The Poetry of EverydayMiracles
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I've Always Loved to Write Poetry
This is my offering. I hope that you will enjoy it!
All poetry is copyright © 1995-2011 EverydayMiracles. All rights reserved.
Contents at a Glance
Are you a poet too?
The following three poems are what I consider to be my best work ever. They were all written by me between 1995 and 2002 and still retain my copyright. Feel free to provide feedback below.
The Cat
Written in 2002
I can see her there
furled under the tree
tail flipping from time to time
mellow and relaxed, eyes
half closed in
an expression of contentment. I have to stop to wonder
how long she's been there
and if she's ever going home.
She is thin, and looks old
beyond her years. Small,
I give her nine months, tops.
And that's what's so sad about it.
Just another child left to die. I can't just walk away
so I click my tongue
and she comes running easily
with the attitude of one
used to affection and caress.
I reach my hand out to
stroke, and the fur is soft.
Not what I had expected. It isn't faked, this feline
cry of hungry pain. Her paws
are on my thighs, begging me.
But I have nothing except
for a pouch of day-old tobacco,
and I know she doesn't want that. I can't just shoo her on her away
but there is no place for her
among the brick buildings
and so many trees you feel you
might suffocate for the extra oxygen.
I wonder if this isn't how we
fight our oppression; white
people in a white town filled with
red brick. Keep everything out
that we think we don't want.
Yet she persists. This tiny feline body,
malnurished and underfed
is stronger than I am
and than I may be
in a lifetime of petting.
There is one thing for her
out of everything that we have
forced into her small, microcosmic
feline tiger tabby world. That one thing is survival.
How are we to survive without
one another? Can one exist
without the other, or will
we crash and burn too?
Will we starve
sitting beneath a tree,
eyes half closed, the
wind ruffling our fur? Even here, opressed and forced
to starvation by the laws of man...
she is purring, a soft sound
gentle and token to her existence.
Somebody will listen.
Paws in the Water
Written in 2002
Her paws are in the water, damp, soaked and cold
but she will not move away nor embrace the chill.
She could live here, spreading herself thin on her dreams
or she could dance in the sea, if only she weren't afraid.
Time is a spiral, moving outwards for her
but she cannot join it to spin her way out of control.
She is trapped in this place, a world between worlds
and that is how it is meant to be. Few would understand
and she will not try to explain.
So she keeps her paws in the water. Still.
Untitled
Written in 1995 when I was fifteen, this poem won an award!
Rainbow colored hues of happiness
Raindrops dripping down
Scattering the distant memories
And looking into the face of forgotten thunder
Swirling masses of sweet success
Burning, blue-black breakers
Pausing and putting out the fearsome flames
Little drummer girl, beating drums of thought
Fickle-faced forgotten friends
Perpetually whining wino
Big hearted hugs opening doors to freedom
That shut in your face
Giggling childhood dreams
Older Poetry
The following poetry was written during my early adulthood and is only a sampling of the poetry that I feel comfortable sharing at this juncture in my life. I hope that you enjoy the poetry and please do feel free to sign the guestbook to let me know that you were here, and to offer your feedback. Enjoy!
Crimson Ships
Wide eyes staring out
At crimson ships
That pass in the night
Hands pressed to hearts
Seeking solice in the evening
And everything around her rolls
Spinning off her guard
And she watches the summer heat
Bake the grass to brown
Her heart swelling
Birds in the trees
Ancient melodies like fire
And there is one crimson ship
That will never come in.
Secret Sin
Although I've tried
For every tear
I've ever cried
To write my thoughts
In words and verse
It seems this is
My simple curse
To be afraid
My pen would lend
Unto the reader
Some unknown friend,
A forgotten line
Which one might know
Or that my verse
Might come to show
The terrors that
My heart keeps hidden
And then the tears
Come unbidden
To haunt my dreams
In nightmares true
I wish I'd dream
As oft of you
As I cannot sleep
For nights on end
The nightmares creep
What words do send
And I cannot
For my life recall
Where I'd be
If not for all
The times I've tried
And struggled oft
For words that lied
And told not of
The secrets in
My heart to share
My secret sin
Here in my heart's lair
Gold Satin
Gold satin in a gentle breezeAnd I felt like I was floating
Travelling on the wind
Through the fields of autumn wheat
Tears throbbing beneath my lids
Heart in my throat
Leaving
I can remember the smell of the ocean
Tripping me up as I struggled
To maintain my composure
Wishing I could spread to others
The feeling that this place
Lent me in my time
Home
How can I expect understanding
Of a place that simple 'once was?'
