The world moves without us, so I tend
to my potted tulips, plant kale seeds, feel excited
when the sprouts pop up.
My home is an extension of my body:
full of soft blankets, books,
and warming cups of tea.
I move from desk to loveseat
to bed, in endless cycle.
There is such comfort
in these small rooms
where no bombs fall.
full of soft blankets, books,
and warming cups of tea.
I move from desk to loveseat
to bed, in endless cycle.
There is such comfort
in these small rooms
where no bombs fall.
My heart aches, so I sit
outside in the sun and watch
my neighbour's wolf-dog
leap and smile.
He noses my pocket for treats;
he makes me laugh.
His world is only Now:
he is fortunate to not understand
the daily news.
He understands sadness though,
so he comes to me, lays his heavy head
upon my knee.
He says with his attentive gaze,
"I'm here."
outside in the sun and watch
my neighbour's wolf-dog
leap and smile.
He noses my pocket for treats;
he makes me laugh.
His world is only Now:
he is fortunate to not understand
the daily news.
He understands sadness though,
so he comes to me, lays his heavy head
upon my knee.
He says with his attentive gaze,
"I'm here."
The world moves without us, but we are moving, too,
through yet another war, more human suffering,
We don't know where we are headed,
and yet we do, for we have seen all this before.
My home is sanctuary
and relief.
It has always been,
my lifelong quest
a search for peace.
I draw home around me the way
a sand dollar creates its domicile
from the sand and grit nearby
and carries it within.
My home is sanctuary
and relief.
It has always been,
my lifelong quest
a search for peace.
I draw home around me the way
a sand dollar creates its domicile
from the sand and grit nearby
and carries it within.
There is a tenderness to growing older.
We fall in love with morning skies, and babies,
dogs and young lovers. We fall in love with hope.
The whole while, we are grieving.
We are wise, now, and we know.
We are wise, now, and we know.
We know what tomorrow will bring.
Spring is here.
New life is growing everywhere.
We fall in love with hope.
But the whole while,
we are grieving.
we are grieving.
Inspired by "Tomorrow Is a Place" by Sanna Wani. Italicized lines are hers. For Brendan's challenge at earthweal: Sanctuary.
My home - wherever it is - has always been my sanctuary, small, cozy rooms where I am fortunate to live in blessed peace. I have started over with nothing more than once - most notably when one home was lost to fire and the insurance didnt pay. My heart aches for the Ukrainian refugees. So much heartache that should not even be happening.
Oh you got me with that last stanza. Oh oh oh ouch.
ReplyDeleteThe world moves without us and around us. There is joy and sorrow. My home is a sanctuary from the outside world. A place to hide. In my heart I continue to carry hope. Hope is what keeps one going.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful heartfelt poem.
I love the sand-dollar's instinct, creating a home by drawing in the sand around. The heart is the same, growing its pearls of love (and poems!) in nested space. A full heart though sieves all of the world's troubles too.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful poem Sherry. I love your thoughts on aging That's exactly what it's like but I've never been able to put it into words.
ReplyDeleteYou make a cycle of love, hope and grief, so you never despair. That is the best way to approach life.
ReplyDeleteThis is possibly one of my all-time favorites of yours, Sherry. I love the way you use your italicized first lines to lead us into the stanzas, especially"..There is a tenderness to growing older.." That is so easy to overlook in all the other things that come with age. A beautiful poem, whose light tinge of sadness emphasizes its peace.
ReplyDeleteThat last stanza says it all. Beautiful Sherry.
ReplyDeleteGlad you have a friendly neighbor-dog, anyway!
ReplyDeleteYou seem very content with your lot. The way it should be. Beautiful poem. Could be your best
ReplyDeleteI really understand the tension between your hope and grieving, Sherry: I am feeling it too!
ReplyDeleteThis is the poem I wanted to write--about home, movement and the "tenderness of growing older." Glorious and true!! Instead I wrote of work and struggle, but within it, I hope you see this same love.
ReplyDelete