lonely

Ok, so...........here I am. Relaxed in the cozy comfort of my home.  I have a lot of thoughts growing and moving inside my head tonight and will continue to finish a few pieces of writing that seem to finally have met fruition.  My own quiet vigil on this blustery night. I am in a good place emotionally and spiritually.  Blessed.  Truly. 

I have been generating half baked pieces and for some reason I just couldn't get to the finish line with them.  This piece began one day when I was feeling a little lonely.  It created a source to dig deeper into that dark pit of loneliness, which I don't think I have truly felt myself, but have been privy to others sharing it with me.

The question I pondered........... how can I humanize the feeling?  How can I capture its essence in a descriptive picture that others could relate to?  After a great deal of thought about how to describe the real dark side of "lonely,"  the vision of an abandoned heart in a field covered in fog kept surfacing.  A little beating heart lost in a fallow field.  Once tended.  Now, left.

Somewhere along the line, I was struck by the realization that the feeling of loneliness is the devil's best friend.  We tend to succumb to our growling needs when we feel the most alone.   Humans need love and belonging and if it isn't attained?  We satisfy it by any means, despite our values.  Despite our better judgement.  Loneliness makes humans ripe for temptations.  

Here is the poem that finally fell out of my inside journey.  Sometimes its a good thing to peel away the layers to reach deeply into a feeling.......... just so you know.  Just so you can be with another who may be living in such a place.   Loneliness may be the friend of the devil, but it can also be the enlightenment we need to reach out with love to another human who may be suffering............

___________________________________ 

Shivering on a bed of dew,
a tearstained heart tugs on the hem of temptation.
If only........
Flattened by the heave of an unheard sigh
it sits on the edge of green fields blurred by dawn's fog
and looks longingly for a diamond balanced on the tip of tall grass.
hope..... if only.

Sleepy head dreary shivers with cold feet reality. 

Grey light drapes its folds over dismissive hills.

Devoured comfort breathes
the sound of chattering teeth behind parched lips.

Lips in need of a kiss.

Lips in need of moistened lips.  

A heart in need of love

beyond temptation.

If only.......

Ripped flannel, once heart protection
now reveals untended wounds.
This recluse in rags pumps with fear of being one,
Only one in ragtag tunes.

It begins to tumble
through thistles that whistle its name.  

Lonely.  Heart.

seeking..... comfort

only the lonely........
"Hello lonely......."
thistle whistles
hurting wounds.... 

One and only one it mumbles..........

as it succumbs to abandonment smothered in grief.

A crow cackles in the distance.

what used to be.

 Boy for sale, Bath UK.

You can never go back to what use to be,

Returning is not part of your destiny.

Whatever happened, its all in the past,

No matter what present shadows it casts.

How much control do we have as we live out our lives?

Those choices we made unfurled with surprise.

History leaves us scratching in pain

Sometimes joyful memories to revisit again.

It was what it was, but when its all said and done.

Those moments are part of what's yet to come

You can never go back to what used to be.....

Becoming is part of your destiny.

remembrance......

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae, May 1915

We wear the red poppie on dark lapels in remembrance.  Inspired by Dr. McCrae's poem which he penned after losing a friend during the Battle of Ypres, we wear the poppie as a way to keep the faith, to keep the stories alive for those who sleep.   My last contribution this week to the photo theme, RED.  For more photos, check out Carmi's blog. 

playing for his supper

In between the sighing notes

hanging in the cool autumn air

are the colours of longing

in lonely blues.

Breath upon breath

he plays for his supper,

a musical melody

a lamenting need.

If you stop to really listen,

you will find the grace

tucked into the sound of the song.

___________________________

Walk out, into the sunburst street

Sing your heart out,

sing my heart out

I’ve found grace inside a sound

I found grace, it’s all that I found

And I can breathe

Breathe now
(U2 Breathe)

Thank you Pip for sharing theses lovely lyrics with me. I'll meet you out on the sunburst street. I'll be the one hailing a cab, breathing and looking for you. :)

This week's Photo theme at Carmi's place is musical. Play on!

faeries and river ghosts...

