Monthly Archives: April 2011

Freight Trains

by

I found a little piece of heaven
tucked away in the rolling hills.
Silence, except for the
chirping birds and
the trains.

How did they know
when the mason set
that first stone,
that the mournful drone
of the freight cars,
that sound wraps
around my heart
and takes me home
and whispers, “Sleep,
sleep my little one,
you are safe”?

How did they know
I would come someday
to the silence,
only for the chirping
birds and the long, low
calling of the trains?

He knew.
He knew his
beautiful, beloved
daughter
would find her way
to the silence.

He would wait with
the patience love allows.

He would be there
waiting
for his beautiful, beloved
daughter
in the silence,
but for the promise
of chirping birds
and the peace of the
freight trains.

Author’s Note:
A few weeks ago I attended my first silent retreat at the Sacred Heart Retreat House is Sedalia. Only a few minutes outside of Denver, it is a mystical place.  One does not understand how quiet, or maybe loud is more accurate, it can be when talking or music or the unconscious slamming of doors or clopping down the hall is when silence is the rule. You would think it would be oppressive this silence. But when I awoke the first morning to look out my window to see four mule deer grazing on the grass and the sun rising over the hills, I thanked God for this silence, this peace.  I wrote this poem my first evening after our first “lecture” by Father Kinerk. I have come to accept my role as “His beautiful, beloved daughter.” The quiet opened a world to me that has forever changed me.  It is a work in progress that I gladly rejoice in and am truly thankful for this Easter Day.

This photo is from The Sacred House Jesuit Retreat House in Sedalia, Colorado http://www.sacredheartretreat.org/retreats.html

Yellow

by


When the indifferent world awoke this morn
I reached to your sallow hand resting gently on your breast,
rising and falling with each shallow breath.
The creamy silk of your kimono
spread across your refuge,
an amber pyre igniting your shrinking frame.
I remember the rustling of your saffron skirts,
a memory fading over the years,
the amber glow slowly dying to my ears.
I am anxious that this last golden sunrise
not be remembered
by your diminishing countenance
but by your luscious laughter
filing the room,
halcyon rose petals
steeping the air with
with your sweetness.



Through the wheaten sheers,
the glint of mid-day dances across your motionless face,
lighting citrine sparks through your flaxen curls resting gently,
encircling your head,
a glimmering crown framing your once aureate smile.
I celebrate the memory of your radiance
moving through the afternoon garden,
daffodils, calla lilies, and
ladies slippers once blushing at your touch.



Eventide brings a calming of the brilliant splendor
of your now honeyed cheeks.
My lips touch those you once sweetened with quince
as Aphrodite perfuming her kiss,
a kiss now absolute.
Unobtrusively in a whisper mortality meets perfection as
your candlelight dissolves into a waxen pool.
The color of yellow greats you with luminosity
leaving behind a tawny afterglow
lighting the darkness of my soul.

Yellow

by

When the indifferent world awoke this morn
I reached to your sallow hand resting gently on your breast,
rising and falling with each shallow breath.
The creamy silk of your kimono
spread across your refuge,
an amber pyre igniting your shrinking frame.
I remember the rustling of your saffron skirts,
a memory fading over the years,
the amber glow slowly dying to my ears.
I am anxious that this last golden sunrise
not be remembered 
by your diminishing countenance
but by your luscious laughter
filing the room,
halcyon rose petals
steeping the air with
with your sweetness.





Author’s Note:
This is a beginning sketch of a poem I started at Wednesday Afternoon Writers today.  Our prompt was to choose our number which corresponded to a color. We wrote about the color for ten minutes listing images that color brought to mind when seeing it through the five senses.  After that we finished our writing using the ideas in a piece.  My color was yellow. I did not use much from the list, but the list led me to the idea of using yellow words in a poem dealing with death.