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.

My eyes are closed
my mind alert
listening
for signs the sun
may have arrived
before me today.

Dammit.

Peeping out
from behind my lids
I find I won
again,
even though
I laid down my head
only just three hours ago.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

Lately, every time I
pick up a pen
songs come to mind.
First lines that invite
joy sorrow love hope from
times I only vaguely
recall, memories long faded
leaving only the
resonating emotions.

Feelings betray me
pushing up random smiles
shoving out unexpected tears
pulling up old songs;
playing the familiar tunes in my head
to keep themselves awake.

I wish they were dormant
not mingling with my present
to at least allow me to
pretend to be peaceful.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

Process notes: First, old songs brought up old feelings and faded memories. Then I wondered about what it was exactly that brought me to the old music.

Can’t account for when they
assail me. Although,
I’ve noticed a pattern of
when I declare sleep will rule
it mockingly evades me
as if to say
whatever damned mocking thing
it says.

My worst nights are those
when I’m forced to lay there
mapping ceiling bumps
in the barely moonlit room,
listening for
shifting carpet fibers,
wondering if there are any
nocturnal bugs trekking through;
hearing the birds
scratching the awning
on their way
to some secret rendezvous.

All because I have
an important thing to do shortly.

My best nights are those
where I have no appointment
to face in a few hours.
I can get up and indulge
my lack of sleep with
YouTube, writing, reading,
Lego’s
not necessarily all or in that order.
Just whatever entertains me, things
that let me say, to sleep,
whatever damned snubbing thing
I can find to say.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

All the world is
far removed from me
much as I
want to touch it.
Vicariously only
can I engage just now,
from my hovel
through my window
into cyberspace.
I see what people
want to show
of the lives they lead.
Who’s killing, loving,
having a
Chernobyl meltdown;
mentally challenged brothers
get the book
thrown at them
while great villains,
not so much.
Political strife,
economic difficulty
moral bankruptcy
foreign governments
posture to save face.

Short of everything
and still properly sated,
I return
to myself disconnected
as the muck of the world
sloughs off me
settles to the floor
where I can sift through
to find
my poetical fodder.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

Winter exhaled fully from deep
in his belly. Shared almost the full breadth
of havoc he knew with
freezing temperatures, blinding snow
and ice slicked roads—
then witness
all the people’s and earth’s actions in response.

I move through my days in slow motion
defrosting with cold’s departure.
Sloughing off my last stuffy nose morning
as Winter makes his quick exit,
for Spring to present herself through
more temperate, accommodating weather.

Out from under my blankets
where Winter had forced me,
awake without his icy tendrils
inside my head, slowing my thoughts,
pulling me out of normal time
as audience to all his regalements,
I thaw. I begin to move easier
think faster, behave more congruously
with warmer days that now greet me.

Through Spring, Summer and Fall,
I will continue more fluidly,
flashing only the occasional cold memory of Winter
until his eminent welcome return in December.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

This post is part of my #SHINEonline challenge commitment for 2 posts weekly; 1 of 2 for the 8th week.

Check out the #SHINEonline paper.li linked at the top of my far right sidebar.

I took some time off to get into some other things. It took getting hung up on a title, (something that never stops me), to pull me away to other projects. It was fun times away. Though now I’m back with a vengeance. I have some posts to make up for—4 for 2 weeks missed. I look forward to challenging myself.

It will also be a bit of a practice in case I decide to participate in a daily poem project next month.

It’s not About Me, Is It?

This morning I went out
to get Saturday’s mail
and I saw again the brown dove,
the bird on the balcony.
Today though he perched
at the end furthest from me.

Since I have not eyes
trained for bird differences,
I had to wonder if it was
the bird on the balcony.
Or a new one sent with
the same message for me.

Either way, here we were.
And as I made my way
toward it, toward the stairs
to my mailbox, in the crisp morning air

I thought about the time of year
the beauty in the fabric of the day
how Punxsutawney Phil’s failure to see
his shadow was likely on the money.

I got my mail—another bill
and turned ‘round toward the stairs
for my short, thoughtful journey back,
all the while trying to decide
what was the bird on the balcony’s
message to me.

Or, if it was just a bird on the balcony
who had no message—no knowledge of me.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

This post is part of my #SHINEonline challenge commitment for 2 posts weekly; 2 of 2 for the 5th week.

Check out the #SHINEonline paper.li linked at the top of my far right sidebar.

last night i dreamed of lego blocks.
the pieces didn’t fit and it
confused me to see this
incongruousness in these tools
of useful distracted relaxation.

in my dream, i wondered why or how
with form factor specifications
that could happen. then i
took a closer look at the
bigger picture that is my life
and considered
it’s likely just the order of the day.

par for the course to have
an upsetting dream in otherwise
okay times, maybe a foreshadowing
of broken awkwardness on its way.
or just a quick reminder
to keep me grounded,
away from getting too happy,
too far out the way.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

This post is part of my #SHINEonline challenge commitment for 2 posts weekly; 1 of 2 for the 5th week.

