Spring: Thirty short poems

6 Comments

 

Stacking dishes
late at night.
There was a word today,
what was it?
What note
still unresolved?

*

Turmoils of the night
are shadows of a campfire.
At daybreak
only light
in the still, clear valley below.

*

The earth is flooded,
Spring comes;
a rainbow rises out of the ocean
across the black road.
Remembrance
and
renewal.

*

Books
tumble off the shelves,
(catch one, quick!)
remake themselves;
imagination flowering.

*

Hands
so expertly turn
the steering wheel.
Speeding finesse.
Watch that pothole!
What a mess.

*

The moon. 5am.
Spring bulb in my window.
What is it?
What news?
What will grow today?

*

Sometimes
all that is given
is the next step;
the next word
inside.

*

Off my neck
silk scarf sweeps
up high in a tree;
purple streak waving.
The wind tosses the world.
Wake up! Wake up!

*

Hug my daughter
home from school
without second thought.
Think later:
for a child today
in Nauru Detention Centre
no hug
would ever be
this second thought.

*

Counting angels
dancing on a pinhead?
How about,
making count
the stranger
who stands
right in front of me.

*

Love lies hidden.
Quick!
Look under the moss,
hear the stone sing.

*

Friend,
we drank tea together
yesterday; now
you are a galaxy away.
Please say hello
to Sister Moon.
May Brother Sun
drink tea with you today.

*

Mother Earth
is groaning

*

Dislocation. Disconnection. Displacement.
Only you, only you, only you
can take us home.

*

Spooks and ghosts haunt.
The clear eye sees the illusion,
knows the pain
of the wounded self.

*

Open the gate.
This one!
The unresolved
and painful;
it will offer
fresh revelation.

*

Buoyed away on high seas,
creative ideas racing;
the mind seeks its anchor:
the breath, the body.

*

Friday afternoon.
Long, slow, city
line of cars ahead.
Rest the mind
in silence,
in You.

*

Forget the question:
Does God exist.
Simply
awaken
your eyes.

*

Capricious Spring.
Trickster season.
Heavy, black, unending clouds
crack apart;
flawless sunlight streams.

*

Undefended
the heart is easily wounded,
but knows life.
Behind a fortress
lies only illusion.

*

End of church service.
In the narthex,
hearts and minds transition
from the Eucharist
to the trait of each human face.

*

Oceans of books
or, only one book,
no matter —
paths home.

*

Grim business, this life.
Remember though
a bird's feather,
abandoned joy,
floating.

*

In the car
straight down the freeway;
but the mind wanders
through hidden creeks,
over distant mountains.

*

The Spirit
elusive, wandering breath
asks of us, though,
to be sharp, fire-boned listening.

*

Drinking
Hot Koko Black with a friend.
We talk God, poetry,
our respective cats.
What possible else?

*

Tailspinning mind
through space;
thankful,
for the steadying voice
of a friend.

*

Mid-November.
This season of Revelation,
wars and floods and earthquakes;
despite it all,
the blossoming lavender remembers
its perfume for late Spring bees.

*

A line of music
murmurs in the mind:
this day's soundtrack.

 

 

Carol O'ConnorCarol O'Connor is a Melbourne writer and poet. Carol manages St Peters Bookroom and keeps a blog on its website.

 

Topic tags: John Falzon, Carol O'Connor

 

 

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Existing comments

I counted them - there are thirty. One for each day of November, thank you.
Pam | 21 November 2016


Carol has captured her thoughts - mindfulness - of moments in her day. She enunciates that the question "Is there a God?" is the wrong one; rather, "Where do I see God today?" Thank you!
Liz Pardey | 22 November 2016


Thanks Carol good to read uplifting words on the media wonderfully refreshing
Kevin | 22 November 2016


Hey, Carol, I didn't know you are a poet! Thank you for sharing your gift with the world - I especially love 'Love lies hidden...." Pax, Pirrial
Pirrial | 22 November 2016


A lovely sequence of reflections on the spirit dwelling in daily experience.
Susan Southall | 22 November 2016


Just what we need in times of trouble: poetry. Thank you, Eureka Street
Sarah | 25 November 2016


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