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~ Linda R Davis, Raven of Peace & Poetry

Bits of Poetry

Tag Archives: Happiness

Bent On Flying

26 Saturday Nov 2022

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Beauty, Courage, Dancing, Freedom, Gratitude, Happiness, Hope, Longing, Love, Love Poems, Music, Poem, Poems, Poetry, shame, Songs, Soul, Soul Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Strength, Survival, Unity, Yearning

Fogged in for five days,

A space, made smaller

By low-hanging clouds

That won’t go away.

Nothing is as ungovernable

As weather, except the soul,

Bent on flying–

It’s what they always get wrong

About need; I need freedom;

I need sun, and a view so clear

It extends forever, like a soul,

Bent on flying–

Beyond every cage, open space;

Beyond every wall, more room;

Beyond this fog, the sun,

So bright, it will blind you.

2

He said, the world is bound together

in shame, and shadow.

3

What serves your soul:

A walk, a song, an embrace.

Last summer, we danced

Under stars and moon,

To music from Alexa.

Last night, we danced

To Christmas jazz.

You opened the door,

Danced barefoot in snow,

Twirled under night clouds,

A free soul of sun, and song,

A soul bent on flying.

One Swan, One Last Kiss of a Bee

12 Thursday May 2022

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Afterlife, Beauty, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Happiness, Hog Lake Falls, Hope, Infinite, Life, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, prairie smoke, Prayer, Sacred, Soul, Soul Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Spring, spring poem, Survival, The Universe, Truth, Yearning

Hog Lake Falls, a cool breeze,

One single, solitary swan.

I think I see him preening

From this vantage, far away.

Last time I hiked here, you’d just died,

And I thought, how lovely to know

I can bring you with me,

Free of the dying chair,

The dying bed, the whole dying room,

And house, where you’d locked yourself away.

Such days are ripe with feeling alive:

Prairie smoke droop their heads,

Their beautiful faces turned down,

As they wait for the kiss of a bee.

Then they will finally look up at the sky,

Say one last prayer, go to seed.

2022

01 Saturday Jan 2022

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Gratitude, Happiness, Hope, Life, Love, New Year, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spirit, Survival, Yearning

The past,

And its happiness,

Sadness,

Must its minor role

Encompass,

As we seek renewal,

And move forward

Into the unknown

Abyss of a world

Made new by one day,

One day,

A New Year—

Think of it—

A chance,

A calling,

A maxim:

To start again.

Happy New Year, Friends everywhere!

The Not So Little Things

29 Wednesday Dec 2021

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Aging, Death, Family, Fathers, Forgiveness, Happiness, Hope, Life, Love, Memory, My Dad, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Survival, Winter

“Weep for what little things could make them glad. Then for the house that is no more a house. (Directive, Robert Frost)

1.

The frosty backs of horses at the bale,

The red fence, framing the snow,

This is the beauty I found

In the extreme cold

of December.

And I remember

Wishing for it.

2.

Do you want to save this bird,

It was a falcon,

And it ran, with broken wing,

At the edge

Of a barbed wire fence.

He asked me, as he knew

I was a lover of wild things,

And a nurturer of broken wings.

I do, I said, I do.

Then, he was out of the car,

Walking among snow

And wounded bird.

I watched him from the backseat,

The car, I would someday wreck.

But that day, it was whole,

And we were whole,

And he returned, victorious,

Gloved hands,

Cradling broken bird.

3.

I don’t know why he gave it to her,

But she was in possession

Of his cowboy hat,

And she knew

I was the one who wanted it.

I was in possession of money,

And funny prankster that she was,

My sister knocked on my bedroom door.

She was having a yard sale in her room,

And I was invited to shop.

I can’t remember how much I spent,

But the hat became mine,

and I was wearing it.

He laughed when he saw me,

His big hat on my small head,

And heard the story of its quick journey

From her to me–

He’d given it to her for free–

But I didn’t care,

I wore that damn hat everywhere.

4.

Before I wrecked his car,

I slid his truck off an icy road

At two am, in a snowstorm.

I remember hiking to the first house,

And a man answered the door

In his underwear, staring dumbly

At me. I was desperate for a phone

To call my dad, praying he’d pick up,

Otherwise, I’d be stuck

With the undressed stranger.

He did, and soon my dad was sliding

down the dangerous hill,

In the car I’d soon wreck.

Next, he held his metal two-ton jack,

And ratcheted the truck up, and off,

And up and off, back

Onto the road, where the ice melted,

And the snow turned to rain,

And the sky filled with lightning,

But we survived, and now,

We can laugh at this story.

Song of Sorrow and Joy: 5

12 Sunday Dec 2021

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Cancer, Death, Death Poems, Family, Happiness, Hope, Loss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Song of Sorrow and Joy, Souls, Spirits

V.

Joy is found in minor chords,

Singing our truth to the universe.

The story of love is never perfection;

It is always one dropped note,

A half step away from resolution.

