Archive for the ‘ poem ’ Category

Assessment in Haiku

Cold, stark, time bereft
of needs for shaping my life
according to me.

*****

Winter’s long short-fall
melts into spring, blossoming
possibilities ’round.

*****

Change not fast enough —
comes the feverish breaking
sweat to achieve now.

*****

This hunger
is outside beyond
need, we ache.

© 2012 Shari Lynne Smothers

One Coin

Quiet pursuit of alone time
is continual in the crush and hurry
that is my life —
of necessity.
Covetous am I of even minuscule moments
presenting with nothing and no one
needing me.

Still, deviant to my solitary nature
an innocuous act with trivial impact
of connecting on social media
catapults me into being
now — forever —
part of something crowded,
much bigger than me
even in only my own company.

And in a not-quite-ironic way, I find I like that.

© 2012 Shari Lynne Smothers

Prompt: from 3 Word Wednesday’s words – deviant, minuscule, trivial

The Message to Me

Coming

Touching the moment I realize
I’m aware not just awake;
morning dawns in my mind.
An alert announces in the wee
small hours.

What thought has summoned me
from my quiet slumber
is here to announce
change is on its way.

Stand fast, stand open
have faith
be encouraged
to sail through
the advancing
rushing
waters.

©2012 Shari Lynne Smothers

She’s Coming, The Muse

Time passes.
Nothing do I write.
Awaiting the unmarked
re-starting point
to vomit verses
that simply must
issue forth
no matter the cost
or company.

Today—lately—
I feel it coming on.
I’m pulling
away from
all the people things
that deluge me
ordinarily.

Making certain
I carve moments
to record;
Making certain I have
the pens and papers
to complement
my advancing machinations.

Nesting for me
is making ready
for the steady
stream of random
lines stanzas spaces
pressing forth to exit me
by way of
my willing fingers.

© 2012 Shari Lynne Smothers

Ring Through

I sit at my computer.
Familiar surroundings newly revisited.
I remember the bells I hear
ringing from the neighborhood church.
Chiming out
a familiar chant
my soul recalls effortlessly.
They herald a message
to any near enough to hear it,
though I take it personally.

I’m home. From wherever I’ve been,
for however long I remain,

I am welcome.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

 

 

The bells I can hear, ring at St. Peter Claver Catholic Church, in Treme, a largely African-American populated neighborhood in New Orleans, Louisiana.

Coming Home

It’s been a long week for me, getting adjusted to my new old city, my new digs. I’ve not written much in the way of my novel. I’ve made a few changes and settled upon a crime. Just working that out begs for minutes I can’t seem to string together.

It was a good week for learning what I will need to do and how some things will have to work. So, next week I can move forward productively, working through a text book of information compiled last week. Adding to my new Book of How as I go along.

I found some inspirations in the week I spent tooling around New Orleans, learning the new landscape, remembering my way around. All while I worked to stave off the aches and pains of moving that threatened to waylay me, seemingly permanently. I see buildings gone, new ones erected, schools closed down, slated to not return and I wonder why.

What formula are they using to say that Valena C. Jones Elementary School will not return? Quite likely, it’s of a demographic nature. And yet, however logical, ensconced in rationality and business savvy, it still stings a bit to see it gone for good after generations of family and friends passed through its halls.

My week ended with a funeral of a dear friend of the family, my parents’ friend. That ritual, familiar too. Sad definitely. But still so good to see old friends, many not seen since my dad’s funeral almost four years earlier. We had a little time to catch up before we’re apart again indefinitely.

My next weeks will be spent job searching and catching up. Family and friends I neglected excusing myself with having been away. Now’s my chance to re-connect before more go on in, as tomorrow is not promised to any of us — not them or me. And, I find I want people to know my heart before we part permanently.

 

I can’t say if this is prose poetry, if you’ll recognize it as such. However, this was my intent.

©2011 Shari Lynne Smothers