From Where I Sit

©2014 Louise Gallagher

(Written at River Rock Studio, July 27, 2014)

From where I sit, leaves
rustle in the summer
breeze whispering stories
of lovers kissing
in the heat of passion
blossoming beneath the hot simmering
sun beating down.

From where I sit, dragonflies
flirt, making love
mid flight on wings
shimmering in pearly incandescence
light bodies freed
from the cocoon of summer
flowing in delight.

From where I sit, fir trees
stretch high, touching
the sky, spiky peaks
piercing blue cerulean arc
stretching above with spotted
fluffy white clouds
drifting aimlessly by.

From where I sit, a doe
prances past, senses
alert, she stops
glancing back
towards where she passed
curiosity piqued
she startles and vanishes
into the woods.

From where I sit, summer floats
effortlessly upon warm sultry
air bursting on the edge
of creativity
waiting to be awoken
at the edge of the forest.

A Haiku for Ellie

Wildflowers sway
beauty dances in the light
sadness loses ground

The haiku came from a longer poem I wrote for Ellie who passed away on June 23rd, 2014. I find it fascinating how to find the condensed nature of a poem, I must start with the fuller picture. It is only after writing the many words that clarity arises.

Like grieving. Like loving. Like life.

We must dig into the whole picture, revel in the dirt and the sun, to find the beautiful essence at the core of our being alive, of our being human, of our being here on this planet together.

In a Field of Wild Flowers

I leaned into the edge
of where you left
footprints on my heart
filled with memories
surfacing on the tears
that fell
like raindrops
nourishing
fields of wildflowers
where once you ran
free and abandoned.

I watched you run free
and cannot go with you.

It was your time,
not mine.

Peace comes in the light
of knowing you are running free
forever in time.

I got inspired today by Sandra Heska King whose blog today, Just for Fun: Color Poems, is a beautiful meditation on colour and poetic verse.

There’s a whole poetry slam thingie going on with Twitter and such of which I have little idea, but…. what appealed to me was the invitation to write a poem based on the words, Polka Dots.

So I did.

On Polka’s & Dots

We danced
our feet
skipping to the chords
of an accordion
playing
the Beer Barrel Polka
while all around us
the room whirled
and I grew dizzy
holding you in my arms.

You felt so light.

I love to polka
you yelled as we swirled
your breath hot
against my ear
and I asked you your name
in one breathless gasp
and you said Dot
and I laughed out loud
and asked you, what’s your favourite?
and you replied
Kiss me! I’m Polish!

So I did.

I don’t want to know
you
are sitting there
like a stone in the middle
of a stream
we part ways
flowing around you as we walk past
your silent form
head bowed
hands outstretched
to receive
the pittance of our generosity
dropping into the bottomless pit
of your despair
trapped in that place
where I don’t want to hear
the story of the little boy
who never grew up
to be the man
you once dreamed you would become.

I don’t want to see
the scars
etched deep into your skin
the needle marks
and tracts of pain
visible to the naked eye
where you huddle
in your emaciated body
craving the thing that will fix
it all
if only for a moment
so that you can forget
the story of how you came to be
here
in this place
where people pass you by
not wanting to see you
sitting in their way.

I saw you yesterday
and my heart broke
at the sight of you
waiting silently
for someone to say
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry this happened to you
I saw you and I felt helpless
and I’m sorry for not stopping
to say, I see you
even though I knew
seeing you wouldn’t really make a difference
because you can’t see
yourself
sitting there
waiting
you can only see the one you lost
long ago
on your journey to becoming
the silent one
sitting on the side of the street
where I walked by
without seeing you.

Cellular Memory

©2014 Louise Gallagher

My cells hold the stems
of memory
buried deep beneath the landscape
of my body moving through time
passing
over
the story of days long ago
where I once believed
my destiny waited
at the door of the chimera
of your love
calling me to enter.

In the delicate strands
of memory’s DNA
stringing its story of time
connected
my veins run
thick
with the blood
of your deceit
casting a pall
on the beat of my heart
pounding
at a glimpse of a place
where once we spent time.

On a winter’s night
when frost hangs suspended
in the frigid air
soaked in ice crystals
swirling in the soft golden hue
of memory backlit
in a streetlight’s glow
I find
memory’s deceit
lying in the distance
of time passed by
and long forgotten.

