Feb
13

Sunday Morning Chronicle Entry 2.13.2011

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.

Feb
13

bad dream

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.

Feb
03

Returning Words

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.

Feb
01

Why Poetry?

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.

Jan
20

Conviction

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.

Jan
16

Hitting Bottom

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.

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