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Bits of Poetry

~ Linda R Davis, Raven of Peace & Poetry

Bits of Poetry

Tag Archives: Truth

Skunk Cabbage

19 Thursday May 2022

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Death, Fear, Fear of Death, Hope, Life, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Promise, Quartzite Mt, Skunk Cabbage, Spirit, Spirits, spring poem, Survival, Truth, Yearning

No, I did not bend down too near

To smell the yellow flower

Which grew in weaving lines through

The swampy crack, the scraggly creek,

Creeping amid mid-high, mid-spring grass.

We were at the base of Quartzite Mountain,

Nestled behind a tiny ski town, ghost town,

When the skiers don’t ski, or snowboard,

Or venture icy roads to snow-topped peaks.

You said the clicking was cicada,

I said, cougar, because I’d seen a video

Of a cougar making a clicking-ticking sound,

And decided the next clicking-ticking

Behind a bush, or tree, or grassy knoll,

Would be a mountain lion. You see,

We will never know who was right,

Because we passed safely the miles up,

The miles back down the hill, to the creek,

With those most beautiful, yellow flowers;

You could see them recede into the woods,

Like mystery, like scattered crumbs,

Showing us the way to an unknown truth.

I followed them for awhile, alone,

While you stayed back, and packed the dog;

Those irresistible, extra steps along their path,

Like blazing torches, luminous, yes.

One Swan, One Last Kiss of a Bee

12 Thursday May 2022

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

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.

Diminished, But Singing

04 Tuesday Jan 2022

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Courage, Death, Fall, Healing, Hope, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Song of Sorrow and Joy, Soul Poetry, Strength, Survival, Truth, Winter poem, Yearning

You must admit,

a song of sadness

Is a decent song;

A song of rage,

The songs we banged to

In our younger age,

That made us stand

And raise our fists–

Is better yet.

The rage is gone.

Somedays, sadness, too,

And happy tunes

Are few.

Yet, sing we must

To shake the silent woods.

Our souls,

They still have much to say,

Of getting past, beyond,

The dull,

Diminished days.

Listen: Black Lives Matter

04 Friday Jun 2021

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Courage, Crows, Forgiveness, Hope, Horse poetry, Love, Love Poems, Mercy, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Ravens, Truth, Unity

We don’t understand what the birds say,
Or, the horses, who nicker and neigh.
The raven sounds far away, a message,
We think, a harbinger of what will come,
On this path today. A fellow traveler?
A moose, a deer, we can’t know,
But we try to know.
Yet, people cry out to us in real words,
We thought we knew: Black Lives Matter,
Isn’t that true? Isn’t it a simple thing
to say, but you insist it’s wrong:
All lives matter. They do.
But which of us is hurting now, friend?
Which of us feels our lives might end,
Or, be judged for the color of our skin?
Why can’t our words be simple again,
and our hearts open, to a better beginning?

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

Life, Receding

28 Thursday Mar 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Aging, Death, Death Poems, Life, Memory, ocean, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Self, Soul, Soul Poetry, Spirit, Truth

Another day, I’ve collected
over eighteen thousand
now, but none like this:
the birds have returned,
and the clouds hang low,
like the mist of what is
unknown, and I don’t care
to know, because I gave up
predicting the future
when I realized
I was always wrong.
The only thing, now,
is this poem, and how
it pulls me toward confession.
You see, a life recedes;
place a bottle in the ocean
and watch it slowly
carried away by the waves;
that is me and you,
this moment,
and this poem.

The Trillium in Gig Harbor

09 Saturday Mar 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Afterlife, Belief, Cedars, Death, Death Poems, Eternity, Flower Poetry, God, Hope, Infinite, Life, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Soul Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Trillium, Truth, Unity, Women's Poems

O, Jamie, it’s beautiful—

everything is connected,

she said, before dying.

And Jamie thought of trillium

blossoming beneath musty cedar

at the edge of the sound,

the whole world epitomized

in heart of flowers,

and spirit of ancient,

mouldering trees.

Woman, Uncaged

13 Sunday Jan 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Authenticity, Brew, Goddess, Life, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Real, Strength, Truth, Witch, Woman

A good witch, I think, as her voice rises

in story: their affair, his testosterone levels,

her childhood, and its want of love,

the gratitude for her lover’s love.

She seems about six foot two,

jaw etched of marble,

arms of steel, hands of iron,

and she fills the air around us

with tremor, something ominous,

yet vulnerable, as if she is saying,

I’ll tell you my secrets, like this gift of oil.

I take it, of course, I take it,

unscrew the top of the repurposed

wine bottle, smell deeply the lavender

and the garlic, her special brew.

I will tell you how I made it, she says,

because she holds no detail back.

She is the woman you’ve heard about,

or seen in movies, the one

who doesn’t give two shits,

the one who walks into a room

and steals it, and fills it

with laughter, and warning.

The woman whose tremor speaks

and says two things: come closer,

and I will tell you of love, of loss,

of picking oneself back up,

while at the same time you hear,

if you betray me, I will kill you.

And it all seems perfectly normal,

like the moment you always knew,

now unfolding. How what’s inside of you

was already unloosed in this goddess

of olive oil brewery, truth-teller,

all eyes on her, a wild, dangerous

animal uncaged, everyone nervous,

and eager to see what she will do.

The Plan of the Unplanned

04 Friday Jan 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Divorce, Forgiveness, Freedom, Life, Love, Memory, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Self, The Universe, Truth

“It isn’t the experience of today that drives men mad. It is the remorse for something that happened yesterday.” Bob Burdette

The tape that plays

is not always a good tape,

or an accurate replay

of what happened.

What you said,

what I said,

over thirteen years,

a million things.

No, an infinity

of words and actions

that speak louder

than words, truer

than our memories

of one another.

I told you,

when I finally leave,

it will be forever,

and I think you believed me.

If I could do over

I would do the same,

and wish you would.

No part changed.

No person gone.

No person, gone,

brought back.

Remorse? I want to say,

No. I want to say

this unplanned chaos

is part of a plan.

I want to look back,

someday, and say,

This is what I wanted,

where I wanted to be.

Wild Geese and Russia

29 Thursday Nov 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Bird Poems, Hope, Life, Poem, Poems, Poetry, politics, Soul Poetry, Truth

In a world of untrue things,

I choose to celebrate

the migration of wild geese in November,

and the stillness of this sunrise,

a quiet, broken conversation

passing through a cloud-filled sky.

Break the Way

31 Monday Aug 2015

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

A Doll's House, Bernick, Doll's House, Ghosts, Henrik Ibsen, Master Builder, Nora, Norway, Pillars of Society, Solness, Truth

Break me the way, you heavy hammer, 

To the deepest bottom of my heart.

Poem by Henrik Ibsen, on his Tombstone

The whir of fan,

the ticking clock,

My breathing, my heartbeat.

There is something

Pulling toward loneliness,

Stopped short by a good book.

The Complete Works of Ibsen.

I follow Nora through the door,

Oswald to death,

Karsten Bernick to truth.

I rush to keep up

With Solness, the Master Builder,

As he clambers the scaffold

To the tower’s highest spot,

Wreath in hand, dizzy, forgetting

He is destined to fall.

How intimate, to descend alongside

These haunted souls,

Hearts and motives exposed,

Laid out for me to judge or pity or pardon,

Or none of the above.

The truth of it fills my need

To hear true words spoken,

Even if only in my head.

Break the way, hammer.

Heavy hammer, break the way.

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