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~ Linda R Davis, Raven of Peace & Poetry

Bits of Poetry

Monthly Archives: June 2019

A Memory of Wings

26 Wednesday Jun 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Birds, Butterflies, Persevere, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Singing, Souls, Souls Singing, Survival, True Selves, Truth, Wings

Wings of butterflies,
a vague memory
of our wings.
Birdsong. We sing,
as we struggle to hear
the melody. Revive
and persevere.
Strive.
We hear it.
Some days,
it’s easy,
like today:
the journey,
the song,
the singing

Survivors Who Love

24 Monday Jun 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Childhood, Children, Divorce, Forgiveness, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Survival, Surviving, Trauma, Violence

What is the opposite
of the violence
you witnessed,
hostages to our pain,
too young to know
what normal should be?
But tonight,
all three grown,
and at my side,
the peace
of survivors who love
and forgive–
because what else is there
except to love
and forgive.

A 52nd First Day of Summer

21 Friday Jun 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

clouds, Death, embrace, Flowers, Happiness, Hope, Life, Love, Love Poems, Manito Park, Petunias, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul Poetry, Souls, Spokane, summer

I’m writing today in response to a prompt about clouds that I found on the Manic Sylph’s blog.

My fifty-second first day of summer,

is cool and cloudy, the way I like my days,

a high of seventy, and I’ll stroll Manito Park,

while the flowers reprieve from scorchers,

and chaos; mild days are undervalued

in this world, everyone wants to run hot;

can I just sit here and dead-head my petunias

until I die of natural causes, hopefully,

in my sleep, when I’m past my eightieth

first day of summer, or ninetieth—

however old it is when I’m ready to go.

Are we ever ready to leave days like this?

There is always someone left to love,

to smile at, to hold in our just right embrace

while the sun comes up in their souls,

and they, too, long to celebrate

their first cloudy days of summer.

All These Years, Still Holding Hands

19 Wednesday Jun 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

We sat,

chairs close together,

our favorite bistro,

next to the river park,

under shade of roses,

ancient oak, and maple,

admiring the older couples,

wondering,

Which will we be—

someday—

and hoping for the aged lovers

to our left,

still holding hands.

A Final Severance

18 Tuesday Jun 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Death, Deer, Fear, Fear of Death, Loneliness, Poem, Poems, Poetry

Sentient soul, to sentient soul,
he realized her panic
when he came barreling
around the corner; sundown,
and their eyes met
for just that second,
she decided to run.
He’d forgot to honk his horn,
thought she’d made it,
then the thud,
like the snap of twig,
a broken limb,
the doe, three-legged,
ran down the ravine.
He was amazed at her speed,
dismayed by his deed,
that couldn’t be undone,
or lightened,
or made right.
In fact, he knew
there was nothing left
except she would die.
He wondered at that,
and how death arrives
when we least expect,
and then, the frantic,
lonesome search for a quiet place
to lay your broken body down,
and the terrible waiting:
last fear, last tight breath,
a final severance from this world
on what had been a beautiful night.

When She Was Young: Song of the Lotus

04 Tuesday Jun 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Addiction, Daughters, Flowers, Healing, Hope, Loss, Lotus, Love, Mother Poems, Mothers, Odyssey, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Promises

“The lotus, which was so delicious that those who ate of it left off caring about home, and did not even want to go back and say what had happened to them.”
The Odyssey Book IX

Promises, she heard them all,
the call of her mother’s voice,
she wanted to believe:
This won’t happen again, baby.
Maybe, it was okay to trust
for a while, and rise, like a lotus blossom,
above the mud of her addiction,
floating with petals stretched up to the sun.
Somewhere, she thought,
there is a story of a girl whose love could cure,
and pour itself out as an ethereal blanket,
so magical, together at last,
even their bones would long
to float away in the lotus’ song.

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