For my mother

Growing up with my mother
was like taking  a drive through foreign lands.
She brought me to places many never find.

Her heartbeat was the first sound I ever heard.
Enclosed within her I had no idea of the adventures
she would take me on.

She was honest. She was brave.
She held me in the face of my overwhelming father.
Her tears were full of compassion that I would come
to know as h er own special blend of light and dark.

I gave myself over to her.
She was my sherpa through a minefield
I followed her steps like a patient wanderer
wondering at her mind so smart and swift.

We held hands during gathering storms.
When I wept, afraid, she comforted me
with nightly prayers.

When kids bullied  and picked on me she
told me to pray for them.
"they don't know better"
I would pray to God, hoping to
teach them compassion for one who was different.

She took me to psychic fairs where I learned
the art of pyramid meditation.
she took me out on a dark night
to find Bigfoot in the deep, dark woods.

She taught me not to lie saying
"You're like Saran Wrap. I can see right through you.
Tell me the truth and the punishment will be less.
Lie to me and it will go worse for you."

I remembered that.
She tried to help me with my fears--held me close
when I cried--tried to understand me.

Nothing takes that away.
Not the ups and downs.
Not the hard times.
I just remember her voice--her sweet, soft touch--
her joy at my successes. Her kindness with my failures.
She was my guide through a bewildering wilderness.

For my mom on September 10, 2015

The Day Folds Down to Dark

The Day folds down
A tangled sheet draping the dark
Finding a place of my own
Crickets chirp, the clock winds down.

The buses and sirens and the unimaginable
business of life
Takes. A. Deep. Breath.
and inhales a bit of the night.

The glaring sun gone down to roost
I sit on my porch and drink in the quiet
as though I have been thirsty all day
for what I didn't know...until now
when there is a bit of time to write,
to draw and sing.

The business of day is finished
I cuddle the dark like a blanket
Shot through with deep blue skies
fading to black.

Coolness, peace and the drawing down of that curtain.
Sometimes it seems there is never enough time
To be. Not do. Just be. Here. In this moment.
A blessing of stillness.
Enclosing as deeply as though it were a cave.

I hide here in my quiet dark
A candle, my cats and this pen.

There have been many moments this week to absorb.
Some powerful. Some overwhelming. Some special.
I take them all in here in the dark.
They weave the pattern--the ins and outs of my days
and it is brilliant in it's complexity like a spider's web.

The world has been too noisy of late.
Glaring drivers, blaring horns, sirens
screeching "EMERGENCY!" through the streets.

But here. In the dark. In the quiet. It's just me.
No screens to watch. I soak in the simplicity.
I bathe in it.
Secure in the stillness my mind untethers
My heart...quiets.

I draw down the deep.
Drink it in.
Peace.

The stillness and confusion

Crossing passages of conversation

Is sometimes like crossing the Sahara

All dry---there is no air to breathe.

What is love?

What is friendship?

Why do I go to such great lengths

To communicate and my words are lost

I am lost the roar of commerce and the cars driving by.

I am like a painting standing still

A still life of myself

I cannot move forward because I’m not real

The gift of life is sometimes lost on me.

I want to be this positive energy

That goes out into the world and

Makes a difference.

But how can I make a difference

When all I hear is noise inside my head?

How can I be with someone?

I don’t even know myself well enough.

There is a saying that a picture says

A thousand words.

At this point I need a picture

Because words are lost within me

I miss those that are lost; those that are gone

I try to pinpoint my moods and they are too flighty.

A great chasm appears sometimes between myself and others.

I want to hide, to bury myself under the covers until the coast is clear

There is nothing that can be done when I am in this state.

Not friends or family can pull me from this rabbit hole.

I am deep within it----picking up pennies for luck

Hoping against hope they work.

The mind is a maze

Being social is impossible

I am sad; frozen in deep down feelings

Of inadequacy and time that has passed.

I feel I have contributed nothing

My mind is blank with recollections

Of times I actually became who I really wanted to be.

The desert lies before me

The darkness lies within me

I am an empty vessel waiting to be filled.

I thought once I could fill it

But now I am not so sure.                                           Heather Rose 

Secrets of Fall: A Halloween Poem

Secrets of Fall

Dry leaves paling now….red going down to brown

They sigh across the dying grass

Whispering secrets no one can know

The trees bare their branches

Wind moaning through them

Like a graveyard ghost

The death of things is pungent now

A smell of fall; a preview of winter

The summer fades like dew in the sun

Pumpkins out now, garish faces

Against the growing dark

Though there is still time

We must be wise to it’s march

And remember that all things

Go the way of darkness

In the end.

My body loves me when I run

My body loves me when I run.

     My skin feels better,

Eyes seem clearer

      Heart beats stronger.

My mind loves me when I run.

     My thoughts are brighter

My dreams are sweeter

     I feel relaxed inside

   

My heart loves me when I run.

      My friends feel closer

 My relationships are healthier

     I am guided by love and faith.

 I know that each step is precious,

Each run is a gift and all loving folks

And good times that come with it are precious too.

                                                           I love me when I run and I love me when I don’t.

                                                                           But it’s better when I run.

Grace Of Night

Grace of Night---

                            There is a certain grace of night

                                It hides the sharp edges,

             Blurs the divisions between what is and is not

                              Sometimes the tiny lights you see on the way

                    From town—a lit cigarette in the hand of someone waiting for a bus

                            Or a bit of bike reflector dancing through the street

            These things can create a kind of magic…little things…little lights

                        And then, there, in the corners you see the dark for what it is:

                                         The darkness is where we all meet each other

                            Our fears, desires, loves, hates…..the woeful crying out to the unloved

                      Then the darkness can also be a friend: It hides us when we want to be dissolved

              Dissolved into the night like sugar in a glass; like salt in the ocean or a grain of rice in a bowl.

                           The Night is When those who are wanting to quit can pause and think

                                                       

                                                      “What If?.............”                                                                                                  And out there in that darkness there will come a little light, a spark that will remind us we   are HERE for a reason. And whether we think it or not we are loved.