It is a place I once knew
Never knew before
And will never know again
Peace, the King's territory
Breeding people of nobility
Creating a kind of peace
That invates my soul
Like night
We might see places in our dawn
That we have once in a lifetime
To experience
And to me, the rippling, gold satin
Was one of those places
The salt of the ocean
Staining my shoes
Dog that licked my palm
Soulful eyes
Making everything
Right
Sometimes I know
That there is no place for my heart
But home
And although I wander from place to place
Home will always be
Where my heart resides
Where the wheat fields
Ripple like golden satin
In the autumn wind
Gold
Homeless
Written in 2001, a True Story
Feeble as though with old age
He is haggard from too few meals
And too many nights sleeping
On a bench in the park
Now he sits
His empty eyes staring out
At the children at play
Mother's rushing their children past him
But still he watches them
Stony-silent as though in death
His face shows the signs of wear
His cheeks and eyes sunken
A pale blue in contrast
To the weathered tan of his complexion
His only companion sits at his side
A dog who has known more meals
Than his master
And still the ribs show through the dull coat
And children who would stop to pat him
Are rushed past by anxious mothers
In business suits
An old man teeters past
Smelling of alcohol
And holding an ancient coffee cup
His hands shaking with palsy
Something tucked tightly
Inside his long coat
The young man looks past him
As though he cannot see
His eyes gazing instead at another family
Sorrow in his heart
A small smile creasing the ancient lines
Of his face
The old man sits down at the bench
Turning his head to his younger companion
"Mind if I sit down?"
There is no answer, and he doesn't move
Reaching his hand inside his coat
To handle the softly mewling bundle
Held within
"Alcoholic!" a woman spits
Rushing her child past the duo
As the child's eyes fall
On the small black kitten
Hidden in the old man's coat
And he just smiles and laughs
Experience telling him more
Than the young man will ever know
"What you in for?"
He asks his young comrade
The boy just turns his head
Staring with empty eyes at his fellow
Shrugs his shoulders and reaches for the bottle
That lays at his feet, swigging the cider
And offering some to his dog
"That stuff'll kill ya,"
Says the old man with a laugh
Offering his kitten a bit of cheese
From somewhere inside his cavernous coat
The young man only shrugs, eyeing the cat
A young woman
Out of nowhere perhaps
Bottle of coke in hand
Leather pulled tightly around her shivering body
"Mind if I sit down?"
Two pairs of eyes watching her
Incredulous
But she only smiles and takes a seat between them
Patting the dog and offering a bit of her pie
"Where you on your way to?"
She asks the younger man
And finally a real smile
Creases the lines of his face
And he passes her his map
She nods her head, looking down at the card
"Destination Rome,"
She chuckles and hands it back
Turns to the elder
"Cute kitten," she laughs
She is well built
Sat in the lap of luxury
Next to her companions
And yet she offers nothing
Not a quid to spare
Or even a bit more of her pie
But eats in silence
Taking a load off her tired joints
And they just watch her until she turns her head
A smile on her own red lips
"I hear Italy's nice this time of year."
They continue to stare
As though in amazement
That somebody would talk to them
In spite of the smell of cider
Permeating the air nearby
The ocean the only place to bathe
And yet she isn't offended
"I'd best be off,"
The woman says, shoving up off the bench
Grimacing at the pain in her feet
And she walks away
Travelling to her own unknown destination
And leaving the two men
To gawp after her in silence
They turn towards one another then
Smiles breaking out unevenly on their faces
One pale and old, the other young and tan
And break into laughter
Slapping their knees so that the dog barks
And the kitten retreats further
Into her Master's robes
And they know that they are lucky
Because they are here
Sleeping on the benches
Travelling with their pets
Not out of necessity
But out of choice
And the woman they've watched walk away
Who sits in the lap of luxury
Is terrified every night
That her home may not be hers when she returns to it.
"Go on, they're homeless!"