The valley slumbered through the snowiest night

Their reveries courting romance

Faeries gathered with giggly delight

Commencing their wintry dance.

Tiny wings sheened in a shivering icy glow

Frosting the land as they swayed

Fiddle strains emanated below

River music softly played.

Faeries flitted with flurry to dust the bare trees

Haunting sounds the river does swoon

Twirling and swirling together with glee

Under the cloudy absence of the moon.

Ice grew thick on the river below

Impressing with it's appearance of sleep

Blanketed by the fresh fallen snow

Stopped in its tracks, slumbering so deep.

With peace and tranquility they dusted the land

Faeries are content little things

But the river ghosts sent out their command

To listen to the words they ring.

Wake up! Be aware of the stories we share

You people who live by the shore

Fear not our dear friends, don't carry despair

We bring you warm tidings of comforting lore.

Poem written a couple of years ago and tweaked today...seemed appropos to accompany a few photos taken today....the snowiest day of the year.

under the wires

Let's build our dream home under the wires of progress

Nestled beside the highway that leads to success

A grey brick enclave an armlength away

From the next monstrosity blocking the sun everday

____

We'll build our deck on our treeless patch of green

That we share with our neighbours, sight unseen.

Brand new detached, free from all history

Filled with boxstore keepsakes stripped of antiquity.

____

We'll consult with the experts on the colours we choose.

Who knows if the trend is a palette of taupe or blues.

Make sure there's a jacuzzi and a plasma TV

Line the stairway with IKEA artwork to see.

____

Weekday mornings up before the sun awakes

Head to work past the landscaped man made lake

Take the on ramp that leads to the collectors lane

Join the crowd of strangers who must be insane.

____

And slowly our identities will mesh with the rest

As we continue to live in our quaint little nest.

Amongst parents who have no time for their tykes

Who have chosen to live in Branthaven Heights.

There is an alternative to losing our minds

Let's head east down the road to the Maritimes.

Where the homes hold memories of times past and new

And the people have time to ask....How are You?

Let's get in the car and get the hell out of here

Before the next onslaught of pollution floats by us too near

Back to a place where the living is a much better fit

Where the people's sincerity isn't bullshit.

Give me the storied old veranda anyday. I want to hear its tales. I want mine to seep into its floorboards as well, to blend with the others.

summers gone

Ordinary moments

sitting across from you

are lost in November's dying light.

walk away

walk away

slowly

into the blurred roar of silence

let the leaves weep upon reflection.

haunted

Are you out there?

I see
Streetlight tricks on the upshorn leaves
behind the shadow pine
catching the corner of my eye


I hear
Dry soundscrapes of tumbling remants
down the deserted road
threatening nocturnal emptiness

I listen to
An infrequent pitched squeak of a bare branch
against the window pane
warning of winter's cold breath


I feel
sadness when I see your image
behind my closed eyes
haunted regret when I sense your presence
captured in an illusionary embrace

I taste
the last remnants of a parched thirst
the slow drip of salty tears wandering in lost causes
touching my lips in ache

I remember
how you looked at me,
how you used to look right into me.


And it makes me wonder about
shivering loneliness caught in the throat of a cry.
and it makes me long for
surrendering tenderness found in the shared darkness of two souls


to soothe my wounds
to remind me of my beauty
to savour when the winds moan a bitter song
of wanting what I cannot find.


I wrote this piece last year decided to tweak it a bit and repost it. I'm surprised by this poem.......surprised by the fact that it came out of me. I find it interesting to look back on some of my pieces, particularly the ones which were prompted by a particular word or a thought that had been offered up to me. The prompt for this one was "haunted..." and today if I had thought about that word, I more than likely would have gone in another completely different direction.

