The End is Always the Beginning

 

Written for Shay's Word Garden Word List ~ Autumn

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Thank you Shay for another wonderful inspiring list!

Looking back, I realize, it all began in Autumn.

The goodbye that stung hard and cruel like a wasp in summer.  That is when I learned to smoke like a man;

not pipes nor slims, but sadness.

It is a long harsh cigar, sadness.

It can leave a rasp on the throat and the heart.

Now I am certain, if my soul could sing, it would probably sound like grackles,

loud and pestering

 lacking in the enchanting grace of doves and poppies that once filled those same lungs.

Silence has a scream that can never be quiet, and years of that sound have a way of fraying the edges and making yellow what once was white.

There is an empty chair inside me. It is mixed tweed and always perfect with a scent of roses from another time. You only sit there when I write poetry.

For regret has a way of holding on to the pain. It always remembers, like the IRS, children, and my heart.

The Deep End

 

Students at the H Sophie Newcomb College, New Orleans, 1929

Photograph: Edwin L Wisherd

All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on. ~Havelock Ellis

Always make sure you know where the deep end is when you choose to dive into life!

It can be dangerous trying to live.

So many ways to break your neck,

and even more ways lead to broken hearts.

I learned long ago that complacency is cruel!

It makes us blind to the potholes,

and forget about reasons for holding to the side.

All the dangers of the shallow end seem so far away.

The reasons we fell in love can evaporate to clouds.

So, always make sure you know where the deep end is when you choose to dive into life.

It can be dangerous trying to live,

but whatever you do, don’t stop searching!

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #225

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Lost Is a Place with Broken Wings,

 

When I was a little girl, I lost my silly star-studded sunglasses in the booth of a Big Boy restaurant in Dallas.  I still remember the feeling that hit me when I realized they were not still on my head as we got back in the car.  In tears, I begged my daddy to go back in to retrieve them, and even though he did, I still remember that distant memory vividly.  Some things no matter how small they are, stick with you like a silken slip on a July day.  The feeling of loss can have a mighty punch; one that we can never forget.

Lost is a place with broken wings

Like an injured bird where it does not belong

And once you have lingered there long enough

You forget you could fly all along

I searched for you in reflections

Not just mirrors but the eyes of the old

In their grief and brilliant memories

I heard your voice in each story told

Lost is a place with no directions

Yet signs around every bend

When you are staring hard into yesterday

Today gets blown away in the wind

I lost you one summer morning

Before winter was due to unfold

Now I only remember August

As a summer that was way too cold

For lost is a place with broken wings

Like an injured bird where it does not belong

And once you have lingered there long enough

You forget you could fly all along.

Photography by Rodney Smith

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 219

This week we are remembering a dear Muse friend Beverly who has recently passed.  Rest in peace dear Bev. 💖

What Moves Us

 

Linking with the Sunday Muse for muse # 188

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Sometimes, perhaps, we are allowed to get lost that we may find the right person to ask directions of. ~Robert Brault

We are always headed somewhere even in the stillness of waiting

like the beating of a heart or turning of an engine underneath the hood

some forces cannot be seen

the impact of movement stirs the leaves and mothers' skirts

it leaves father's home

and leads to our son's birth place

sometimes it amazes me how I got here

not in this seat before you

but how I got to know this beauty

I came from a broken place

where throats lost their voice

and walkways crumbled beyond repair

so I learned to run from hurt

like a dog loose off the chain

I didn't care where I landed when I jumped

cause it had to be better than where I was

sometimes our pain is fuel

but it can either move us faster forward

or cripple us where we stand

decisions become keys 

that either move the train

or stop the bus

I did not always know that

but now I do

loneliness drives us far away

but it is love that truly moves us

to where we were meant to be.

Memory is an Old Door that Sticks but Always Opens,

 Photo Credit

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #187

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“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”   ~Maya Angelou

 

I have forgotten many things

The name of my teacher in third grade

How many cracks were on the ceiling above my childhood bed

All the algebra formulas that I never needed

How I got to my friend’s house in North Texas in 1993

Why I wrote scribbles on the wall in lipstick when I was 3

The exact time I decided I wanted my first divorce

When my left knee started aching

Why my mother slammed the door for the hundredth time

Where I left my key that you wanted back

What my aunt was wearing the day she said goodbye

Where I set my glasses five minutes ago

But I will always remember

what my heart cannot forget.

