

Is become a man,

(Maybe sensing himself for the first time)

The buffer is gone; it’s him alone,

And a great wonder swells in his mind,

What can I do?

His eyes focus

On the yellow of the weeping willow against snow,

The sun caught and frozen there,

And he hears and turns his head

toward the cardinal whose red coat flashes

In front of him, like blood against snow.

He thinks of his dad standing amazed

at that same blood-red plumage,

And the man before him,

and before him, and so on.

There is nothing he can do now, at this time,

Except reflect and build energy

toward his own springtime,

And picture himself budding there,

His roots laid deep in the soil of his ancestry,

Their many failings,

(He still feels it)

Their many successes,

All of it now merging.

He knows, this will be his own final push,

Man, alone, stripped,

Stretching his whole being toward a sun

That is so often obscured,

So often, radiant and warm.

Oxygen

11 Thursday Dec 2014

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Afterlife, Creator, Dad, Death, Death Poems, End of Life, Faith, Father, God, Heaven, Hope, Losing Parents, Love, Oxygen, Parents, Poem, Poems, Poetry, pulmonary fibrosis

You’re not gone yet,
Or, are you,
Floating somewhere,
Possibly beside me here
as I write this poem, play this song.
Do you hear the music I hear—
Know my thoughts—
Feel what it is to be emptied?
The lungs close in on themselves
And all around us is less than we need—
Want—wish for—desperately fight to breathe.
Tell me there’s an afterlife,
A place where you’ll wait,
All things separated, rejoined,
The things we can feel,
And the things we believe are here,
Even when we cannot see.

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Afterlife Death Death Poems Forgiveness Happiness Hope Horses Life Loss Love Poem Poems Poetry Soul Souls Spirit

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