To each his own. To me my own.

Poetry

One Love

My post is simple today, though indeed thought-provoking. Below would be my number one pick of all Bob Marley’s quotes. The amount of love that erupts from this one wise paragraph has always overwhelmed me. Even so, I never could grasp the full intensity of it – just the intense yearning to someday find this beautiful kind of unconditional love. One without judgement, one that makes you want to learn new things, one that makes you feel beautiful, one where you openly invite vulnerability into your life.  One Love.

Hope you enjoy.

OneLove


The Sound of Silence

If I have to say it out loud, it’s going to change us. It’s something that’s been in open sight for a long time now. I’ve written, hinted, and black & white printed. How much this actually means to me is well-known… though still it goes ignored and unacknowledged.

Silence is not always golden.

If I have to say it out loud, it will become clear that my aspirations are one-sided. Because saying it out loud will abolish any real chance in experiencing the joy of that profound moment – the moment when I realize that I am wanted. Really wanted.

Silence.

If I have to say it out loud, it could indeed serve to confirm my deepest and darkest fears. Fears such as I’m not the one, I’m not good enough, I’m not worth the risk – perhaps even that I’m not deserving of the life I’ve yearned for so long.

Silence.

If I have to say it out loud, know that will forever change our dynamics. Once it’s done, it’s done. After it’s said, we can never go back to our old life as we knew it to be before…

I had to say it out loud.

~Life of Bon, 2012


Bonnie:

For anyone out there who is guilty of bashing Mondays (like I usually do)… this one’s for you from Miro over at Warrior Poet Wisdom. I’ve never heard it put so very well. Have a great week, everyone. :)

Originally posted on Warrior Poet Wisdom:

“Thank God it’s Monday.” ~Miro

T.G.I.M.

I recently got some advice
From a man I respect
This warrior of modern times
On Mondays did reflect

He talked about how everyone
Is always so downbeat
When the weekend has gone by
And is fully complete

“I hate Mondays” is what many
Grumble on that day
But this wise man points out just what
Is behind that cliche

The kind of person who wakes up
On Monday morn and cries
Is the same one who on Friday
Does happily rise

And says “TGIF” and is
Ecstatic that the week
Has finally “concluded,” for them
Fridays are the peak

This warrior’s own point of view
Is that there is no day
That has more joy or dread than any
Other cycle may

If you’re the kind of person who
Waits till the week is done
To be excited in the morning
You have…

View original 175 more words


Sunflower Fields Forever

This field is located about a mile down from the house. Being that I took the picture about 3 weeks ago, unfortunately the poor flowers have now either passed their prime or are severely drought-stricken. The picture was inspiration for my ever-amateurish little poem, which I write very few of.

Sunflower Fields Forever

Tucked away from all the hype
and bustle of the town
there lies a field where there are only
sunflowers allowed.

Long necks stretch up ever-taught
Their heads gaze oh so high
In their attempt to say ‘hello there’
way up to the sky.

Simple, timeless is their beauty
of vibrancy and hue
Unknowingly an artists’ vision
Of canvas dreams come true.

They have one wish – to kiss the sun
This kiss shall set them free
It is, dear flower, after all
Where you’re supposed to be.

It’s not the first time we have met
In dreams I’ve seen you here
Soon in this field you’ll rest your heads
‘Til next you reappear.

~Life of Bon, 2011


Paths

This morning I was reminded of a beloved poem by my friend Shawn over at Happy Publishing. I always like where this particular piece takes me – back to the root of it all, which I so need reminded of from time to time.

Uninstructed

“I am going to send you down to earth,”
Said God to me one day,
“I’m giving you what men call ‘birth’–
Tonight you’ll start away;
I want you there to live with men;
Until I call you back again.”

I trembled as I heard him speak,
Yet I know that I must go;
I felt His hand upon my cheek,
And wished that I might know –
Just what on earth would be my task,
And timidly I dared to ask.

“Tell me before I start away,
What thou would have me do;
What message would you have me say?
When shall my work be through?
That I may serve on earth,
Tell me the purpose of my birth.”

