The writing of a poet

It's Friday night. As I was listening to two poet laureates speak about their craft,  they spoke the language of ones' who see life through a different lense; a prism through which the world is seen in an a sundry of parts that make the whole, I felt my thoughts tug, in recognition of fellow adventurers who love to write the thoughts of the world in little splashes of light or in puddles of darkness, looking at the substance of small acts and beauty in the ways that touch and move like those of a graphic picture on a canvas of words. 

Some of my best poetry is not the kind one reads at events, or at least not for me.  The thoughts that reach out come from a place lost in the richness of time and depth of feeling. Last summer, while watching my daughter and her husband and my only (at the time) grandson drive out the driveway on their way home to Colorado, another title played in my mind, the poem I wanted to write. It would be titled "Missing Titus" the 'alone feeling' of knowing you won't be with your grandchild or those precious to you for a long while. I've written poems about love and love lost, God and the morning dawn, the unborn begging for its humanity before it might be aborted by its mother, the inner pain of a friend who struggles with depression in the face of a deep faith of God that keeps her despite the darkest of times, and poems of delight that express the joy of seeing the natural things of intricate loveliness. 

Many times I find myself sitting, looking like I am doing nothing, when in reality, my mind is full of thoughts I am sorting to make sense of the details, wondering where God is in the moment I am pausing to consider. I once said to a friend, that I am an observer.  It is true, and it is frustrating as well, especially when there is so much living to be done. At times I want to quit teaching the three Rs and open my students to the world of sweetness. I used to read poetry to my students, to help them see what I find so beautiful. But alas, I find it seems to have taken a backseat to more pressing instructional mandates. It's unfortunate. There is something so exceptionally beautiful in selecting just the right word to complete a word picture of thought.  Time.  I am more aware of time these days. Time is precious. I will conclude these thoughts with a poem I wrote a couple of years ago.

FRIENDSHIP FLOWER

Friendship flower began
     to bloom one day
After careful nurture
     along the way

She unfurled soft petals
     in gentle loveliness
Her sensual fragrance
     exquisite in delicateness

Dainty friendship flower
     embrace the white light
Glisteny dew of love's first kiss
     tear-drops in endless delight