Monday, December 26, 2016

Sometimes I Write Poetry

Sometimes I write poetry in my mind, but rarely do I get it on paper, and then the words are gone. But occasionally I will grab snippets and jot them down before they run away from me! This time, I had a few quiet hours simply to write (interrupted only by a flooded bathroom, a chocolate covered toddler, a dirty diaper, sibling rivalry, and delicious food prepared by Brandon (he's a keeper, dear reader!)). My poetry is usually unintentionally depressing, and for that I apologize, but I've found that the aching beauty of shared sadness is really easy to describe. It's the joy that is harder to capture (for me, anyway). I wonder why that is? Because even though I have clinical depression and anxiety, I'm genuinely a very optimistic and happy person. Interesting...

Anyway, please be kind. It's okay to hate my poetry, just don't get all English teacher on me and point out all my flaws. Okay? Okay. :) Oh, and please don't steal my words. I know I can't physically stop you, but please have some integrity and cite me as the writer. Because I am the writer, eh? Thanks!


Flowers on My Table 

Hazy light filters into the room through panes of chipped wood
And the flowers on my table are changing color.

Once red, brown seeps in; once white, yellow creeps out of folded petals.
Former glory is replaced with drooping, depressed heads;
Buds that never fulfilled their purpose before succumbing
To the impatient obsession of my own hand.

Desiring their beauty, I cut them, pretending I have not killed them.
In my pitchers I pour water, dashes of sugar, and plunge the green shards into a
Temporary suspension of time.

But none can slow decay,
So the flowers begin to wilt, even before my eyes.
I never notice until I look away for far too long, and then
Sincerely, stupidly, stunningly surprised I turn back and illuminated by the sunrise,
I see the death before me.

~Cheryl (Copyright Dec 2016)



I hear the words she is speaking, but I can see her words are only partly true.
Her eyes, her hands --they betray her thoughts, and even though she speaks sweetly, with
Honey and roses, I can feel the partial lie of them even before the vibrations touch my ears.

She means well, she hopes well, she longs for forgiveness,
Even if she cannot give me truth or sincerity in this well-planned, shower-practiced
Barrage of words which pour over me like water that is not quite ready to bathe in.

I have an immediate choice, and in moments, I struggle with indecision.
Forgiveness means letting it go.
Forgiveness means passing by the bitterness.
Forgiveness means refusing to pick up the grudge that is present in her hands...

I stare at her eyes, guarding my secret knowledge and wondering what she would do,
If only she knew how well I could read her intentions and weakness.

I decide, only once, and it is enough, as my arms
Wrap around her, releasing the grudge, releasing the bitter, releasing her weakness --
Releasing my own --
Trust is not part of the package, and as I release even her and stare into her face,
I know we will never again be the same.

~Cheryl (Copyright Dec 2016)


Broken Heart

The pieces of my heart are not found
Among blood vessels and tissue
Nor muscle, housed in bone.

They are soft shards,
Wandering about in places both
In and out of my soul.

Each has been created out of love,
Grown through pain,
And forever defined in joy.

Even though my heart beats on,
It misses each piece
As they pull away from me.

I will not fault them;
They were meant for greater things
Than the cavity of my chest.

But there will always be a place
Inside of me
Waiting for their return

Should they ever need to
Find the place of
Their beginning, again.

~Cheryl (Copyright Dec 2016)



It is more than a dance, this thing between us.
We are learning and growing simultaneously
But never exactly in sync.

Our passion is subtle because it is deep.
From romantic longings, our shared movement has
Risen from frost and ash.

Our goal of enduring love has never changed.
How we attempt to arrive continuously adjusts as the
Sand beneath us shifts.

Fear has tried to destroy our awkward clinging.
But loyalty sparks love, and forgiveness claims us as
We clumsily adjust our footing.

~Cheryl (Copyright Dec 2016)



How did it come to be that the inhalation and vibrations of air (the
Reflection of light!) could cause
Such ecstatic electricity inside of a mind,
With pulsing, pounding,
Soothing, sounding,
Constant rush of emotion through veins that are
Wired for nothing more than carrying oxygen to
Organs that cannot logically,
Nor justifiably, (perhaps scientifically?)
Feel the poignant and exhilarating rush of

~Cheryl (Copyright Dec 2016)


And just for kicks, here are some of my older poems that I really, really like. I've written and posted a lot of poetry over the years, but I've never had them compiled in one post before. In fact, I could be missing a bunch... Hmmm...

I sometimes wonder if maybe I should self-publish a book of poetry, but honestly, would anyone buy it? What do you think, dear reader? And don't tell me "for sure they'd buy it!" just to placate me. I don't like fake praise, eh?

Second Estate 

Sweet agony! Oh, sweating pain! The Door by
Which enters Breath, soft Breath, and fills the room with quiet relief.

