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Bits of Poetry

~ Linda R Davis, Raven of Peace & Poetry

Bits of Poetry

Tag Archives: Yearning

A Low Barrier Between Life and Death

23 Saturday Jan 2021

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Ash, Beauty, Bird Poems, Bowl and Pitcher, Courage, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Fear of Death, Healing, Hope, Life, Moss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Ponderosa, River, Soul, Souls, Spokane, Spokane River, Strength, Suicide, Survival, Winter, Winter poem, Yearning

I wonder how many have plunged,

broken bodies against the steep,

unforgiving basalt, to flow far away

from the tether of this rocky outcrop.

There are worse places to die

than underneath a basking ponderosa,

on a glorious day in deep winter,

high, above the earth’s mucosa.

Here is heaven, its gods, the osprey and eagle;

they preside from piney thrones, regal,

and survey with indifferent contemplation;

from their perch, suffering is also celebration.

There are less noble ways to die,

than beneath the wings of geese.

See them glide peacefully

over the rapids of the Spokane,

rage of water in the ears,

shiver of blue sky, full sun.

Yet, if hopeless traveler made the steep climb

to this one, celestial throne:

its blood, a brilliant green moss,

its body, the bare, leafless skeleton of alumroot,

entreating with outstretched arms:

See, the promise of spring.

If they were to navigate loose rock,

on the treacherous path that leads here,

would it be enough to make them cling

to the rock wall in front of me,

this low, precarious barrier between?

Hope We’ll Live Through It

12 Monday Oct 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Alone, Chaos, CoronaVirus, Courage, Covid19, Death, Hope, Loneliness, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Spokane, Survival, Yearning

“The hope is that if you live through it, there will be art on the other side.” (Louise Glück)

Two hundred and twenty days,

the sun and sky, still uncaged,

yet, our lives, like flotsam,

float further and further away

from what we knew:

The Fox Theatre sits empty.

And my friend,

how we’ve drifted apart,

you, on your wreckage,

me, on mine, further and further

from the place. Our lives hit

that large rock. The ship

is lost, lost, lost.

Will someone find us,

and salvage what is left?

What is left?

Smoke Taint: 2020 Vintage

09 Friday Oct 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Anger, Chaos, Civil War, CoronaVirus, Covid19, Death, Death Poems, Division, Fear, Fighting, Hate, Hope, hopelessness, Life, Longing, Loss, Memory, Napa, normal, Poem, Poems, Poetry, politics, Smoke Taint, Sonoma, Survival, Wine, Yearning

What does fire taste like in the glass,

Our fear, red with hate, the flames

of civil war? The skin, and the smoke,

cannot be divided; they say

it tastes like ash, what is left

when the smoke clears.

We can see the devastation.

Remnants of a vineyard;

what was there, before tragedy

made our eyes cry with anger.

The tree and native grasses

are poured out, consumed together,

while the vine exists in water it stored,

but cannot save its fruit.

Its creation, aging in the hot fog

of dreams. Life was supposed to be

the taste of flowers, plums, currants,

and only hints of tobacco,

swirled in our glass.

Our Once Shared Existence of Earth, and How the Virus Undid Us

02 Sunday Aug 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Alone, Chaos, CoronaVirus, Covid19, Death, Divorce, Dying, Fear, Forgiveness, Hate, Healing, Hope, Horses, Life, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, politics, Self, Soul, Soul Poetry, Souls, Spokane, Women's Poems, Yearning

In this season, of triple digit days,

Anger gives way. It withers.

I said, I’m argued out about living,

What it means to be free, and human.

She is right, after all, I’m not an expert.

What do I know about a virus,

Which isn’t informed by the trees,

or clouds, or the way a horse sounds

when it calls to me in the dark?

I can only speak of the heart,

and even that, with authority of one,

my own heart, and how it breaks

To see the growing cries for help. Hate,

A distant thrum, beating, what it means

To be hurt, and hurt back harder.

Is any of this new? Or unique?

But we sought each other anyway,

To stake our claim on our opinions;

The lost way, of friendship and loving,

Something which came easy to us, once,

When we valued living over living,

A life we could touch with our hands,

sending our fingers deep into the dark soil;

To be truly clean meant dirt under our nails,

For weeks, for months, dirt under our nails.

Fuck the New Normal

30 Tuesday Jun 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Chaos, CoronaVirus, Courage, Covid19, Death, Dying, Emptiness, Fear, Fear of Death, Freedom, Life, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Masks, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Souls, Survival, Women's Poems, Yearning


The Clerk

Imagine being nineteen again,
still pimply and awkward,
parroting a script
from behind a plexiglass wall:
Phone number, please, you say,
and imagine her fingers,
typing one in. You hear the click,
clicking of keys on the keypad,
sickening,
music of the dead,
you think, you’re dying.

The Enforcer

You’re maybe a hundred pounds,
just a little thing, whose mask
covers two thirds your fragile face,
and they buried you at the door,
the enforcer, instructed to say—
This door, not that, and arrows,
follow them, follow them,
do like I do, with this cover,
my voice smothered, my soul—

Wrong Way

I’m sure I was just standing there,
leaning over my cart, watching
my daughter shop for cards,
when I heard her voice—
not the enforcer,
but a fellow peruser, like me,
another blank face, masked,
breathless, breathlessly,
you’re going the wrong way,
she said, you’re not following
the arrows, she said,
and her bony, dead finger
pointed down along the ground.
I followed it, and sure enough,
she was right about me:
Rule breaker, careless
spreader of germs.
The shame, the shame,
she would have me feel,
for facing the wrong way,
disobeying.