Check out the #SHINEonline paper.li linked at the top of my far right sidebar.

Open eyes resist seeing.
Brain resists moorings.
Slightest motion, even soft noises
are most unwelcome today.
Thoughts have nothing to say.

With time and ibuprofen
throbbing dulls to non-existence.
Fogged ideas come in to focus.

Muse returns to chat me up.
We soar on the winds of
possibilities, of poetry.
Once again, words
come clear for me
to write them.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

This post is part of my #SHINEonline challenge commitment for 2 posts weekly; 2 of 2 for the 4th week.

Check out the #SHINEonline paper.li linked at the top of my far right sidebar.

I met a woman once
a writer of science fiction,
who invited me to her
writing group.
She spoke with vigor
and animation, prodding,
querying my affinity for verse,
explaining her aversion.
Why poetry? was in her
countenance. As though
it didn’t appear to suit me in the least.
Said she’d once thought
herself a poet
because she was sad
and broken-hearted.
She met a man,
got happy again.
And with her aloneness
so did depart
her poetic comportment.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

This post is part of my #SHINEonline challenge commitment for 2 posts weekly; 1 of 2 for the 4th week.

Check out the #SHINEonline paper.li linked at the top of my far right sidebar.

Early morning.
Quiet but for
nature’s chorus of
birds chirping, insects buzzing
and a gentle breeze moving
through evergreens.
Meditations come ‘round
to gratitude
for family, friends and
countless small blessings.

I am opened, entreated
to choose my part
in whatever circumstance
comes to me.
It was just above a whisper
but I heard it clearly:
This is the day
the Lord has made.
What are you
going to make of it?

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

This poem is part of my #SHINEonline challenge commitment for 2 posts weekly; 1 of 2 for the 2nd week.

Each piece of my life
has a voice clamoring
for first action.
Some days they all
come shouting in
deafening me,
crushing me under
the weight of hurled indictments.

They are ham-fisted thuds
crashing into my face
from behind my eyes,
the band that tightens
across my brow,
the weight that
strains my back. I spin to
move away from one
only to smack into another.

I am dizzy, weary from
constantly whirling, moving aimlessly,
fruitlessly, unable to
protect me from my
actions and words unwelcome
that just    keep    coming.

Until finally,
mercifully,
I collapse.
To the ground.
It’s quiet then—
my first peace.

Breathing deeply
slowly,
it becomes clear to me:
there is only
up
from here.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

This poem is part of my #SHINEonline challenge commitment for 2 posts weekly; #3 for the 1st week.

Early winter morning
before the sun comes up,
the cold presses through
the panes of my
closed window,
presses through the bone
of my flesh and skin
covered skull,
pressing icy extensions
in through my brain
to my sinuses.

It can’t survive
just standing in the warmed air
in the room around me
or under my blankets with me.

I’m drawn out
from my cozy dreams
to chilled observance of
this path the cold does take
into me
by way of
my head, the window.

I’m awake.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

This poem is part of my #SHINEonline challenge commitment for 2 posts weekly; 1 of 2 for this week.

I remember a time, tho’ long ago
when stepping on an acorn was play
that could roll me off balance.
I could stumble dizzyingly,
happily unsure of my footing
as I reveled in the freedom,
soaking in all the sensations I could hold.
Somehow wistfully appreciative
of a time I knew I could not remain in.

That time long ago saw me pounds lighter
feet shorter, burdens fewer, decades younger,
regrets unthought of as every possibility
lay at my feet. Myriad red carpets covered
the wide expanse of the golden road into my future,
all present for me to choose one or many.

I thought about that today
on my walk to a neighborhood store
as I came upon a fallen acorn.
No fear of rolling off it today
I stepped on it and felt
the acorn smash.

© 2011 Shari Lynne Smothers

25
Cold, bright Christmas day
dressed in gratitude for my
family and faith.

******
26
Cold, clear winter day
and I’m quiet entreating
my voice to return.

******
27
Saints versus Falcons
Monday night game threatened my
throat’s recovery.

******
28
Sinuses clearing
throat pain abating nicely;
my strength’s returning.

******
29
Mostly back to me
voice hollow cavernous like
the winter night’s wind.

******
30
I woke this morning
fearful my throat un-mended
imagined big setbacks.

******
31
I’m ready to shed
leaves of this long year; ready
for new year’s flowering.

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

Haiku Vignettes of my Christmas holiday celebration, joyfully celebrated through minor pain and fatigue from fighting a sore throat and sinus infection.