Here’s the latest installment of Poet’s Corner, presented by the Edmonds-based EPIC Poetry Group.
We walk the beaches
in light and rain,
beckoning the tide to
wash away our pain,
to revelation and
Ahead of us in the sand,
among seaweed and driftwood, and
the remains of decayed sea life,
awaits an epiphany –
the realization of
creating new vision
for our lives
from broken shells,
shards of glass, and
the remnants of
our shattered dreams.
~ ~ ~ ~
On this crisp February winter morning of my seventieth year,
I was awakened by cedar branches screeching against my bedroom window.
Waking above ground, waiting to be found and listening for a message.
Mysterious shouts from blustering winds and whispers from dancing rain.
Circling the fern-gully perimeter of my home are fourteen
Western Red Cedars, ninety foot sentinels of strength and protection,
the “Trees of Life” held in sacred reverence by Native Americans and King Solomon.
Impelled by curiosity, I ventured out with my morning cup of tea in hand,
taking stance under the particular cedar that called to me.
A swirling breeze sweeps overhead, a cedar-scented caress woos my senses.
Gentle rain tickles my face, as I gaze through stalwart limbs reaching for Heaven.
Sheltered and veiled under a canopy of healing energy, I ponder –
How many years have I avoided knowing myself as Holy?
The deep healing I seek is manifesting in an unusual way.
Cedar spires dispense holy medicinal messages of hope from Heaven.
Standing in this cathedral of bark-dressed archangels,
embracing circumstances of uncertainty and fleeting brokenness,
I am reaching for the balm of Gilead.
I see the solution to my current problem,
I hear the answer to my multi-faceted question, and
I stretch for the divine glory that heals me.
~ ~ ~ ~
New Voices of Quiet Desperation
“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”
— Martin Luther King
Today, I heard the roar of silence
beckoning from the other side of my denial.
Previously muted by overwhelm and uncertainty,
my poetic voice screams for artistic release.
Using familiar acclamations, I extend edification to my tribe.
Discouraged souls who no longer embrace or trust
empty rhetoric and false bravados, their
hearts wait in despair for changes that will not manifest.
The blessed voices of creation are vanquished,
threatened by differences both imagined and real,
ignited by misunderstanding and fear.
Rebuking the patronizations of the elite,
my pen becomes my weapon,
a freshly sharpened sword.
Liquid light inks every page,
Holy breath blankets the words, and
publishes truth, healing and restorative energy.
A new alliance has begun.
Now, I look directly into the eyes of everyone I meet.
Observing my reflection in the mirrors of their soul,
I extend a glance of peace and acceptance.
Allowing the compassion submerged in me to surface as a smile,
I discover, without judgment, their humanity and spirit.
I chose to be the illumination they need for one dark moment in their day.
I share the riches of kindness and empathy, piercing their
brokenness with the presence of spiritual vitality.
I speak hope with a jubilant voice and dissolve their present darkness.
Our present uncertainty holds unlimited possibility!
Donna M. Rudiger
~ ~ ~ ~
Donna started writing at age 13 when she was growing up in Pennsylvania. She migrated to the Pacific Northwest in 1974 to study wildlife photography. She is an award-winning poet, essayist and storyteller. She is a retired technical writer and lives among the wildlife in the woods of Arlington. You can contact her at email@example.com.