Like that

I can’t tell how it feels

Your nerves fire sssst 

Mine tingle and  snap

~

can tell you it is like…

that first sip of coffee.

too hot to swallow fast

smelling rich of memory

~

I can’t tell how it feels

Your presence draws

Mine pushes too hard.

~

can tell you it is like…

that first blossom in spring

the one waiting to open

the one you smell in sleep

~

can’t tell you how it feels.

Your coolness like a shadow

My seeking the side of sun.

~

can tell you it is like…

knowing the song in two bars

every word, in your voice

singing my missing parts.

~

I can’t tell you how it feels.

Your voice close as breath.

My heart pounding hard.

~

I can tell you it is like…

Finding the missing  part

inside a long packed box

treasure packed too long.

~

I can’t tell you how it feels.

You right there to touch.

Me, afraid and yet brave.

~

I can tell you it is like…

Like that, that one thing.

that makes it all make sense

that makes it worthwhile.

~

Like that. Always like that.

 

Claudia has us sharing emotions, without naming the emotion, for MEETING AT THE BAR for dVerse tonight. Mine has a mix of emotions, the ones you would find after being away from a loved one for a bit too long, with a bit too much stress, worry and a lot of faith guiding the way. Enjoy the other poets, and remember leave love!

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Growing over a broken branch

20140216_134618

 

Like a tree grows over a broken branch,

We grow over our broken parts into

a new and stronger whole. Something

new built on the old. Stronger. More us.

 

_

 

Sometimes I reach with one foot.

Past the tangle of sheets to find you.

A touch, warmth, your breathing a

sigh – and we settle back to sleep.

_

Watching the snow melt on your

gloves and hat reminds me of the

fun we just had playing in the snow.

Joyful noises from boys and dogs.

_

A .12 gauge plunger, Lego “Awesome”

Big and little, “Where are my pants?”

Farts, toy cars, tech toys and guys.

“Mama can you…” and “Honey where…”

Life always equals more than the parts.

Memories lose their bitter to be sweet.

 

I’m hosting at the dVerse Pub for Poetics this weekend. We are telling love stories, and sharing love poems, without using love language or being too sappy. Enjoy. Come over and see the amazing poets who have shared. Share your own. And leave love. Always leave love.

Their Gate

 

Grandpa never made a gate that wasn’t painted.

Red or white, brown or that awful blue he loved.

If it had a cross bar, a horseshoe crowned it.

Latches were never the same twice, hand made.

 

Grandma loved her gates, hated climbing fences.

She thought they all should be closed and straight.

Gates to the garage, the garden and to the lawn.

She planted flowers and stones to frame them.

 

I don’t remember seeing them hug or kiss much.

Theirs wasn’t the era and they were too private.

I do know there was love though, deep and true.

Because it shone through when I saw their gates.

 

He held it open, she glided through like a dancer.

He checked the latch was closed, and clicked,

and she smiled at the sound knowing he cared.

They leaned over them sometimes and talked.

 

I can’t see a painted gate, or an old metal frame,

without thinking of them and their gates.

The gates that frame my memories of them,

frame the memories of their live and their love.

 

I don’t know if it is a farmer thing but even my husband adores gates and loves to have them painted and latched in unique ways.  I think gates are a part of our love too…we spend a lot of time leaning over, opening or closing gates.  

For the With Real Toads Sunday Challenge.

Earthquake

The song asks, “Where do we go from here?”

The earth moved, shifted

along a fault line

no one knew

was there

before.

 

The world changed in an instant a few words long.

Nothing looks the same anymore,

some things are more right

and others seem

so very very

wrong to

me.

 

They say you never see it coming, and then it is there.

The event that makes  you either rebuild

or leave it all behind and start new.

But what if you could

do both things

leave and

start?

 

Still shaken, it could take days or weeks to get solid ground

once again under these trembling legs and feet.

Feeling sodden with a weight of tears

not knowing if it is cleaner

or just seems more

clear than

it was

then.

 

No words can quite describe, although some come close,

the moment when you understand nothing

oh nothing can ever, ever be the

same again for you

for them,

us.

 

Picking up the pieces, starting something new from the rubble.

It is hard to decide what is worth fixing,

and what is really so much trash.

Where is the foundation

when you can only

see the fallen

stones of an

illusion?

 

Pick away. Pick away. One stone. One brick. One log at a time.

Baby steps, big steps, backwards steps – here we go!

Falling, rising, falling again, laying there

sopping wet with tears that burn

down my face wondering

if I have the courage

the strength or

the faith to

keep on

going.

 

I’m stupid that way though, Patron Saint of Lost Causes.

So I keep on keeping on, praying, loving, walking.

Each one takes me where God only knows.

And where God knows what

both they and I need

most of all and

that is just

love.

 

Ever been through this kind of physical or emotional or spiritual or all three?  This is my earthquake. Thanks for reading.

Copyright 2012 Shanyn Silinski