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Bits of Poetry

~ ransom: a little poetry every day, or the muse dies.

Bits of Poetry

Tag Archives: Spirits

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.

If Snow Could Form Into Tree

24 Saturday Feb 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

aspen, Aspen Colonies, Aspen Trees, Dreams, God, Mothers, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Shades of White, Spirits, The Perception of White, White, Winter poem

If snow could form into tree,

It would be the aspen.

Snow, one of a thousand

shades of white,

The perception of light and brightness–

And Spirits, rising up like like colonies,

Covered in it. The snow. This aspen.

Our hopes. Our dreams. The good dreams,

That is. The ones where fairy god mothers

Float down and save us.

Did you know, aspen bark heals?

They say it takes away pain–

Like a friend, a lover, my mother

rubbing my back until it burns.

And, like a child, that’s what I want it to be.

Yet, its naked trunk rises like winter–

So unafraid, so unalone,

So rigid, intractable and distant.

Yes, if snow could form into tree,

It would be the aspen,

And the cold, white stillness of what seems

A winter that won’t go away.

Light In a Black Hole

03 Thursday Sep 2015

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Black Hole, Event Horizon, Germany, Ghandi, Greece, Heaven, Hell, Hope, Iraq, Italy, Light, Love, Milky Way, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Refugees, Souls, Spirits, Supermassive Black Hole, Syria, Turkey

In the center of the Milky Way,

Exists a black hole

Equal to 4.3 million suns.

Its gravity so strong,

There is no light.

We stand on the edge,

An event horizon,

Or, the point of no return,

As refugees push out

And we argue about definitions.

Mothers and fathers,

Children,

Who dream of a good Germany,

A Europe with jobs and new homes.

They launch into black holes:

The Aegean Sea,

The Dark Sea,

Floating back in waves,

Absent of light.

We wonder at this hell,

A place of suffering,

And hope for something beyond,

A better place

Where there is love,

There is light,

Light in a Black Hole.

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