Tag: Poem

August Lesson

“August represents pure love,” my teacher’s teacher said;
then, why does hatred pull hatred to the mark?
After two national massacres, today looks
unreal. Hardly a bloom in the courtyard under cold fog
followed by wind over brown, dead grass.

I finish reading another bad book, sip lemon water.
Two friends connect by phone; I am willing to help.
We look for ways to heal, to engage, to find once again
joy hiding among the decades.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
August 7, 2019

A Poem

MORNING DRIZZLE

Barely visible, a transparent sheet
of moisture falls
to the semi-arid earth.

Something precious stirs—
something momentous like a birth.

Summer Solstice happened;
one more spring has passed.
Morning deer have grazed and gone.

A neighbor’s cat appears on life’s screen,
then, ducks out, under our gate.
How much more is there,
to wonder and to love.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
June 20, 2019

A Poem

THE NO IDEAS IDEA

Words without connection rumble,

arrive and disappear.

Images without explanation

fly through the sky of vision.

Meanings are lost.

How and why, I do not know.

 

Mistakes, weakness and imperfections

penetrate the early hours before dawn.

Where is maturity? Humility?

Forgiveness? Change?

 

Who will finish what?

No beginning. No end.

Fear sinks its head

as a hopeful smile lingers

without reason.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
Sept. 24, 2018

A Poem

 

When I am liberated by silence…
My whole life becomes a prayer.

—Thomas Merton

 

I still see that light shining around
any object; and I still feel that current,
sometimes so strong I may not
have feet on the ground.

And that space inside grows larger,
like a scary no beginning, no end;
vibrating, vibrating until the silence
is no longer silent.

 

 

Gudrun Mouw (c)
July 4, 2017

A Poem

Remembering

 


We remember, and the memories float
like clouds that shape themselves
then dissolve into something else.

We remember, and the past comes to life
as if there is no difference.

We remember how the years pile up
like children’s blocks we try so hard
to keep from crashing down.

We remember and at our best embrace
sweet gratitude.

 
Gudrun Mouw (c)
May 9, 2017

A Poem

Swami Sivananda words
vaguely remembered as I walk
with a tired brain into wilderness
until blocked by oak branches and leaves
so prickly dry and sharp I dare not pass

but return to a domestic journey
of emptying compost,
bringing stones to the courtyard
for their permanent residence, I pray,
since rocks don’t crave movement.

Now, I stop with gratitude:
there’s almost a drizzle
left over from this morning’s shower.
A drought burdened ground absorbs
what my tears welcome.

 

 

 

(c) Gudrun Mouw
June 11, 2015

A Poem