| Poetry
Poetry is wonderfully terse
When looked on with regret.
Open to what's right,
Not what's wrong.
Do you understand?
©Sharon Terry
The
Muse
It is through your eyes
That I see the world.
It is through your thoughts
That my thoughts flow.
Together we write,
Not as two,
But as one.
Your eyes and your thoughts
Bringing about Poetry
To the world.
It is for your age
That it flows,
For we are beyond thought
Where we live.
Your time and your space
Make it real
For those who read.
I am the muse,
And you the poet,
My name a subscript,
Do you understand?
Yes, you are a light
And carefree spirit.
I, at times so
Heavy-hearted,
My tasks on earth,
So full of care,
So body bound.
I feel your presence.
Yes, indeed, your lightness.
I fly with you so perfectly
Beyond the bounds.
©Sharon Terry
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Wildflower
Bloop,
Bloop,
Bloop,
Bloop, bloop.
Open.
Yawn.
Bloop, bloop.
Umbrella yawn.
Bloop, bloop.
Peace and calm.
Bloop, bloop.
Do you write for me to read?
Bloop, bloop.
Do you write to plant a seed?
Bloop, bloop.
And the seed,
Is it a weed?
Bloop, Bloop.
Wildflower!
©1993 Sharon Terry
To
Be Made Real
I share my poetry
with you because
it needs to be read
to be validated,
to be made real
for me.
I do not seek your praise.
If it touches you
in some way,
if it brings about
a connection
in your soul,
and you wish to
tell me,
then do so.
Otherwise,
it simply needs
to be read.
Otherwise,
why write?
I share my poetry
with you
because I trust you-
implicitly with
who I am.
I can give no other gift
as real,
or as precious.
I give you myself
©1993 Sharon Terry
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| The
Crux of the Matter
I
pull the moment down from the sky,
a curtain pulled apart from top to
bottom
opening and letting in the light
to shine on poetry not yet written
or even imagined,
awaiting the moments to come
of its writings.
In this moment I am aware of
my new path of listening,
an old path renewed and brought
forward into the present so that
I may see clearly, not what has been,
but what is.
I can only write what is,
not what was or what shall be,
for this is the path I have chosen
and the path to which I devote
my practice.
To write what is within,
I must cut clean to the moment,
allowing the surface waters to clear
so that I may see the depths,
sometimes murk, sometimes beauty
but real all the same.
This does not mean that I forget or
not allow my spirits to rise to the
joy of memory
or the agony of passing despair,
but I do not hold them close lest
I miss what is now.
And that is the crux of the matter.
©2000
Sharon Terry
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