One of the things I love about writing is the whole process of formulating something from one word. When it flows, it does so from a place in me that is continues to be mysterious. What I do know about that secret writing place deep inside is what dwells there. My heart and my mind come together to contemplate at a thinking and a feeling level. In fact, it is where they integrate and become the whole me. So often I will grab hold of a concept, word or phrase, usually after reading something or hearing something.....sometimes if I have personally experienced it and I try to humanize it.............give it visual feelings.....make it come to life in a different way than we usually look at it. IN this particular piece, I wanted the feeling of haunted to feed the scenario I wrote about.

Writing is an obsession, a practise, a life choice, a joy. Writing is a frustration, a challenge, a therapy, and still remains a joy. It excites, entices, and delights me. It allows me to dig deep into the recess of my own mystery in order to learn as I go.......

Your grief for what you've lost lifts a mirror

up to where you're bravely working.
Expecting the worst, you look, and instead,
here's the joyful face you've been longing to see.
Your hand opens and closes, and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open
you would be paralyzed.
Your deepest presence
is in every small contraction and expansion,
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as bird wings.


rumi

Hats from the heart.

Beauty makes presence shine. It brings out elegance and dignity and has a confidence, an effortlessness that is not laboured or forced. This fluency and ease of presence is ultimately rooted below the surface in surer depths. In a sense, the question of beauty is about a way of looking at things. It is everywhere, and everything is beauty; it is merely a matter of discovering it. John O'Donahue.

Yesterday, I was asked to help out as the "official photographer" and support for my colleague who had organized the second annual Hats from the Heart tea. Held right in the heart of the city in the back garden of an apartment building for seniors, citizens from all parts congregated to celebrate summer breezes, nostaligic music and a touch of shining elegance. Everywhere I looked I saw it..........in the smiles and eyes, in the life lines of lives lived..........there was a genuine radiance to the communion of beauty..........ageless, timeless human beauty.

This was a special event in many ways. There is a caring and sharing feel underlying it all, from the young girls, all dressed up to sing and to serve, to the recognition from the mayor (who sang a beautiful rendition of Sinatra's classic New York, New York.......and the local member of the legislature who was all smiles of genuine pleasure connecting with every single person sitting at the tables......) to the fact that each hat worn yesterday had been donated by a member of our community. Each hat had a note tucked inside............a story about the hat's meaning, or a message of love from the donor......... hats from the heart........

I havent yet formulated all of my thoughts on the experience of taking part yesterday. As an observer and a participant and as someone who knows a few of the stories behind the beautiful faces, I was touched more deeply than I had expected and was left with a feeling that I it had been a true honour to attend. I loved watching the young girls all dressed up serving their "elders"...... i loved listening to one young girl sing an aria which simply pierced every single heart listening......and watching their reaction. I loved reuniting with a few people I hadnt seen in a good hand full of years and in different contexts. I loved the conversations, the song, joyfulness of the event.

We congregated under the umbrellas and shade of the tree to share a couple of hours together with blooming hats on. We were all left with a sense of communion. Enjoy some of the photos.............. :)

In its graciousness, beauty often touches our hearts with the grandeur and nobility of its larger resonance. In our daily lives such resonance usually eludes us. We can only awaken to it when beauty visits us. John O'Donahue

"For beauty is the cause of harmony, of sympathy, of community. Beauty unites all things and is the source of all things. It is the great creating cause which bestirs the world and holds all things in existence by the longing inside them to have beauty. And there it is ahead of all as....the Beloved....toward which all things move, since it is the longing for beauty which actually brings them into being.."

hmmmmmmmm........what to do?

If a man does not keep pace with his companions,

perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.

Let him step to the music which he hears,

however measured or far away.

Henry David Theroux

I love the hestitation of this little duckling......he's got a look on his beaky face wondering if he should really fall in line and get with the formation. I think he has other ideas.......like slipping off to test the waters somewhere else, or perhaps swimming upstream. Or maybe, he likes where he is now and doesn't feel the urge to hang with the pack.

It's always a good feeling to know you belong to a group. There are those times however and for whatever reason when we yearn for time alone..........some personal head space to get to know ourselves outside of the clan. To belong and to be surrounded by unconditional love and positve regard is the food needed to pick and choose our own convoluted paths.....in harmony with others or by the solitary flute music we hear in our hearts.

