The Words Come

Poems come to me when I’m out and about. I always carry a notebook and pens, as I’ve said often. I write when I’m walking. Words flow when I’m driving, but I won’t stop then and usually I forget by the time I reach my destination. I tried doing the recorder while driving. It doesn’t work for me.

This is how my philosophy about the muse came about. When She (the words) come, I have to pay attention in that instant. If I don’t, She goes away. She demands immediate attention. When She gives attention to you, you’d better take the time to listen to her. Thankfully She doesn’t hold a grudge and will come back another time.

The notebook comes out when I’m in a restaurant waiting for a meal. Different atmospheres will sometimes evoke different feelings. Of course the current state of mind plays a role in what I write, too. Whatever comes out, I’m always amazed and pleased.

I knew a woman once who used to write these amazing, funny poems about food. My food poems tend to be how I try to use food to make me feel better when I’m down… and how it doesn’t work, ha ha. As much as I love certain foods and food can certainly be cheerful, it doesn’t help solve problems.

I wrote this poem in April of 2009 at my favorite restaurant, the Flying Goose Pub in New London. (I always like the words in the first two lines and have used them before and since). By this time, my mother’s health was really going downhill and it was hard to be away from her and I never knew what I’d find coming home. Would she be okay? Would she be miserable and awful to me because I’d been gone so long? (I’d usually try to bring her home something to eat to appease her.)

Don’t get me wrong. I loved her so very much! But it was hard. She’d try to be understanding when I went off. Sometimes when I got home, she’d be excited to hear about my adventures. Other times she’d be very angry and upset with me because I’d left her alone. So, I never knew which mom I’d come home to. I understood, too. It was hard for her.

Emotions Unreleased

My heart bleeds tears

my eyes will not shed

the knot in my gut 

will not allow release

It’s 1 p.m.

and I wonder 

if eating anything

will help

Driving for two hours

did not erase

the sadness

in my soul

The solitude

did not bring the comfort

usually found

while out and about

Maybe the weather

affects my mood

Maybe if it was warm and sunny

my mood would be also.

---SW

------

Friendships can ebb and flow. Sometimes words can sever a relationship. Sometimes boundaries are crossed. Sometimes ties need to be severed. It doesn’t have to be forever, though at the time, emotions are strong and the ego screams, “Never again!”

After some time, these words came to me. I don’t normally include little snide comments that my conscious mind can throw in, but in this case, I kept the comment.

Below are two poems written about broken friendship. Words spoken can easily be misconstrued or the hurt can cause such a spiraling down that it can take a long time to recover from. 

Friendship Betrayed

I thought by now

my heart would have healed

I thought by now

words would have lessened

the pain

But still I fear

What trust I had

has long gone

When will it return?

will I ever get it back?

(Maybe not where you’re concerned)

(originally written 04/23/09; edited and titled 09/26/15 – SW)

Did You Know

The chill in the air

matches that in my heart

Did you know your words

would cut my very soul?

Did you know I’d retreat

into a dark, damp abyss?

Did you know I would give up

everything I was building for myself?

You did not call

nor did I call you

Neither willing

to apologize

neither willing

to acknowledge wrong

I cannot face the distance

in your voice

nor the accusation

in your eyes

My loneliness 

eats at my joy

I will never

be the same

For now I will be alone

you cannot accept me

as I am

and I can’t be anything else

Did you know your words

caused me to change my entire life direction?

(originally written 04/23/09; edited 09/26/15 – SW) 

I’ve not talked much about this happening. I’ve not said what really happened to me or how I totally turned from a path I worked towards for many years. But I turned my back on all the training and the practices and focused on being only an artist and writer. I’ve never told anyone how it affected me; never said how I’m still affected.

I forgive other and self. Five years later I am happy to say the friendship rekindled. There are still scars. Someday I may talk about it fully. Not to place blame or find fault for there are at least two sides to every story. I played a part and I’m not blameless.

I would have been a great soul healer. It’s still in me. But the other path was chosen and I don’t have regrets. I love being an artist and writer!