God smiled at me and softly said:
“Oh,  you shall find your task.
I want you on life’s path to tread,
So do not stay to ask.
Remember,  if your best you do,
That I shall ask no more of you.”

How often, as my work I do,
So commonplace and grim,
I sit and sigh and wish I knew
If I am pleasing Him.
I wonder if, with every test,
I’ve truly tried to do my best.

~Edgar A. Guest


A day in the life

Drifting

I open my eyes
unspoken dreams, unbridled pain
Where do I begin again
if it’s not here.

Embracing the newness
of honesty and truth
Wondering when exactly
this lifetime shifted.

Can I reach any further
is it possible
Or have I gone beyond
my intended destination?

Comes full circle, it seems
though lost in translation
a vagabond who searches

Still.

~BM, 2011


Iterum occasió

I’ve written about second chances more than one time, so you’re likely already aware of my deep appreciation of them. The dear fella by the name of Shawn B. over at Happy Publishing frequently brightens the days of many with his website dedicated to inspirational quotations and poems. The one posted yesterday captured my attention, and heart.

The following was posted January 17, 2001 on www.happypublishing.com. Feel free to check the site out if you get a chance…

The Second Chance

We may not have the means at hand
To change a circumstance.
But we may gain, to our relief,
A welcome second chance–

A chance to prove that we will try,
With all our might and main,
To change our ways, to right some wrong,
And pull our weight again.

So let us thank the generous folk
Who overlook our lapse,
And put their trust in our success,
Where once we failed, perhaps.

The second chance can bright results
The first one to outweigh,
For in the meantime we have learned
A little more each day.

-Anna Hayward


Surroundings

She loves it so
her natural habitat, the current and waves
a bond that could never be broken

Clear turquoise water
flows through her gills
tepid and calm, and she’s free

Yet thoroughly enveloped.

This beautiful realm, her armor
no worries, no pain; no sorrows, no strife
dangers prevalent, instincts trusted

Abundant sustenance, no rich, no poor
no lies, no deception
beauty thrives in every direction
and time is never defined.

The fish is me. The current, Keith.

~BM, 2010

Above art © J. Vincent Scarpace ~ http://www.ipaintfish.com


Tucked away

Unwanted changes
A series of stages
The world continues turning

Mistakes made
Decisions weighed
I continue learning

Sight unseen, vision clear
Gaze broken, stiffness prevails

I see it, the unknown
What is it
Pain, regret… anger, blame…

Confrontation, a revelation

Any compassion left
Is an arm’s length away

It’s all tucked away.

~BM, 2010


Murky water

I recently resolved myself to the fact that I wouldn’t write anything if I didn’t have anything to talk about. I don’t like to hear myself talk that much. So….

Here’s my little poem for the day.

I want ☀
Instead I have  ☂
I’ll give you the ☽
If you’ll put me on a ✈

Okay, I should’ve quit while I was ahead.


The Seashell

Call it beach fever, call it what you will. I’m yearning to see the ocean. The poem I posted a couple days ago A Seraphim’s Calling is one of my favorites – even though the author is unknown, it will always remain so. I’ve often wished I had one of my very own poems detailing my love for the ocean. My own tribute in a sense, to the sea.

I don’t tackle writing poetry anymore. I did write a few things when I was younger, but I never did really see anything special in any of them. I’d usually wind up stumped, halted in midstream, left with only half or part of ‘something’ – something that may have been nothing anyway. Why bother doing something that frustrates you, right? Well, I was looking at a few shells on my desk at work, thinking man, are they ever out of their element…

The 'inspirational' shells on my desk...

…and this one actually came fairly easy. Hope you like it. Obviously it doesn’t pay for me to think too long on any one subject – there’s just no telling where it’ll land me. ;)

The Shell

If I were to be but a shell
opalescent tan and blue
I’d have slivers of magenta
representing of me too.

My edges would be ultra smooth
my body voluptuous curving
my insides would be polished gleam
just as such deserving

If I were to be but a shell
my thoughts they would be few
just the magic of forever
consumed in all the new

I’d wander up upon a beach
where no one else dare walk
barren, fertile, and unknown
no piers, no nets, no docks

If I were to be but a shell
I’d roll on with the tide
to swim along with dolphins
in waves we would collide

In the moonlight I would lie
so motionless and still
biding time until the morn’
when sunlight brings new thrill

If I were to be but a shell
I’d drift on out to sea
along with all my comrades
to experience the free.