This post was inspired by Carmi's Wednesday thematic photography prompt. This week, it's animals. Ok, I know I didn't actually pick an animal photo........I heard the birdsong and followed the tune.

wolves

subtle quick flick of the eye

more powerful than words hold meaning

a silent dismissive half gaze

barely mentioned but caught by the one intended

eyes now lost in the fade of the glare

blue into grey wandering haze

the light dims

the light dims

restless dread feeds the hunger

where strength dissolves into sleepless heat

a wallowing mournful need

weeping behind the subtle flicker

blue into grey hazing gaze

the light dims

the light dims

The prey lies unprotected

exhumed in fitfull tossing

waiting for the wolves.

an unsubtle see through grey gaze

as their wants gain focus

as their hunger heightens

their eyes glow danger.

They prepare to pounce

while the light dims

the light dims

It makes me wonder.............how do you keep them at bay? Or, should you?

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

W.B. Yeats

making my eyes smile

Like the joy of the sea coming home to shore,

May the music of laughter break through your soul.

As the wind wants to make everything dance,
May your gravity be lightened by grace.


Like the freedom of the monastery bell,
May clarity of mind make your eyes smile.


As water takes whatever shape it is in,
So free may you be about who you become.


As silence smiles on the other side of what’s said,
May a sense of irony give you perspective.


As time remains free of all that it frames,
May fear or worry never put you in chains.


May your prayer of listening deepen enough
To hear in the distance the laughter of God.


John O'Donahue

Having now heard several interviews, and watched a video of this man sharing his stories, poetry and touching perspectives, his voice is stored in my imagination. When I read this blessing this morning, I could hear John O'Donahue recite it....... like a smile "on the other side of what's said."

Food for the soul on a Sunday morning.

risen

i awoke this morning

to a wooing dawn song of the birds

standing in the dark ,

i looked out my window

to the other side of the river

mesmerized

by the floating luminal streetlights

all along its bank

reflections stretched out

like candle flames on the surface of the water

silent mercy in the sleeping calm

i thought i saw your face

your alluring smile almost within reach

quietly beckoning me

across the rippling light

to the safety on the other side

was it just a dream?

merciful blues II

merciful blues hum quietly

as twilight descends

onto the fields of solitary honesty

where

thin places of barren confession
of loss and empty denial

crossover

merciful blues grip tightly

as light fades

into shadows of kneeling contemplation

where prayer feeds breath

cupped in

hand clasped loneliness

merciful blues settle

in the stillness of the notes
blanketing the air

with
whispered admissions of the heart
confessions of tender remorse

music beyond words
echoing forgiveness

Channeling Mr. Waits

strumming here on this cold winter night

trying to wrestle getting it right

numbed by reality

tired of it all

can't get you in focus

can't get you to call

fogs rolling in blinding the trees
naked bare boned knuckles and knees
scraped by its wake
bloodied and bruised
no one will want me
torn battered up used.


I'm numbed by reality
tired of it all
can't get you in focus
can't get you to call.
I guess I don't blame you
there's no second chance
when hurt has replaced
a broken romance.


i lay here shackled wondering if He
pays any attention, hears my deep pleas
cried out sorrow
tattered old song
your love I have wasted
your trust has all gone.



I'm numbed by reality
tired of it all
can't get you in focus
can't get you to call.
I guess I don't blame you
there's no second chance
when hurt has replaced
a broken romance.



night crawls with echos of your tender voice
I long to forget, I messed up my choice
yearned and forgotten
i lie here alone
aching for nearness
chilled to the bone.


sleep is a memory fading away
replaced by loud silence covered in grey
ripped from your faith
blame shares my skin
even Jesus has left me
distrust soaked in sin.


I'm numbed by reality
tired of it all
can't get you in focus
can't get you to call.
I guess I don't blame you
there's no second chance
when hurt has replaced
a broken romance.

