Poetry of Hope - Imagining
Poetry of Hope - A journey of hope for the soul, mind, and spirit.
Imagining

Chittenango Falls

1.
Water pours through my soul,
The gates of hell
Closed once more
by the onrush.
Leaves of grass penetrate
into the spaces.
Earth rises up and touches my feet,
grounding me to it.
The corners of time are no more,
smoothed out by the flowing,
gushing, rushing sound.
The crow who lives here asks,
"What is all the fuss about?"
Little knowing his daily gift,
the sound of rushing waters.

2.
Rock walls rise majestically,
created by their very nature
of surrender to the earth's
ever changing give and take.
Outcroppings among trees and
plants reveal the wall of
rock beneath me on which I
sit, opposite to the wall I
see across the gorge.
Green has returned once more
to northern climes.
Thankfully, I stretch to
take it all in,
wishing a greater capacity
for awe.

3.
The side brook
had cut its own path
into the rock bed long ago,
making its own music
beside the loud, rushing stream.
Knowing its music was
but for few to hear did not
trouble it one little bit,
for it understood its own soul
and spoke only to those who
would come close enough
to hear and see.
And its voice was lovely.

4.
The rock ledge invited footsteps.
Irresistible, people climbed the
fence, disregarding signs and rules,
to sit on its platform.

5.
There is an old tree that
stands between the gushing, flowing
streams, (I wish I knew its name)
cut off by natural barriers
and unnatural fences.
Almost like a zoo animal,
it stands, inaccessible to
touch by those who are caught by
its beauty.
Tended by the
gardener of all gardeners,
untouchable except
through heart song.

Sharon Terry ©2011


Nature's Reveille

Inspiration begets imagination,
Turning the clock to twelve.
Chimes blending in nature's reveille.
Task and no task as one of hope
    begets love.
Blending and molding until one is two
    and two is one.
Flowing forever to perfection.

The disciplines of life-
Overflowing in love of spirit,
    love of heart,
    love of soul—
Create deep waters of strength,
    folding and unfolding in a
    cauldron of love.

Fly away, meet the spirits of life and love
    wherein flow the gifts of hope, and peace,
    multiplied a 1000 times to one-
Holy and righteous in God's sight.

Relax into the moment, head held high.

©Sharon Terry 1996

Dreams

When the night approaches,
turning day into somersaults of memory,
I ponder what dreams may lie upon my pillow
casting shadows into my mind as I lie to rest.

Dreams do not awaken what is,
but what could be,
and, oh, how we shudder at those could bes
--Sometimes.

In reality there is stability in convention,
in knowing what to expect around us,
but in dreams--ahh--the doing of all sorts of
shameful things?

We shudder!

©Sharon Terry
2000





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