Life in the Lowcountry


Poems
November 14, 2010, 11:36 pm
Filed under: Life

4/19 – “Coming Around”

Tired of being afraid of being used,

Weary of misleading cues, of chances taken, risks making me feel afraid.

Leading me on, turning me around yet my confidence pursues.

Shot down again. Hopes Dashed.

Dreams again wasted.

Tired, weary, rejected.

Light pours in and possibilities flourish.

The FEAR dissipates like darkness from a rising sun.

Clouds roll by and saunter on,

While birds sing their mating song and I, I marvel

at the goodness, I wonder at the beauty of being

Tired, Used, Rejected, Afraid and coming back again for

More. And marveling at the chance to BE happy, content, loved.

6/14- “Want”

Hope, you love.

Hope, you need.

Wish, you loved me.

Wish, you needed me.

Believe, you can be loved.

Believe, you can be needed.

6/12 – “Moments”

There isn’t a day that goes by

Except one or ten…

That I don’t think about why we met then.

When that moment passes I wish for a mirror

Or cosmic glasses to reflect

The way we should have been.

Sometimes I see you walking towards me

And if I think fast enough to blink

You disappear from view and

I forget to think of

The love we shared or dare I say it?

Of the times I dared to believe in me, even forgetting my history.

Everything repeats itself and I can’t seem to get off this shelf for if I do,

I know that I will break in two.

2/3 – “Pecans”

Mom and Pecans – that’s what this is about. “Wanna’ heah it? Heah it goze!”

She loves to make Pecan Pie, but

Everyone raves about the Toasted Pecans in the Mason Jar.

Bushel after bushel

Are brought to the door

“Just one jar, just one jar more. Keep the rest for you. We can never replicate

Those culinary things you do,

To that simple nut, The delicate pecan. The delicacy of the South.”

“A pinch of salt, a pound of butter and toasted in the oven, No more than that!” You exclaim.

For the love and attention to tastiness, these nuts have no claim to fame.

My Mom, toasting pecans.

<This is a work in progress. Hence the stilted-ness…>

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