Category: A Poem

Friend/Enemy

Dear friend, before you died,
you complained, “I’m doing things so
I can keep doing them.” I did not think
those would be the final words
I heard you speak….

Dear enemy, will my aversion
for the harm you keep committing
bring the world, once more,
towards a common good?

May truth blossom
like rosemary
in the midst of drought.

Gudrun Mouw (c)

A Poem

July Afternoon

A wound up breeze unfurls, dries out
what we’ve healed
with grey water, hoses, tears.
So much shrivels while

a shameless cult leader lies to the world,
and an afternoon in solemn silence
sinks oak roots deep
into the sand.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
July 14, 2018

A Poem

Forgiveness

For Mutti

More than 17 years ago, on your last day,
you left your “Sabbath…Study Guide” open
to a page on forgiveness;
you were only a few years older than I am now.

Still, your multitude of sad, unspoken words
rise up from the depth of our shared
her-story and haunt my hours.
Mother, Mutti, it was never your fault.

Though it is no longer a misfortune
to be born in a family that did not
produce first born male heirs but daughters,
the guilty consequence remained for generations.

In spite of all odds, thanks to you,
I survived Hitler, as well as Stalin’s starvation camps.
And today, as a rough, fearful winter continues to invade
this spring, I release an ancient anger to honor you.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
April 4, 2018

A Poem

 

another massacre, the same excuses,
platitudes and insincerities; a numbness
covers the landscape like a wash of despair.
The brave ones must help us pierce through,
to regain our humanity and the lives of our youth.

 

 

 

Gudrun Mouw (c)
February 16, 2018

A Poem

The Get Well Bouquet

is beautifully arranged, as I am not….
May I be free of unhelpful ideas.
May I appreciate beauty as it opens,
passes and fades before my eyes.

What am I getting well from?
What am I moving toward? January sunlight
there on our California hillside
is not as warm as it looks; yet,

I’d like to fling myself on tender grass
turning green after rains, which sadly elsewhere
created destruction….Still, this sweet bouquet
makes a fragrant and silent plea.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
January 22, 2018

A Poem

I see you standing on sand,
during one of our desert trips,
among tiny spring blooms and shrubs,
wearing your inevitable hat,
a long, thick braid hanging down your well-matched

shirt and belted pants. I have lit candle after candle
since you passed, holding my photo of you,
sending you wishes on this unexpected journey,
which you had not anticipated when last we talked

only a few days ago. I was happy you remembered
our friendship, despite the winter threats
of which you accused yourself. May you be free.
May you have ease beyond that beyond
about which we so often wondered.

 

 

Gudrun Mouw (c)

A Poem