There is no substance
to the memory of you
no dream worth awakening
no cells worth dividing
there is only this road I travel
far from those places
where the darkness embraced me
and fear stalked me in the night.

There is only
this time right now
where frost tipped branches
dip low
and the magic of the night
sparkles in the incandescent glow
of a streetlamp
lighting the way home
to the heart
where I belong.

The Prairie Girl

©2013 Louise Gallagher

There is no ocean
in the prairies he whispered
the sun drying out his words
falling
falling
upon her parched skin
laid bare beneath
the weight of his hands
pressing her back
against the cracked soil
that spread out beneath her
exposing the filigree network of veins
flowing
flowing
fast and full and steady
beneath her skin
pounding
pounding
its way towards the ocean
like an underwater stream
carrying her deeper towards the sea
where desire reached out its silky tendrils
drawing her down
onto a bed of sweet succulent sage
piercing
piercing
her skin hot
her body yearning
for release
each thrust bursting
with seeds of possibility
cascading out in a wave of ecstasy
that no ocean could ever wash away.

In this space
carved by loss
my heart beats
steady in the emptiness
of my arms
reaching out to find
you
not there.

In this space
carved by yearning
I curve back
into myself and find
where I am
lost
is exactly where I find
myself
becoming who I am.

In this time
loss opens up
as I step through
the portal
of life
awakening within me
the desire
to close the door
on death
calling me
to enter
its everlasting embrace.

In this life
I live
fearless and alive
with every breath
breaking open
the darkness
that threatened
to consume me

In this space
I am
the One
I have been seeking
The One
I fall into
Love.

Photo courtesy of Photobucket.com

 

A Love Letter to a Squirrel

©2013 Louise Gallagher

I wrote a love letter
to a squirrel
the one who likes to dig up
my flowers, throwing dirt
this way and that.

I didn’t want to
write him
I didn’t want to
fall in love
with the critter
who causes me such dismay
but in the act of falling into love
(there is no other way to write a love letter)
I find myself smiling
as I think of his little furry body
skipping
across the lawn
onto the deck
peanut in mouth,
his tiny paws joined together in delight
as he searches for the perfect place
to bury his treasure.

And while I struggle
to understand why he must dig up
the Lobelia, chop down the daisies,
and decimate the pansies
I am smiling as the words flow
in celebration
of nature’s bounty
digging into the earth
and spilling out all around me.

Dear Mr Squirrel,

Thank you for visiting my flower pots. Thank you for making them your home, for digging into the dirt and squirreling away the peanuts my neighbour leaves out for you.

Even though I wanted to ask my neighbour to stop providing you such tasty treats that lead you to my flowerpots, I am grateful he is taking such good care of your needs. I am grateful his kind heart has opened itself up to your presence. In his generosity of spirit I am reminded to celebrate moments of wonder in everyday. I am reminded to welcome all the creatures of the Universe into my world so that I can delight in all creatures, great and small.

I see you Mr. Squirrel. You are welcome here. You are part of my life. We are one planet, one earth, one world.

I love how you skip across the lawn. How your tail bushes out when Ellie the Wonder Pooch races out the back door in search of you. I love the chatter of your voice when you sit up high in the tree looking down on her looking up at you. I love that you feel welcome here. That you know I will not trap you, or try to destroy you. I love that you remind me every day that there is a place for all creatures on earth, and all creatures on earth have a place.

So, Mr. Squirrel, in order for us to live harmoniously, would you consider not making your place in my flower pots? There’s a big wide lawn out there. You’re welcome to use it.

In love and gratitude

Your neighbour (and the one who puts out all those flower pots),

Louise

Which?

©2013 Louise Gallagher

My heart is weeping
tears flowing
in a river of grief
for this world
so badly battered

My heart is singing
joy dancing
in the sunlight
of this day
so beautifully new

and in the river of tears
flowing into joy
my spirit calls me
to let go
of wishing
for anything
to be
other
than what it is.

It is our world
we fight over
our people
we kill
our humanity
we destroy

It is what we
are doing
not them
over there
but all of us
upon this planet
that creates
the pain
and the sorrow
the joy
and the singing
it is all of us
creating
together

which river will we swim?
which path will we choose?