Lost in the Moment

 Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #169.

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“How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you — you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences — little rags and shreds of your very life.” ~Katherine Mansfield

 

You were always an adventure

An open road I longed to take

You held freedom like a flag

One that flew higher than any uncaged bird

Your arms always opened wide

Wider than the windows of your Chevy Corvette

With dreams flying even faster

Every time you let me drive

You embraced life like a mother holding her child after a scare

Strong yet gentle as a kiss should be

Lost in the moment was the place we lingered

Somewhere between not a care in the world and the deepest of longings

It is a magic that life cannot always provide

That pool can only be dipped for a time

But it dries up in the midst of learning to live

Sooner or later bills have to be paid

Agendas and responsibilities have to be met

There are dentist appointments and grocery store runs

And you find yourself lost in a different way

Buried in the business of staying afloat

One day at a stop light on my way to work

I saw a loose canary flying nearby

It landed on a branch and just looked about

I was not sure if he was lost or just relieved to be free

Yet, in my heart, I knew the answer.

Leaves Upon an Oak

Linking with the Flash 55 at Verse Escape hosted by the amazing and beautiful talent Joy!

 "If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other."  ~ Mother Teresa

I see my sons in the growth of wheat fields and old men upon the streets

in the beauty of reaching out to give I see the granddaughters I will someday meet

for we are all connected like roots and leaves upon an oak

learning to hold on together

and then learning to let go.

Thank you Joy for a wonderful prompt that you provide every month!  Wishing you and everyone on blogger a beautiful Holiday season, staying safe and keep writing!!

Ballads Full of Whiskey & of Rain

 

Laura Nyro

Linking today with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 139

Hosted this week by the utterly amazing talent Shay!

Life is but a mingled song,
Sung in divers keys;
Sweet and tender, brave and strong,
As the heart agrees.
~S.J. Adair Fitz-Gerald (1859–1925)

 

Life is an old songstress

she sings in ballads full of whiskey and blue skies

so the moon always slow dances

with the oceans in my eyes

my heart is the drummer

that keeps me on a subtle beat

but my love gets so drunken

I always fall at life’s bare feet

so I move to the melody and I pray with the hymn

yet in the cadence of everyday

 I stumble for wild hearts and straight gin

you see life is an old songstress

she sings to me in ballads full of whiskey and of rain

and I am learning to sing her chorus and know when to refrain.

The Expansion of Grief

 

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 138  Come join us!

"Every heart has its secret sorrows which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad"  ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I am not built of brick and mortar

nor were you

wide open spaces are always at risk to suffer damage in winter’s frost

so the world’s sorrows always seeped in like a flood

beyond ego’s edifice

beyond flesh and bone

tears became a lingering fog

of the words one can never forget

and your eyes spoke each one like mockingbirds

moving through every cloud

it was a place one could get lost in

so I learned to close my eyes

and I became your distant forest

for you were too high up in the clouds

to ever realize you were so lost

nor see that I was longing to be found.

The Sucker Punch of Summer

"Day Dream"  Photography of Thomas Dodd

Linking with Toni's wonderful Wed Muse ~Cicadas  

She also gave the choice of writing about the end of summer, or rebirth.  

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The sun tires of summer and sighs itself into autumn. ~Terri Guillemets

It almost feels like being strangled

When the Texas summer heat takes hold

It hits you like a drunken sailor

One gut punch after another

All you can do is lay down

And try to recover

Soon it will leave

Slower than it barged in

But then we can breathe a sigh of relief

And pull out our sweaters

And write outdoors in comfort.

