Cynthia Sharp's Blog, page 5

As I Let Go

amber cradlemoves closerend of life blessinghalf moonfull circle

I Am A Dog by Guest Poet Alex Penz

I am a dogI live in a bogI have no homeSo I just roamBut every day I have to moveSo I get into the grooveThat when the sun comes up and we hear the soundNo animal is safe not even in the groundNot a bear, bunny, or bird is outBut as you can probably guess there is no time to poutWe are the animals of the wild I know my poetry is mildbut now I must leave again To escape those terrible men That cut down our treesAnd scare all the bees, The ones that pollute our air,And do not careabout the birds and their chicks, the ones that snap the sticks that could grow into treesAnd the thing is, they gladly destroy them in a breezeThis is the problem that I’d like to addressYes this is the problem that I’d like to address, indeed this messThis is a mess that we can fix Yes you and I in this giant animal mixWe can fix it if our voices are heard,But not just by a bear, bunny, or birdWe need this heard all over the the world We can’t just just let it be tossed out and curled,This is a problem that must be solved And quick before our entire world is dissolved.We must do this quickAnd one of the best ways to do this is to go electronic Now you might be asking, “Well how does that help?”And my answer would be “just like how fossil fuels and their carbon dioxide affect the kelp”They affect the forests tooAnd this may not occur to you but this will help you

Wildfires by Guest Poet Nicky Penz, AKA Crispy Cookie

What the heck has happened to this earth?It always looks like you are standing in front of a hearth Wildfires are full of liars That do not careAbout the airThey throw their cigarette And have no regretNo respect for the habitat No animal is safe, not even a bat The wildfires emit way too much smoke I was constantly beginning to choke The animals are losing their homesSoon, they will only be a pile of bonesThere were once forests full of wood But they burned where they stoodThey fell because fire burned their rootsAnd they all turned to sootWe used to roast hot dogs over a fireBut now, the situation is direFires raged all last summerFor the citizens, this was a real bummerThe smoke traveled all the way to my homeIt surrounded it like a domeI could barely see, the sun was blockedThe smoke settled in, like it was dockedGlobal warming has an impactI am surprised that the world is still intactSome people don’t care about the treesBut they realize what they’ve done when they must pay the feesTrees, bees, they will all soon be goneThey will all have died by the break of dawn We need animals to surviveBut with these fires, they cannot thrive The firefighters battle these monsters The ones that destroyed many buildings that cost us thousands of dollars

Pigeon Park

in the nadir of wintry isolationfrosted ash turns the city to stone   eerily quietnumb   the homeless toss on frigid park benchestraverse solitudequiet epiphanies in the rhythm of travelas life catches up with itselfcrescent moon evanesces in the cold skyreborn each dayinto the choiceto continue   

querencia

the rain, the quiet, the taste of bergamot…home is reading on Sunday afternoonswherever I am safe
All of us have a place within, a nirvana, a connection with the divine inside and beyond. In old Spanish, it is called querencia, a space that is your own, where your soul finds peace even away from home. It is an alcove within where you are your most authentic, peaceful self, a harbor where you recharge, safe in every way, with no pressure to speak or explain. The place where you are your deepest, truest self. Where you hear your thoughts and inner light. Where you can plan and rest. Where you can stay as long as you’d like until you choose to venture back out into the larger arena of life.Every September when I open a new grade eleven class, I ask the students to write about their favorite setting – their room, a corner of the library, the forest, the beach, somewhere they go with friends or alone as our first descriptive writing assignment. I still remember everyone’s querencia from all my decades of teaching, ever in awe of the light of their beings and the privilege it is to be trusted with knowing such beauty.I do the assignments myself too. I have a couple of places that are a needed querencia for me – a walk in a sunlit forest or along the ocean shoreline when the waves are crashing exuberantly, then coming home and reading peacefully with a cup of earl grey tea, when I have the whole afternoon and evening to my thoughts and writing, the way it is to commune with the best of books. My three line poem above alludes to my personal querencia.

Falling Stars

In the starlight of your ashes,a newly blossoming plumeria flower,how you would lie beside meand when I gently awoketell me what I had said in my sleep,a communion of adoration that continuesbeyond your earth walk –rose petals at midnight,passionate and infinite strength of tender beauty.

Continuing After You

the colors of morningdeep beet merging into rich greenthe sound of water meeting a teabagtasting snowsea airfreedomthis momentpurple sky and wordsthis little heart in sun

The Emerald

Scattered amid plumeria and orchids,dandelions, once a pesky weed, the barnacle of the garden,now animate the earth, velvet summer adjacent toaged rosewoods bearded in moss, the fragrant scent of pollen transformed into wine and salad greens.I cast a thousand wishes through the winds of time,my fortune of seeds dispersed across the forest floor –the emerald returnsto prune through tufts of feathery florets andbuild its nest in soft dandelion and honeysuckle. In the fervent flash of hummingbirds you rise,spirit aflutter in their wings. I turn your ashes anew – you are here,salt from the sea washed ashore.
In memory of my beautiful grandmother who loved hummingbirds. The emerald is a type of hummingbird.

Silent Grey

Reading Silent Grey in Surrey
snowed in with poetryan open windowon the night sky
dances with treesthe movement of versethrough my heartbeat

All That We Are

Thank you     for this timethis gift this breath of now –Losing ourselvesinto the zen of the momentand the beauty of languagedreams within and beyond the full infinity we are privileged to be part of the way words open us to the mystery and divine power of who we arethe most real truththe sanctity of inner peace.