Song of Sorrow and Joy: 2

11 Saturday Dec 2021

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Death, Death Poems, Dying, Family, Fathers, Fear of Death, Forgiveness, Happiness, Infinite, Love, Memory, Parents, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Song of Sorrow and Joy, Soul, Souls, Spirit

II.

I’ve seen enough of spirit to know

that you’ll still be here

when I write of letting go.

How love becomes energy,

And energy can’t be destroyed.

The power of memory:

Imperfections, fade away,

Only Love remains,

As a steady anchor,

A steady hand through—

It’s been a while

since I’ve seen you laugh,

(There’s not much joy in dying,)

Yet, I remember your laughter, too,

Your tears wiped away from crying.

And it makes me smile now,

How we watched you break down,

Such a serious father,

Completely undone

By your laughter.

This Pendant World

06 Monday Apr 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Bird Poems, CoronaVirus, Covid19, Death, Dying, Forgiveness, Gratitude, Happiness, Hope, Horse Poems, Horse poetry, Horses, Life, Loneliness, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Sacred, Soul, Soul Poetry, Spirit, Spring, spring poem, Survival, This Pendant World, Yearning

2.

Today, I trusted you,

straddled your wide,

bare back,

sweet mare,

doe-eyed, and healthy.

We breathed together

what good there is

of this April day,

and offered thanks

to a world,

mostly untouched:

the mountain, still there,

the grass, still starting to green,

the birds, still returning,

singing their songs

into the dark hours

of the night.

What They Said About Love

28 Tuesday Jan 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Courage, Death, Divorce, Forgiveness, Happiness, Hope, Infinite, Life, Love, Love Poems, Marriage, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Survival, Vows

New eyes, your eyes,

not their eyes, you see

yourself anew, beginning

to love again. How can that be

a bad thing? Love is not bad,

ever. Make it worth it,

she said, and she’s dead now.

If she’s right, you thought,

could it save us? A love—

worth it, worthy of—

holding past what we thought

it was, what they thought

it was, to what love is:

mostly forgiveness,

he said it, I’m sure,

in the vows. Forgiveness,

he went on & on

about grace, & letting go.

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.

The Sweet Smell of Starting Over

18 Saturday May 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Bird Poem, Bird Poems, Bird Poetry, Birds, Death, Divorce, Eternity, Forgiveness, Freedom, Grace, Gratitude, Happiness, Hope, Infinite, Life, Longing, Love, Love Poems, Mercy, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Rain, Sacred, Soul, Soul Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Spring, spring poem, Starting Over, Survival, The Universe, Unity, Women's Poems, Yearning

Even the stars are made of this:

sunshine & sweet petrichor.

What comes from above,

and we are made right,

our thirst, our life—

forgiveness,

after years of anger;

we finally feel love again.

The earth wreaks well of redemption,

grace permeates the dry ground.

And, the only sound we hear now,

birds,

who sing of starting over,

or, at least that’s what we hear,

like the smell of fresh water,

among grass, and clover:

sunshine & sweet petrichor.

Hog Lake Falls

01 Wednesday May 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

arrowleaf balsamroot, Bird Poems, Crows, Gratitude, Happiness, Hog Lake, Hog Lake Falls, Hope, Horse, Horse Poems, Horses, Life, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Ravens, Spirit, Spokane, spring poem, Waterfalls

The ground sounds hollow,

an echoing cadence of hoofbeats

follows among ponderosa, & a caw-caw

of wood raven, forest spies tattling

on our prattling happy chatter,

while hawks circle the pool

at the base of hog lake falls,

& balsamroot whispers

about the perfection of it all.

New Soul

12 Friday Apr 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

Birth, Brook, Children, Courage, Fear of Death, First Born, Freedom, Gratitude, Happiness, Hope, Life, Love, Mothers, New Soul, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Son, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Strength, Yearning

Some, come into the world as old souls,
like they’ve been here a hundred times,
a bit weary, wise, or jaded, made cautious
by pain & an understanding of human hearts.
But not my son, whose eyes saw the earth
as if he, and it, were just created.

Yes, from first breath he was a wanderer,
like his father in his lust for the world,
possibilities stretched out before him,
no person stranger, no place strange,
a modern day viking making his way
across an infinite, angry sea, with no map.

Unless, music is a map. Song after song,
his heart in waves of hard-plucked strings.
He sang loud, and I wondered how
he could pour himself out in front of crowds.
I see him, even now, upon the ocean,
his wooden ship, the waves, the sails.

For the Tulip Who Refuses to Die

07 Thursday Mar 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Afterlife, Aging, Alone, Courage, Death, Happiness, Hope, Life, Loneliness, Love Poems, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Survival, Tulip, Yearning

Like the yellow tulip,

who blooms every year

in the pit behind our house,

who was dumped, long ago,

after her blossoms were spent—

yet, she screams, I’m still alive!—

every spring, among garbage

and weeds; like that tulip,

you don’t belong here.