A mother scoots her son past them
And they stare after her and break into laughter again
An old woman, being charitable
Drops a coin into the cup the old man holds
And he stairs down at it
As though in confusion
That there might have been coffee there only a moment before
And again the young man laughs
Plucking the quid from out of the cup
Winking at the old man and pocketing it
"Poor men. Father and son, look honey?"
A woman and her lover, pointing towards the unlikely pair
Didn't her mother ever teach her not to point?
"Haven't got a home," the man mutters, rushing her past
And again their laughter breaks through the children
Playing in the park, as though oblivious
The old man leans back against the bench
Folding his hands in his lap as the kitten rests
"You got somewhere to go?"
He asks the younger
The boy only nods, a stupid grin on his once-handsome face
"Everywhere," he replies.
"Look at those poor men!"
A little boy this time, pointing for his mother's attention
"Mum, you gotta quid?"
And the old man's eyes wander to the young girl
Wrapped in leather with a bottle of Coke
In her polished hand
Sitting in the doorway of a shop across the street
Huddled against the wind
Afraid to go home.
The Tapestry of Her Life
She sat aloneQuietly stitching her way
Into the tapestry of her life
And around her was a beautiful garden
Climbing roses
Spreading their way around
The trellis under which she sat
Her fingers numb
And still stitching
Stitching her way
Into the tapestry of her life
The birds chatter in the trees
Streaks of scarlet
As they take wing
And scold her
She ignores them
Quietly stitching her way
Into the tapestry of her life
When everything around her
Begs her to take part
She stitches until her fingers bleed
Making her mark
On the tapestry of her life
Everywhere there is beauty
And this is the tapestry of her life
But she can see none of it
Her heart taken and expanded by memories
Of a former time
When the tapestry was first created
And her dreams were the very birds
That take flight in her garden now
So she keeps stitching her way
Into the tapestry of her life
In her heart there were fields
Gold satin in the breeze of autumn
She stitches the memory
Into the tapestry of her life
But her fields are grown over now
And they exist only
Within the tapestry of her life
Faded colours facing sun and rain
And her fingers ache with every stitch
But still she keeps moving
Weaving her way
Into the tapestry of her life
The blue of her eyes is faded
And she stares down
At the tapestry of her life
Her aching fingers moving swiftly
In and out, under and over
Spreading the word throughout
The tapestry of her life
Tempting her and guiding her
Pulling her and pushing her
Under
Over
In
Out
Through the tapestry of her life
Life Anew
A Tough one for me... About my life with my Ex...
Where I could sit on my front step
Nothing but the pur of the neighbour's cat
To disturb me
Black bundle of fur in the window
The Twinkle in her mother's eye
A bark --
We called her Gizmo
And a flash of Tobias J.
As he sprints across the fields opposite
And into the bushes
Seeking out his prey
A smile creeps across my lips
As I revel in the tender memory
Times gone
But not forgotten
As I rise and walk the steps
The steps that I once took
From place to place
And shatter the bad
To replace with the good
A whistle, and another streak
Tobias J returning from his nightly hunt
A dog's bark
Gizmo waking to his return
And I smile again
Bending to stroke the neighbour cat
Who happened to stop by for a visit
Welcome any time
He would follow me into the house
But I will not allow
For I must return
To the present
To wallow in the memories
Such fond tenderness
And make my life
Anew
The Eye of the Storm
Wind is the giftof the brewing storm
catching me and pulling me back
making me spin and dance
with the energy of the electricity
that burns in the sky
tearing me apart
but putting me together
in a new way.
Sometimes it's like pushing
the ships at sea bucking
against the white waves.
And I am there
sleeping through it all
even as my head hits the wall
but peaceful
and content
in the eye of the storm.
Take me there
to where the peace reined
on the edge of the river
looking out
into the eye of the storm.
Living Poetry
hot on the heels of the Storm
and I am fleeing from it
running backwards in time
towards the spring and the summer
when the sun shone and the wamth
embraced my skin like a lover's touch.
I went outside where I could dance
wrapping my sweater tightly around me,
and I wanted to roll in the grass
and soak up the autumn sun.
I wanted to be close to the earth
and embrace her glory
as she has embraced me.
Instead, I went inside, picked up my pen
and began to write down what was inside of me.
To be here, in this place
That is what I call
living poetry.
