Come and see me now—
what survived the silent rift
of broken torn years,
re-shaped in the gathering,
to fill my dark silhouette.
Come and see what changed
when the fractures let light in
highlighting my flaws
Kintsugi, Wabi-Sabi
exulting imperfection.
Come and see and stay
with me for a day, a while,
sharing what I was,
what I'll never now become
content within my own skin.
Vexing reflection
DNA dipped disarray
On innocent babe
Conceived by rapist
Despite dark deed still birthing
Cherub like angel
BIRTHING ANEW
Pregnant mind birthing;
Awareness words being born—
Loudly echoing:-
Let your eyes’ ears hear,
As your heart beats excitement—
Awareness streaming:-
Newborn awareness,
Ensures changes are coming;
And sameness going:-
NATURE’S BIRTHING RAIN
Beautiful spring rain,
quenching the womb of the earth
with birthing waters;
sunshine waters of new life,
reflecting God-sent purpose.
When finally those quickened hours come
that crept unseen behind tomorrow's door,
and waves of yesterdays upon me pour ~
few secrets left of just what might become.
In frost, the rush to harvest summer's yield,
when all of youth would break the vines of spring,
it seems an instant ~ now at last they cling,
impatient souls await in vineyard fields.
In warmth the sun of dawning will arise,
then weep upon your cheeks contented tears
and I will reach and sweep away your fears
when last I see the beauty of your eyes...
To carry a child in your womb
And then allow nature to bloom
As you swell now like blue moon
And there’s a crowd in the birthing room
For one born in the midst of June
Dr nurses swaddle and swoon
Heart of God is this art maroon
Mothers pain replaced by a tune
Lullaby for cries to meet her soon
Mother and tribe family welcomes you
Big beautiful eyes shiny and new
Jewel of life a crown of youth
Sometimes it feels
as if I am carrying it as a child in its womb.
It is yet unformed,
but it has searching plasmid eyes
that see in the dark.
It is unnamed and dispersed as threads and fragments,
but I sense its weight.
In the beginning (that ‘beginning’ is always nebulous),
there is an impulse,
a motive pressure that cannot yet
be translated into words;
at that time (‘that time’ is always uncertain),
it is a kernel of import, yet still meaningless.
If I don’t force it to appear
it will gestate, gather a form around it.
If we are sensitive to the creative process
we will know
It is not the words we hear inside us
but the passing of muted footsteps
as they enter a reason to be born.
Perhaps after all. it’s not the poem coming through us
but we coming through the poem?
There once was a birthing person from Perth
He/She/It battled quite a hefty girth
Couldn't sit, so she squatted
Reputation mud-spotted
But oh man, could she push when she gave birth
My friend said, “Happy Birthing Day!”
I couldn’t help but grin
Because this marks the date in which
My son’s life did begin.
Some memories leap out at me –
I know just what I wore
And the way I woke my brother
As we headed out the door.
He had come to visit, hoping
He’d be there to celebrate
The arrival of his nephew
And he’d not have long to wait.
But before we left, I tapped him
Saying we did not have long.
We were headed to the hospital.
He yelled, “Oh no, what’s wrong?”
“I’m just going to have a baby!”
Then we laughed, for as he woke
He’d entirely forgotten;
It became a family joke.
Hours later we would welcome
To this world our baby boy
Who has, through the years and counting,
Brought a lifetime filled with joy.
Mermaids and Mermen are given a choice you see
Whether to lay eggs or have a live birth in the sea.
Each one makes her wishes known in a dream.
It is promptly granted by the Mermaid Wishing team.
Some choose laying eggs, for it gives more chances.
Many mermaid babies will hatch southern sea wind dances.
Others choose a live birth, but it limits them to two.
You will want to choose this if you only want to raise a few.
Mermaid twins and triplets are raised in incubators in the deep.
They are implanted via a uterine vial that you will want to keep.
There are other ways too, since mermaids are magical and kind.
If I share all mermaid birthing secrets though, they will wipe my mind.
There’s a boy in the cellar with a stone in his mouth.
In the stone is a bird.
In the bird is a future unhatched, unborn, unclean.
Unbeknownst to the world, he is dead.
In the dark there is laughter from faces unseen.
It is here you will stay and alone in this place you will
dwell.
With them.
With it.
For all time.
But I’m here, Mamma’s here.
I wish I could help you.
I wish I could hold you.
I wish I could save you from me.
I wish I could stop this.
I wish I could help this.
I wish it could somehow be better than it is.
But it’s not.
And I’m me.
And you’re you.
You’re down there.
I’m up here.
So it goes.
There’s a wound in my heart that won’t heal, and it bleeds.
It’s your fault little boy, yours alone and I’ll snap you inside
like a twig on a tree ‘till you’re still and at peace in my arms.
There’s a boy in the cellar with a bird in his mouth.
In the bird is a stone.
In the stone is a future reviled, rewritten, repaired.
Realized by the world, he is born.
Night…to Morning
————————————-
Very often,
my night hours
Keep awake,
Keep their occurrence
Until morning’s rise,
Keep their words
Under darkness…and
Their poems wait,
Disregarding
Inspiration from
The luminant moon
In favor of the sun’s
birthing day.
I keep my sleep’s
dreams abloom
In the acres of
gently waving,
Vibrant yellow,
Billions of sunflower
Petals
Opened to extend
their beauty into the
Summer’s minuets —
Moving silhouettes —
Along the horizon…
So, so clear, even
To these sleepy eyes,
Through these
glistening tears.
===========
(c) sally young Eslinger 9/8/21
Thanks be to God
Poetics Poem, Red River Gorge, KY
I traipse the course of a forking, rambling stream
Barefoot from the rounded top of one small boulder
To another, the slashing strikes of cold water
Startling my every careful leap, place to place,
Landing with deep, short gasps, yet wordless
In an utter joy of intense sensation over sun-sprinkled
Spots so bright against the deep gray hollow splotches of
Drenched stone. The stream does not trickle
Along this gorge, but roars the air and throws
Its echoing roundabout the cliffs like a newborn
Learning its scream forth from being
Buried for years beneath massive storeys on up to
Greater views. But, the stream continues its carving around
The hillside. And the newly-born cries will
Find the voices of self-expression with each gasping
Leap from boulders to cliffs, climbing in a wrapabout
The gorge’s hidden, grand lowlands and rising
Of its own ineffable poetry so fully held within the birthing
Of Nature herself, all that which carries
Of language as spoken
In the heart of God.
**********. **********. **********. **********
(C) sally Young eslinger 10/9/2020
worn wit's fang
omen's punctured prank
hoisted odds hampered
relieving rusty orders
monstrous myth melt
dripping dark delves
eerie experiment etched
foiling felon flesh
mental horizon's mesh
fragile future's confetti
humming hacked hymns
quarantined fate flicked
callous contractions cruised
birthing blitzkrieg bruised.
'20:05:14:18:56
Note: Of masticated mentality.
here in the cocoon
of cosmic mind
words metamorphose
into butterfly memories
soaring in the winds
of mystic thought
filling sails
of contemplating ships
on their chartered courses
to waiting shores
where caterpillar focus
bask in the sunshine
imaging reflective beauty
of harmonizing poetic grace…
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