broken

spirit broken out of nowhere, 

I had forgotten:  I would die –
one day of many – thrown away:
cloistered, meek in musty air,
watching minutes calcify

and stone angels turn to dust,

as birds soared high up in the sky: 

if they could live free, why not I . . .

I had a million reasons I must

seek – that gift of joy – and try.

  

and so, I went beyond the gate,

glancing back at where I'd been:

a self-inflicted muddled gloom –

locked in a tomb, between a fate

of phantom wish and cast-off dream.

and bathed my face in winter sun

and heard the song the breezes sing

and kissed the air and skipped and ran;

and flutter-flew and dove and spun:

as if my very soul had wings.

until, at last, I came across

my wizened, wise old friend:  the tree,

her gnarled branches swayed welcome

with wild wood life and light ethos

and ancient perspicacity.

and in that transcendental space

she showed me, what I could not see – 

the wonder that was there to take

for, at that moment, in that place: 

I was as young – as I would be.

note:  the prompt at Poetry Jam this week is “Broken”.

photo:  Tree Friends – W. Bourke 

© 2014 Wendy Bourke

. . . and they lived Happily Ever After

I was a dreamer

deep within the forest fall

sitting restlessly,

amongst the dying leaves

drifting . . .

in and out of sleep, again and again

on lyrical and then,  discordant cords

that slowly crumbled

and blew away on golden warm winds –

just as ashen breezes flutter branches bare,

as white winter approaches

until, at last, a lovely harmonious

peace – fell upon me . . .  completely . . .

and, at that instant, you appeared,

your head tilted with that kind, quizzical smile

you only wear for me – and I

named that moment, Happily Ever After –

for really, I could have died in your arms

right then and there,

and my last words would have been:

. . .  and they lived, Happily Ever After.

note:  If there is one thing that I have learned about relationships (and I am speaking here about all long-long term relationships that stay good) is that – if you can let it go (if it can be let go of – and often, alas, it cannot, and I really do get that) but if you can let it go . . .  the crummy stuff tends to blow away.

photo:  In Golden Warm Winds – W. Bourke

© 2014 Wendy Bourke 

Leader of the Realm

awakened from his rest, he darkly stared: 

the chilled look of the lost and unempowered –

having veered,  off course and unprepared: 

yet, strangely, somehow mixed up, in that hour

but still, with jaded heart, he slowly rose

and, duty bound, set off to take the helm – 

lest his noncompliance might expose:

the whipped, reluctant Leader of the Realm

and so he tucked his scepticism in:

a good obliging wise man full of doubt, 

and placed his hopes and aspirations in:

the happy day –  his candle sputtered out

for, he often felt mad forces were at play,

and fathers’ wills left to their sons in sins: 

for those – long dead – went on to seize the day:

and the living tossed in wild Aeolian winds

  

note:  Ae•o•li•an (iˈoʊ li ən) adj.  pertaining to Aeolus; to the winds in general; caused by the wind; wind-blown.

Aeolus is mentioned in The Odyssey as the Keeper of the Winds who gives Odysseus a tightly closed bag full of the captured winds so he could sail easily home to Ithaca on the gentle West Wind, but his men, thinking the bag was filled with riches, open it – unleashing wild winds that throw the ship off course, and greatly extend the voyage home.

photos:  Fiery dawn – W. Bourke and Boats against the Cityscape – W. Bourke

  

© 2014 Wendy Bourke