My Brother, the Candle

04 Monday Mar 2019

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Tags

brother, Dreams, Happiness, Hope, Love, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Souls, world

for my brother, Danny, on his birthday

Have we improvised too much,
lost sight of our true selves, surviving;
the world is a tough audience.
And now I remember,
when you said you wanted to be a candle,
and we laughed until we cried, and cried,
then we’d ask you again,
and again, laugh and cry,
strange, how life, with time, has changed,
and I think it’s worth a try
to be a candle.

What better man to be a light,
than one who brightens,
and who thought being a candle
was possible, and right?

The Jumbotron

20 Sunday Jan 2019

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Tags

Dance, Happiness, Jumbotron, Poem, Poems, Poetry

You haven’t really seen yourself

until you’ve seen yourself dancing

on a Jumbotron. Ninety five hundred

people cheering as you floss your hips

through your arms, and smile

like the victor, the barbarian

who captured the eye

of the camera in the sky.

Sometimes, You Just Need a Happy Ending

08 Tuesday Jan 2019

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Tags

Children, Happiness, Life, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Struggles, Yearning

Forgive me for wishing
life was more like a fairytale,
a place where once upon a time
we all struggled, our hearts
torn apart, put together again,
as we desperately journeyed
toward our happiest moments.
When we finally reached them,
and got a taste of what we knew
was out there for a few rare lucky souls,
some benevolent hand would write,

they lived happily ever after:

On my son’s twenty-ninth birthday,
He spun the big wheel at Fast Eddies,
it tink-tink-tinked past the free beer,
five dollars, and hamburgers,
to stop at the fifty dollar jackpot.
He danced with his hands in the air,
he smiled, that rare smile,
his lover kissed his cheek.

The Secret Song of the Dead

07 Monday Jan 2019

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Tags

Afterlife, aspen, Aspen Trees, Conversations With Maggie, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Eternity, Happiness, Heaven, Hope, Infinite, Life, Loss, Love, Maggie, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Winter, Winter poem

Looking back, I see you

looking back, smiling,

I say your name,

as if to summon

the dead to life,

and it works,

for a moment.

It’s winter,

and the earth feels

like your absence,

the once living things,

here, but not here.

How many times

did you sit

next to me looking

out at the aspen?

And now, here it is

bare again, waving

its naked branches again.

Today, it looks like

it’s doing The Twist,

and, I think, it hears

a song I don’t, no,

a song I can’t, hear.

Looking back, I see you

looking back, smiling,

your secrets, a dance,

a song that plays

while the world listens,

and twists to a secret melody,

it cannot hear.

Self, Be Kind, Self, Be Strong

02 Wednesday Jan 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Belief, Courage, Forgiveness, Freedom, Happiness, Hope, Identity, Life, Love, Love Poems, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Self, Soul Poetry, Yearning

He said, Tell yourself who you are,

or others will make you a minor character

in a play where they are the stars.

So, I gave myself permission to be

a poet, a musician,

a good all-of-the-above:

wife, mother, sister, friend—

the many roles I inhabited,

but always felt deficient.

I have rarely known love

in the way I need love,

yet, I am surrounded with love.

Tell me, self, where have you been?

Why haven’t you defended me

against the dark thoughts?

Why haven’t you picked me up

and protected me,

held me in your arms,

and told me I am worthy

of these simple things?

The Day I Knew the Way

28 Friday Dec 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Afterlife, Bird Poem, Bird Poems, Birds, Conversations With Maggie, Death, Death Poems, Dreams, Freedom, God, Happiness, Heaven, Hope, Infinite, Life, Love, Maggie, Memory, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Reality, Soul, Soul Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Spirits

it was a dream, and hard to tell

where borders and countries began,

but there was a dirt path,

and only I knew the way.

The dirt was soft, and the day

beautiful, I was barefoot

and running freer than ever I have

in wakened-life. It felt good

running in a warm sunshine,

ducking under the Velvet Mesquite,

with their canopies, their shade,

their branches, like open doors

to some better, magical place.

I liked the dream very much,

and could have kept running,

but I came to a lone house,

stark in the barren desert.

A blonde girl stood outside a fence,

scared and holding a gun,

and just like that,

I was shot in the arm.

I said it was a dream, didn’t I?

So, you won’t be surprised

I was impressed with her aim,

rather than the pain of being shot,

and I had to go pee.

I looked for a bathroom,

but had to wake to find one.

What is memory, I asked

later over coffee,

a little box in our brain,

a string of pictures?

How do we get there?

Memory is what we tell ourselves,

he said, about what we see

and what we feel.

You see, when Maggie died,

she passed into a prairie falcon,

she banged against windows,

day after day after day,

then left a last gift of quail,

and traveled the road of her happiness

to some place better than here.

Months later, the sun smiled,

and I ran on dirt, soft as baby powder,

passed through door after door,

on long, liquid legs, more of wing

than bone, and only I knew—

only I knew the way.

Conversations With Maggie 8

09 Sunday Sep 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Afterlife, Conversations With Maggie, Happiness, Hope, Infinite, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul Poetry, Souls

She said, All answers are paths,

and the paths are infinite;

every yes, and every no.

I took a path to you, I said,

And even the atoms changed.

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