The Ripples in the Water Push Outward

Digital artwork by Catrin Welz-Stein

Linking with Poets United for the Midweek Motif ~ Climate Change

brought to us by Susan

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Never does nature say one thing and wisdom another. ~Juvenal, Satires

Everything has an effect on something

The ripples in the water push outward

The sun can burn

Plants can die

The rain can flood

Trees swept away

The wind can destroy

What man has made

For cowardice can kill a man

And complacency can kill many

If the runners at the back try to run to the exit door, the ones in front get trampled upon

The same is true for nature and man

If the ones that came before us do not think about our existence

Then the ones that come later will reap the affects in some way

Everything we do has an outcome

The ripples in the water push outward

Be it good or be it bad

All things must be considered

And nothing left to chance

The future is in our hands!

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

Meaningful Conversations

Photo Credit

Linking with Imaginary Gardens for the Tuesday Platform and The Sunday Muse
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Ideas, like ghosts (according to the common notion of ghosts), must be spoken to a little before they will explain themselves... ~Charles Dickens


I never believed in ghosts as a child
even though my grandmother seemed to
 have meaningful conversations with them
I told God early "never give me that gift!"
as if it was something that I had a say in
now that I am older
I long for the proof of it
a glimpse of something unseen
a testimony that is louder
than the possible vague siting
on some show on TV
I dare you to walk through me
wake me up at night
with the moan from a thousand lost cares
speak to me
I will listen
I will believe now
your story will live on
and it will be true poetry.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

Places We Have Never Been

Photo Credit

Linking with Imaginary Gardens "The Tuesday Platform"

There is an eternal landscape, a geography of the soul; we search for its outlines all our lives. ~Josephine Hart

I have never measured a man
 the way this world determines
 worthiness and what is considered good
 drawing worldly lines and graphs

like maps to places we have never been

 every soul has its own charted territory with
unmarked roads that no other footsteps have tread
 the terrain can be rough and gravel ridden
or it can be smoothly paved like palace walls
but it is a diverse map every time
like fingerprints have paths that cannot be replicated
and all the history soil and sediment
make rocks no other hands can throw
the passing traveler may see
the built up cities but never
understand the architecture
nor pass through the open doors
yet still we try to predict mold and form
what we expect someone else should be
we draft our own plans
 of what truly makes someone
deserving of honor and acknowledgement
or justify our eye contact and attention
who will we let in our living room
whose hand will we hold on to
who will we truly love.





Sedimentary rocks are formed through the gradual accumulation of sediment sand on a beach, mud at a river bed.  As the sediment is buried it is compacted as more and more material is deposited on top.   Eventually the sediment will become so dense that it is essentially rock.   An explanation according to Wikipedia of course, but our lives are like this.  They are an accumulation of sediment that gets compacted more and more.  All the hurts, bitterness, experiences and dirt that living can provide push deeper and compress building the being that we are.  Each of us a different landscape, yet all truly the same continent.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

Containing the Stars

Courtesy Pinterest

 

 

Linking with Susan's prompt at Mid-week Motif~ Science over at Poet's United

 

 

 

"Science has made us gods even before we are worthy of being men."

 ~Jean Rostand

 

 

 

 

It has been whispered in my ear yet forever is such a mighty word we use with such frequent casualty flinging it around like a kite on display

with the recklessness of dreamers and earnestness of poets

 

as if we could truly contain the stars in a tin can

 

we chase forever's essence as if it could be caught

 

it has been written before me yet religion is such a fragile word

 

we say with such power

 

shuffling it around on desk tops like legal documents

 

with the harshness of scientists and disregard of fools

 

as if we could truly contain the stars in a tin can

 

we try to see the face of God

 

ignorant to the revelation that we have already seen the sparkle in His eyes.

 

 

 

This is an old poem that I wrote a long time ago, but I felt it fit the prompt so well that  I thought I would re-post it and share it again.  The subject of God and science has always been so controversial.  So many do not agree, and even more just only have faith in what they can see with their own two eyes, and touch with their own hands.  This life is a beautiful mystery indeed, and we are all seekers of the truth, but we learn more when we open up our hearts than when we open up any text book in our reach.

 

 

 

What a Seagull Never Told You

photo from The Guardian, Eyewitness

 

 

The Mag #197

 

This is an older poem I wrote many years ago that was the inspiration behind the name of this blog.....so it seemed fitting to share it from here.  Thank you for stopping by.