New Normal

Fuck that. My latest mantra. Fuck that
and fuck that, too.
Even as I do it.
Where’s the humanity in this?
I want to scream.
But who would hear me?
We’re too busy saving lives
by not living, buttressed
as we are behind masks,
She doesn’t even realize I’m not smiling,
Or, does she? Maybe there’s something
of, fuck this shit, in my eyes,
the only part of me she can see,
if she tries to see, but she doesn’t.

The mask isn’t merely the covering
for a mouth, a nose, —
it’s blanket, too, as in a morgue.
Covering the dead. And I know,
my time is coming soon enough,
but I’m not dead yet, covered as I am,
prepared for burial.
Yet, still pounding on coffins,
trying to pull back the heavy veil,
cursing my heart away,

fuck! Someone help us!

–into the emptiness.

This Pendant World: Super Moon

07 Tuesday Apr 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Confusion, CoronaVirus, Covid19, Hope, Life, Loneliness, Loss, Moon, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Stars, Super Moon, Survival, This Pendant World, Yearning

3

Some nights

wearing your shoes

on the wrong feet

feels right

The stars

haven’t changed

the moon is bright

Maybe tomorrow

it’ll be full again

big enough

to swing this chain

rock us back and forth

along this painful tether

to which we cling

Photo credit: NASA / Bill Dunford

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.

This Pendant World

05 Sunday Apr 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Alone, CoronaVirus, Covid19, Death, Fear of Death, Grace, Hope, Loneliness, Loss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Survival, This Pendant World, Winter, Yearning

1.

Grace,

where are you now,

embraced in loneliness,

poetry was a kiss,

now it’s this:

today, a fog—

from doorstep

to trees,

to sky—

all blended in white,

our world reduced

to blindness.

Poetry Was a Kiss

04 Saturday Apr 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

CoronaVirus, Covid19, Dying, Life, Loss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul Poetry, Survival, This Pendant World, Yearning

A bristling north wind,

just rambling now,

cameras rolling for hope,

distant, like the sun.

There is a sun,

we tell ourselves,

behind the clouds,

and cold of this breeze,

a life we once knew,

where poetry was a kiss,

an embrace,

a crowded room,

alive with chatter.

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.

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.

Second Birth

29 Friday Mar 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

aspen, Aspen Trees, Beauty, Courage, Death Poems, Dying, Hope, Life, Love, Love Poems, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Spirit, Spring, spring poem, Survival, Women's Poems, Yearning

early spring,

a cold aspen, clothed

in soft buds, robed in white,

like ash, born of snow;

to touch her is to quake

with the anticipation

of a thousand leaves

desperate to unfold;

a thousand leaves

desperate

to unfold you.

A Love Poem

19 Tuesday Mar 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Loneliness, Longing, Love, Love Poems, Need, Passion, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Spirits, Yearning

Need,

like a bliss of birds

who flow, spring to spring,

synchronized of sun and moon,

and wing of wing.

Love is best a mutual thing:

selfish, blind, and binding trust,

passion, that crushes

bones to must.

For the Tulip Who Refuses to Die

07 Thursday Mar 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

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.

Sometimes, You Just Need a Happy Ending

08 Tuesday Jan 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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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.

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?

How Far It Reaches

10 Monday Sep 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Afterlife, Death, Death Poems, Eternity, Hope, Infinite, Loneliness, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Yearning

Sometimes, missing feels like stone,

a fear that what seems over,

really is over. To be alone,

is no small thing, even though,

it seems, we always are.

Between us, an invisible thread

throws itself out, and stretches—

have you seen a silk thread

blowing itself out with the wind,

reaching, reaching—how far it reaches,

attached to nothing, but air.

The Way

28 Saturday Jan 2017

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Aspen Trees, Hope, Lilacs, Loss, Mt Spokane, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Ponderosa Pine, Yearning

The way the sun lit the branches of the aspen,

Traced the snow-lined needles of the Ponderosa,

Shone off each blade of grass in the dry circle

underneath that great pine, surrounded by snow.

 

I said, the way, as if it would lead to a thought,

But, in fact, it leads to fog, or the lifting of it,

Near the tiny Lilac bushes,

And, further still, across the blanket of snow–

A blanket that someone lay upon,

But not under, leaving an impression of a body,

The soft parts, blown away

From the crisp, frozen parts.

Look further still, through the lifting,

You’ll see the great Spokane Mountain,

And all the trees and houses

Which lead from here to there.

 

For a moment, you may think you can touch it,

Stretch, reach out your hand,

Trace your fingertips along its lonely edges,

And lift it into your arms.

One Bit of Poetry: I am One

14 Thursday Nov 2013

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Love, Oneness, Poetry, Self, Yearning

I am One.

I am what one is

And, what one is not.

One of us is wrong, or

Both of us are right

About the one thing.

One last time:

I am not yours,

You are not mine,

Though we will die

Trying to prove it.

Can I help it feels right

To think I’m one with him,

The momentary shared skin,

Then the frightening birth away.

Someone said we were halved

Long ago, halved,

And we are always seeking.

I am what one is,

And, what one is not,

Though I will die

Trying to prove it.

Recent Posts

  • Blood In the Air
  • A Low Barrier Between Life and Death
  • Let Life Rhyme Again
  • Promise of a New Start
  • Hope We’ll Live Through It

Recent Comments

Linda R Davis Poetry on A Low Barrier Between Life and…
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Linda R Davis Poetry on Smoke Taint: 2020 Vintage
Linda R Davis Poetry on Smoke Taint: 2020 Vintage
Linda R Davis Poetry on Smoke Taint: 2020 Vintage

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Death Forgiveness Hope Horses Life Loneliness Loss Love Poem Poems Poetry Soul Souls Spirit Survival Yearning

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