Agony gone and pain suppressed,
Perfection embodied and counting, one, two, three, four, five…
Each hand embarking, not knowing, having chosen

With Love in the left, and
Faith in the right,
Each curled up in safety,
Tightly, tightly.
Mother, than father hold
Tightly, tightly.

Love and Faith
Bounded, bonded, begins.

(Copyright 2007)



And there I went.
Over rays and Under waves
Crashing, coursing, chafing, cursing,
Marking time with leaf patterns; searching
Veins of plant-life
Wondering, Wandering
Chasing distorted light.

Unsure-hesitant I stood
Naked before myself.
Exposed the soul-spirit, I
Drank, Gulped, Devoured the Truth above me.
"I am light and before me is
I am worth and behind me is
I am strength and beside me are
Lifted wings."

Warrior on!
Keep in stance and
Stay in currents fresh from
Wildflowers, pure with snow,
Smelling of morning and oak.
In them I let go,
Escape from shackled exhaustion,
Tethered standards, faceless tradition
and find Joy;
unfettered, unresolved, pointless.
Happiness freckled with turbulence, yet
Resounded in liberty!

Priceless freedom to feel.

 ~by Cheryl (Copyright September 2009)



Fleeting it seems, this
Which comes not once,
But as shards, piercing through this blanket of sorrow.
Gathering, glimmering,
Hoping, helping,
Reflecting Another’s increasing triumph over covers
Which muffle the voice of truth.
Give me a fragment,
One by one.
If carefully,
It will be enough.

~ Cheryl (Copyright 2007)



Slowly drifting far away
within the wood of bonded clay
breaking bands with public light
which skews amongst the cabin's fright

"take me on (I want to stay?)
it won't be long before I say
that moving forward, back to sea
was simply where I had to be."

But gales of wind keep me back,
those gusts of mourning, breezes black.
which is right, the sea or shore?
taking less or giving more?

it does not speak, the matter's done
the boat has launched, the deed is sung

within the moaning sound of pain
a whisper shouts it's last refrain
reminds me how the tethered land
stole myself, abhorred my stand.

turn about, forget the past
hoist the sail upon the mast
fight the wind of black delight
forward, forward, canvas white

the crumbling earth left far behind
was not foundation, how did it bind
my heart to man, to mocking scorn
blowing forth the tempter's horn?

storms or calm within the sea
each will give my heart to Thee
those who thrust my boat from shore
only made my heart give more. 

thirsty raindrops wash my face;
tears announce His sweet embrace.

~ Cheryl (Copyright January 2012)


Moments of Choice

These moments are ones I cherish. Without irony or
Abuse of the word;
The ones where the house smells of apple 
And is vacuumed.

All of the children are home and I am in the 
Kitchen, cooking dinner, hearing: 
Laughter from outside, 
Tutoring math problems upstairs,
Baby giggles,

The separation between Depression and Light
Is only found in these tiny moments of 
Choice -- 
Decision --
The power of Agency, which seem so simple and 
Those dark weights blur the lines until I am only capable
To wonder:

Do I care about this; do I want to? 

I can't move, I can't decide, I can't wonder, I can't decide. I can't, I can't... I can't...

But here, today, in this kitchen, with the scent of apples, the sight of roses, the laughter of children, the dishes washed, the meal cooking, 

I want it. I chose it. 

I choose it. 

And the darkness lingers, but it has no power, because the 
Power of My Agency 
Has a fire-light, and it is burning brightly! 
Taller and stronger than those weights, 
Those fingers, 
Those arms of oppression and slavery. 

Each time I add fuel (medical, inspirational, Grace, 
And oh! How Great is His Grace!), I feel the 
Heat grow. 
One blade of grass here... another blade there... 
Blades of moments gathered as harvest from the 
Spirit of my soul -- dried out from pain, dried out from 
Desperate hope.

The drying hurts, 
But the drying fuels. 

This darkness, this pain, this exhausting weight is 
Because every time it dries me out, every time it pulls away my 
Choices, it doesn't realize -- 
Just as serpents in Gardens where arrogance cannot understand (and did 
They not realize?) --
Each dried blade brings me to 


And fuels the very Fire that will set me 

~Cheryl S. Savage 
(October 15, 2015)


THE END (for now!)

Well, dear reader which poem did you like (if you liked any)? Why? Do you like lyrical non-rhyming prose or do you prefer rhyming only?  Have a Happy Boxing Day! 

2 comments: said...

Loved all your poems but moments of choice spoke to me. It's life. It's choices. It's hard. But it's the plan! Loved it!! Thank you for sharing

Amelia said...

If you only published it for your kids and your parents, it would be worth the cost and time. it's something of you they will cherish forever :)