This week's prompt on Writer's Island is "second chance..." For some reason, Tom Waits has been visiting my internal CD player this weekend, so I thought I would try my hand at a piece of broken heart yearning.... hope you like it. :) For more glances at second chances, click right HERE....

as you are

i feel you sometimes

when i least expect to

your deep baritone whisper

touches my attention

sweeps under my skin

i'm left wondering

what it would be like

to hold your hand

to feel their warm roughness

in a firm finger locked grip

I'd never let go.

i see you sometimes

as I round a corner

your open stance manner

smiles an engaging welcome

catches my surprise

i'm left dreaming

what it would be like

to look into your smiling eyes

to recognize love in them

in that moment locked in oneness

I'd never let go.

I perceive you sometimes

after a hungry uphill hike

your encompassing presence

responds to my doubts

with compassionate reassurance

I hear

It's okay

I hear

You are loved.

I hear

as you are,

as you are

i'm left wondering
what it would be like
to hold your hand
to feel their warm roughness
in a firm finger locked grip

its okay

you are loved

as you are

as you are

i'm left dreaming
what it would be like
to look into your smiling eyes
to recognize love in them
in that moment locked in oneness

you are loved, as you are.

I'd never let go

river stories............

late summer, 2007

I would love to live

like a river flowing

carried by surprise

of its own unfolding

John O'Donahue

autumn, 2007

early winter, 2007

Today, as I took in a leisurely afternoon of just hanging out, I turned on the CBC radio to listen to a show I enjoy every week called Tapestry. It's an hour long program on faith and spirituality where the host interviews individuals from all walks and religions. I settled in only to be presently surprised by a lovely rebroadcast of an interview taped in 2004 with the late John O'Donahue. It wasn't until halfway through the interview that I realized I remembered listening to the original broadcast. The difference..........I was half listening then. Today, I was fully present, allowing this gentle man's beautiful insightful lyricism and stories inspire.

It was an amazing interview.........full of life, optimism, gems of wisdom.

I sent a message to a friend today and in it admitted that selfishly I felt ripped off that I had missed out on the chance of meeting and listening to John O'Donahue. I felt like I had only just heard of this man. I havent even read one of his books.........havent arranged to get them into my hands yet. But, this afternoon, as I sat on my bed with a view of the top of the pussy willow tree and blue sky to gaze at.......with the knowledge that the river down the hill (which I can see clearly at this time of yearr from my bedroom if I stood up by my window) was flowing past with stories, I sat in a cocooned stillness while listening to the sound of eternal beauty with a cleansing Irish lilt.

The poem I included here? It was how Father O'Donahue ended the interview......... his sentiments I fully understand. The surprise of the ongoing change of flow is how life should unfold........ like a river.

I don't feel ripped off anymore. :)

john o'donahue

On the day

when the weight

deadens on your shoulders

and you stumble,

may the clay dance

to balance you.



And when your eyes freeze

behind the grey window

and the ghost of loss

gets in to you,

may a flock of colours,

indigo, red, green,

and azure blue

come to awaken in you

a meadow of delight.





When the canvas frays

in the currach of thought

and a stain of ocean

blackens beneath you,

may there come across the waters

a path of yellow moonlight

to bring you safely home.





May the nourishment of the earth be yours,

may the clarity of light be yours,

may the fluency of the ocean be yours,

may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow

wind work these words

of love around you,

an invisible cloak

to mind your life.


John O'Donahue.

I never met this man. I only learned of him over the past year and grew to admire his beautiful soulful work. I know there are many whom he has touched deeply over the course of his life. His words and more importantly, his magnetic spiritual presence always radiated through in anything I had read about John O'Donahue.

In my thoughts, I had hoped to one day hear this exceptional human being speak, and to possibly meet. This morning I learned that John O'Donahue passed away. Strangely, this news came to me twice in the course of a couple of minutes through two different avenues. His death and the news of it has left me shocked and feeling a bit light headed...........so I can't imagine how the people whom he touched so dearly are feeling today.

It's not fair. My heart and love goes out to friends in the UK and his native Ireland who are grieving their friend today. He will always be cherished.