©Bonnie Melton, 2010



A Seraphim’s calling

Thought I’d share one of my most favorite, though not inherently famous, poems. I actually don’t know who wrote this, but know that I have taken the liberty of correcting a few grammatical instances. I’ve tried multiple times to research the author online, to no avail.

I believe the reason the poem means so much to me because of the obvious love the author has for the sea.

So, what is a seraphim? A seraph (Heb. שׂרף, pl. שׂרפים Seraphim, lat. seraph[us], pl. seraphi[m]) is one of a class of celestial beings mentioned once in the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament, in Isaiah. Later Jewish imagery perceived them as having human form, and in that way they passed into the ranks of Christian angels. In the Christian angelic hierarchy, seraphim represent the highest rank of angels. (Thanks, Wikipedia.)

The highest-ranking angels. This person really does love the ocean.

Beautiful Blue, a seraphim call
Gentle as the rain, like the breeze through green palms
Translucent, glowing, glistening in the Sun
Sweet kisses of light, whispers of things to come
Shy and courageous, fearless and fearing
Warm and cold, rough and endearing
Painfully tender, softly screaming
Lost then found, dull then gleaming
Passionate months of high and low tides
Midsummer night dreams, tumbling joyrides
The scent of Earth, detailed as grains of sand
Vast is the universe as nature is grand
Iridescent turquoise, deep and mysterious
Crystal clear shining, silly then serious
Powerful as an earthquake, like two lovers on the beach
Peaceful and kind, strong but easily weak
Calling out to you with every wave
Crashing into dark echoing caves
Soul searching, constant friction
Like rainbows in waterfalls
Beautiful Blue, a seraphim call…
~Unknown



Back when

I miss back when… Tim McGraw sings of it. I ran across this much-quoted little poem last night that entertained me – thought I’d keep it going. Remember the days before computers?

A computer was something on TV
from a science fiction show
A window was something you hated to clean…
And RAM was the cousin of a goat…

MEG was the name of your girlfriend
And GIG was your middle finger upright
Now they all mean different things
And that really MEGA bytes

An application was for employment
A program was a TV show
A cursor used profanity
A keyboard was a piano

Memory was something that you lost with age
A CD was a bank account
And if you unzipped anything in public
You’d be in jail for a while

Log on was adding wood to the fire
Hard drive was a long trip on the road
A mouse pad was where a mouse lived
And a backup happened to your commode

Cut you did with a pocket knife
Paste you did with glue
A web was a spider’s home
And a virus was the flu

I guess I’ll stick to my pad and paper
And the memory in my head
I hear nobody’s been killed in a computer crash
But when it happens they wish they were dead


22 years ago

Doesn’t seem possible it could be that many years, but it is. My little girl is 22 today.

I often think back to the time before her birth. She was comfortable right where she was at, inside me. Originally scheduled to be a Pisces, she decided to stay put for three more weeks deeming her a headstrong Aries. I was desperate to see my new baby, which led to my insane decision of taking a couple servings of Castor Oil to throw myself into labor.

It seemed like I was in the hospital a week, but it was only about two and a half days. I’ll never forget it. When I went in, the trees were barren and winter-like. No leaves, no hint of anything. On the drive home from the hospital with our new baby, the trees were full of leaves. It was as though a new season had been born for her and her alone. For this reason, I will forever associate her with Springtime.

She was a happy baby – and a happy child. So many things about her are the same as when she was little. Her smile, her laugh, her loving ways – her beauty. She will be walking across the stage to graduate college in two short months. Four years of diligent hard work has paid off for her. She’s the kind of person who will be successful at whatever she does. I’m not saying this because she’s my daughter, that’s just how it’s always been.

Several months back I posted a poem that I wrote for my daughter when she was about 3 years old, found in a lost journal. She’s read it before, but I’m gonna post it again here. No other day more fitting than her birthday.