Whispers and Flight
and I would seek it with abandon
throwing off the parental constraints
and running for the water
full speed ahead only to slip
in the mud and fall, laughing
into it's murky depths.
There was never anyone there
to fish me out and I would
scramble back onto the bank
wet and cold but still
I laughed because it was life
and I could hear the sounds
of life bubbling up
from the bottom of that
river, murky and muddy
dead, but alive. Those waters
gave me life...
How is it that water
has a voice that only some
can hear? If I try
I imagine I can hear it's cry
calling out to me from beneath
the surface of that watery realm
and I know not what I hear
or who it is who calls
only that I must answer...
The wind in the aspens too
had a voice, and I would sit
for hours and listen to
my name being called
so that tears would come
to my eyes and I would rise
to follow it's sound.
From there an eagle
took to flight
and my heart ached
for I realised that I, too
must fly if I was
to follow that voice
that called me home.
And now...
I know...
I must break away
and chase my destiny
for it calls me strong
my name on the wind
and like that eagle
I can rise to follow
the voice that calls my heart
and draws me towards
the place I was meant
never to have left.
Free and soaring I can
watch below for the face
of the one who has long
called to me on the wind
and in the river and perhaps
I will see him when I alight.
I drop to earth
and my head is spinning
with the beautiful sensation
of accomplishment.
My body has form and as I search
my eyes scanning the horizen
an ocean before me
a figure, back turned
and I approach, falling to my knees
just to wait to be recognised...
It doesn't take a smile
or even a glance.
The ocean itself speaks true
as the waves crash upon the shore
and I can hear that voice...
again... Calling me for I am...
and he turns, speaks one simple word.
Tears burn in my eyes
as the rains begin to fall
a clap of thunder making me jump
and in each moment as a drop
falls and hits the sand
I hear it again...
my name, whispered in these sounds.
I am drawn to his arms
protected but afraid
and for a moment I struggle
seeking my wings again
so that I can fly back
to my river
seek solace
and comfort in it's muddied waters
but with a word, he calls me back...
He speaks my name.
Dawning Melody
softly spoken
wings of doves
travelling here
calling to us
and bringing out
for us, in hope
the reality of all
that was destined
and which will be.
We were, and are
together always
apart never
seeking slowly
and silent...
as the melody...
dawns
Amidst the Crowd
misty Sunday afternoon
like nobody is listening
and everybody is crying.
It's an odd sort of supplication
like an offering to
an ancient god
who just isn't there anymore.
I want to scream into the
wind and cry out in frustration
but no one will hear me.
So instead I sit back
and watch the mass
sink deeper into a black
pit that I just don't
understand.
Reader Feedback is Appreciated
I love to hear from readers, especially when it comes to my more personal writings. I write poetry, prose, fiction and nonfiction, and I am always eager to hear what people like the most. Instead of asking whether or not my poetry is any good, however, I'm asking you which poem you enjoyed the most.
Comments and Feedback on My Poetry
Which was your favorite?
I always appreciate feedback on my writings. Please use this space to either talk about the poems that I have written, or about poetry generally. I do check the comments personally and no spam will be permitted to come through here. Please keep the comments on topic and relevant to the subject of poetry.
Angel blessings are, as always, appreciated!
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A-Redneck
May 12, 2011 @ 8:25 am | delete
- Poetry always amazes me because within it will be that one special line that is absolutely breath taking. Your poetry is beautiful.
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tandemonimom Mar 25, 2011 @ 3:54 pm | delete
- You have some lovely imagery in your poems! Thanks for sharing.
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mutter Mar 7, 2011 @ 6:16 am | delete
- Poetry is so expressive and artistic. Thanks for sharing.
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nightbear
Mar 4, 2010 @ 6:50 pm | delete
- My two favorite were "the cat" and "homeless" Both were mesmerizing. I had to read them to the end. I am not really a huge fan of poetry. But obviously poetry done well is another story. Well done.
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prosperity66 Mar 2, 2010 @ 2:48 am | delete
- Like "Amidst the Crowd"; which would have fit the way I felt on Friday... fortunately, the sensation wasn't a long lasting one but the poem touched me.
Dom.
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by EverydayMiracles
I have been writing poetry since I was in grade school. I have always enjoyed doing so and have taken great enjoyment from knowing that my poetry is a... more »
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