 

 

 

"God gives every bird its food, but He does not throw it into its nest."  ~J.G. Holland

 

 

 

 

What a seagull never told you about why he flies away is the farther up you fly the broader the view you get of the shore you left behind.

What a wild horse never told you is some chained up fences can be jumped.

What a river never told you is getting off the flowing path may mean your whole world may pass you right by.

What a pine tree never told you is those that stand together never fall alone.

What a valley never told you is that sometimes the safest place to wait out the storm is right where you are.

What a sunset never told you is if you leave today behind does not mean you cannot come back and start all over again tomorrow.

What a pigeon never told you is sometimes the thrown crumbs don't come right to us we must go to them.

What a sparrow never told you is the leaver sometimes loses the nest.

What a goldfish never told you is maybe the bowl you are swimming in is just where you were meant to be.



Time Is A Fast Train

The Mag #185

 

"Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, not slowly either, but with ropes of steam and spark-spattered wheels and a hoarse roar of power or terror.  It's passing, yet I'm the one who's doing all the moving." 

 ~Martin Amis, Money

 

 

 

When we were children the world was at our service

and life was a large menu before our eyes.

All the choices were a wonderful entre
and each dish we wanted to try.

Every day was like a train ride
that seemed to move too slow,

Yet with time it gained momentum
and faster and faster it did go.

The places that pass fly faster
like migrant birds in flight.

Everyday seems to grow shorter
as life's chores increase in size.

In time we are all grown up
and the tables seem to turn,

like smoke from the steam engine
where the coals char and burn.

Then the world becomes our master
and we provide it our best seat,

and life's menu gets smaller
that we need glasses to try and read.

For time is a fast moving train
and the conductor we are not.

So passenger of life take the provisions
and in return give it all you've got.

 

Brilliance

Linking with Poets United Wonder Wednesday E=mc2

"There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle;

 you can live as if everything is a miracle."

~Albert Einstein

Brilliance is not a newly cut diamond,

but the glistening eyes of a child so full of hope.

Brilliance is not a scientific theory,

but the enlightening that can occur

in the colliding of two souls.

Brilliance is not an orchestrated opus,

but the deep flutter of the leaves

that only the forest can compose.

Brilliance is not a numeric formula,

but the unmeasurable capacity

of what the heart can hold.

This is a re-post from my other blog.  It fit too well for the prompt for me not to dig in the archives.

Follow Hope's Tracks

Puddle, 1952, M.C. Escher

The Mag #122

"If you knew that hope and despair were paths to the same destination, which would you choose?"  ~Robert Brault,

Trudge forward brave soldier with the fearless puddle stomping of a child.
Plow through the sludge like a bulldozer pushing deep into the wild.
Life is messy with plenty of beautiful lessons down many muddy paths.
You can turn around or stop, but what is the use in that?
We are all in a journey that either progresses or lags behind.
The roads we take are opportunities that we can lose or we can find.
So take each step courageously and get back up when you slip and fall.
For life is a big puddle of tests and learning that is meant for us all.



The Gravel and The Paved

Poets United Think Tank #82 "The Road"

"It is not down in any map; true places never are." ~Herman Melville

Each man walks his own road....no one's path is ever quite the same.

All the directions have no map...some ways are gravel, and some are paved.

We learn the way as we go...stumbling over bumps and trouble's rocks.

Its a journey that forms callus feet and hearts....that can either save us or get us lost.

Hope's destination can seem remote and utterly beyond our reach.

Yet, if we read God's road signs.. .....we learn that each course was meant to teach.

A Well Built House,

(Image from Google)

Poetry Jam a great place for writers that blog.

"Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to." 

 ~John Ed Pearce

It has been well over 30 years since I set foot in that old house. 

It was torn down years ago, but in my memories it still stands proud.

I step inside it's walls and walk up the creeky stairs to my old room.

I wander through the contents and look out the window at the view.
I can't go back and hear the voices that echo through the halls,
but I can carry the memories with me and never let them fall.