My Julia….
It seems so many years
Since the day when you were born
I’m blessed I feel, as I recall
there will come many more.
You’re more than I ever asked for
So innocent and true
Already my dreams are answered
If there’s nothing else you do.
Believe me, bug, that when I tell
My dreams of you to some
They know, as I, that you’ll succeed
That you’ve already won.

(2-27-92)


Spring is here

Finally. Day one of Spring! Well, I’m just so excited… I can’t even put it into words. Forecast here is sunny all day and high of around 76 – simply optimal.

There’s so much I want to do today that everything’s a bit scrambled in my mind. Knowing that it’s supposed to rain tomorrow isn’t helping any – it puts an odd sort of urgency on the list.

Thought I’d share one of my favorite poems since it’s on the subject of the day – Spring.

For winter’s rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

~Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837–1909)

This is representative of how I feel. Which is Hooray, Spring…  I’ll just call her Daisy. :D


White Friday

I don’t know where I’ve been, but I found out last night that we are forecasted to get more of the white stuff down here in the south tonight. And for once, we will be getting more than areas to the immediate north of us! I don’t mind when it comes down on a Friday like this, because again, no missing work, and no dealing with traffic.

All this happens while Canada gets hit with a warm spell and they’re having to haul in snow by the truckloads for them. Tonight’s the opening ceremonies for the Winter Olympics you know, and they’ve gotta have snow!! Somebody define irony for me.

Well I’ve lost another pound and a half, I’m very happy about that. God knows I’ve been working my patootie off for it, not only from exercise but diet as well. It’s nice to finally see some results, be it minor. Stay tuned, there’s more to come folks.

Not much else is new, except for the fact it’s Friday, woo-hoo!! I haven’t hit the news channels today and that’s probably a good thing because I’d once again have the urge to write about something political. Clinton did get a couple of stints put in yesterday, good thing they caught that in time. Oops, couldn’t help myself there.

:)

A friend shared this poem with me recently. I thought it more than worthy of posting.

Myself, by Edgar Albert Guest

I have to live with myself and so
I want to be fit for myself to know.
I want to be able as days go by,
always to look myself straight in the eye;
I don’t want to stand with the setting sun
and hate myself for the things I have done.
I don’t want to keep on a closet shelf
a lot of secrets about myself
and fool myself as I come and go
into thinking no one else will ever know
the kind of person I really am,
I don’t want to dress up myself in sham.
I want to go out with my head erect
I want to deserve all men’s respect;
but here in the struggle for fame and wealth
I want to be able to like myself.
I don’t want to look at myself and know that
I am bluster and bluff and empty show.
I never can hide myself from me;
I see what others may never see;
I know what others may never know,
I never can fool myself and so,
whatever happens I want to be
self respecting and conscience free.


The Long Lost Journal

The night I found it, the contents that I read kept me awake. I had placed it back in the box I found it in, along with some old pictures, planning to keep it buried. The era was 1991-1992. Oh, my simple little young mind. Still in the beginning years of what turned out to be a 21-year marriage. Everything seemed so black and white back then.

There were a handful of poems I’d written in the journal, a short one I would like to post today. It was written for my daughter, who was not quite four years old at the time. I remember writing it, my heart swelling with love as I’d glance over at her. I recall wondering how she would look when she was older, what she would end up doing professionally, who she would marry. Somehow, I knew even back then her strength would know no bounds.

Her and I had a conversation a couple nights ago that reminded me just how mature she is for her age. She mentioned the time when she was still with her now ex-boyfriend, who she loved more than life itself. She told me, “Mom, I know he’s a great person – just a bad boyfriend.” Even at her young age, she was strong enough to let a relationship go because she knew it was destructive for her. She recognized patterns of behavior that weren’t acceptable. Could I, would I have been that strong at 21 years of age? Obviously not. I’m convinced that strength comes in spurts, and at different times in your life. Mine was just saving up ’til now.

My Julia….
It seems so many years
Since the day when you were born
I’m blessed I feel, as I recall
there will come many more.
You’re more than I ever asked for
So innocent and true
Already my dreams are answered
If there’s nothing else you do.
Believe me, bug, that when I tell
My dreams of you to some
They know, as I, that you’ll succeed
That you’ve already won.

(2-27-92)


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