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Listen
to Poems of "Seasons"
Forks of Splendor, But for Today, Daylily, and
Blueberries
Also
Listen to: A Whisper of Fall #1 and #2
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But
For Today
Sometimes,
I wonder at the times to come,
The springtime waiting in the bud
on the branch
now covered with
snow,
the growing fawn
in the womb of the doe.
I wonder at the times to come,
Children playing in the yard
on the swing that
granddad built
eating cookies
that grandma baked--
turning brown-skinned
in summer's sun.
I wonder at the times to come,
The new year turning to old
and back to new
again,
time and again,
until my hair is grey,
my skin wrinkled
by the passing of days.
But for today, I wonder at my grandson,
Laughing and childlike in this moment
with wonder of
his own
at his world and
all its newness
to explore and
discover.
May I be so blessed!
©1999
Sharon Terry
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Winter
Writings
Summer
comes and goes
so quickly now
that I cannot grasp
it,
cannot hold it
in my fingers.
I run to tackle it,
jump, all fours
outspread,
as a cat leaping
to catch its prey,
but it eludes me.
The winter reaches out to me
and holds me,
its grip strong.
I do not pounce
as if it were my
prey.
It does not elude me,
but forces itself
upon me,
relentlessly.
Wearing it as if
a coat about me,
I do not fight it;
nor do I struggle
against it.
I simply wait it out,
as if to prove
who is the stronger,
always outliving
its grasp,
never fully shedding
its coat,
for it is ever
present
on my mind.
Oh, elusive summer,
my heart doth ache
for thee.
Yet in your coming,
I see you leaving.
Coming and going as a lover
repeatedly breaking
my heart,
I embrace you no longer.
Knowing the hurt to follow,
I release you.
To you.
I simply wait.
©1993
Sharon Terry
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Punctured
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Stillness
punctures the night
Releasing the pressures of the
day,
And sinking into the stillness
My body finds rest.
Expression
punctures the soul
Relieving pent up emotion,
And leaning into the expression
My heart finds peace.
Thought
punctures time
Renewing the mind,
And in permitting thought
My hands find work.
Supple,
Saturated,
Sandwiched between eternities
By the ticking of the timepiece
I wait-punctured.
Sharon
Terry
©December
18, 2006
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December
Depths
of winter's darkness
Claimed only once a year
by sun's
absence
Yet seemingly eternal.
Winds of change blow slowly
Creeping, creeping, creeping along
on frozen
legs
Buried and cold.
Sunshine's morning plays tricks
The mind overwhelmed by possibilities
If only one could move
at light
speed.
Before its fading.
Sharon Terry
December 5, 2005
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A
Whisper
The
corn turns brown overnight,
knowing the calendar
has turned its leaf to September.
An overgrowth of greens and browns
burdens the land.
Milkweed, goldenrod, sunflowers
no longer looking at the sun,
tall grasses gone to seed.
A paintbrush spattering
of red chooses a tree here,
a tree there for display.
All things whisper,
"Fall is
coming.
Fall is coming.
Fall is coming."
©1999
Sharon Terry
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Snow—
acoustics of silence-
muffling sound
so quiet
as to be indistinguishable
from a padded room.
Quiet isolation
rumbles through
the silence,
The end of space,
the end of time,
the work of an artist
so vast as not
to be seen with
the eye alone
or even to be aware
of the presence.
Snow—
harbinger of light
Full moon shining bright
piercing the night
with rays of hope
for the day to come.
Shadows, cast upon the snow
by silvery moon light.
Moon dust, sprinkled in the snow.
©1996 Sharon Terry
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Dandelions
Do
not malign the dandelions
for not being tulips or daffodils.
They cannot be but what they are
a herald of spring across the grass.
Their petals strewn across the lawn
like yellow pearl drops here and there.
No planted pattern do they take
But randomly select their place.
Planted by the hand of God
to bring about their parachutes to fly
whist here whist there it seems
by wind or passing trodding foot.
They are the first experience
for little hands and little breaths
with flowers that may be picked at will
with never a parent's saying, "No!"
Nipped at the stem they do not care,
for their purpose they will fulfill
as they go to seed on the window sill
forgotten there in the little vase.
So do not malign the dandelions
for not being tulips or daffodils.
They cannot be but what they are
a herald of spring across the grass.
©2000
Sharon Terry
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Daylily
The
last blossom stands alone
among the bracken.
A daylily, cold and damp
in the dew of morning
greets
one more day
by its presence,
and then, it is gone.
©1996 Sharon Terry
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Forks
of Splendor
Thundering,
Rumbling,
Grumbling,
Catapulting into the hot winter night.
Vestiges of spring harboring overhead,
descending in a moment to grace
our lives
and
harvest our souls
made captive by the voice within.
Forks of splendor,
frightening the night.
©1996 Sharon Terry
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A
Whisper of Fall #1
A
whisper of fall
gently touches my skin,
like a soft cotton jacket,
awakening my senses to the
sun's sideward glancing
of the earth's crust, so
filled with life, receiving its warmth
through the still, crystal air.
©2000
Sharon Terry
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A
Whisper of Fall #2
A
whisper of fall
dances upon my skin
as
the sunlight dances through
the leaves, still holding onto
life, and my soul
dances in union with all the earth,
holding onto hope.
And Fall whispers,
"Rejoice,
Rejoice."
©2000
Sharon Terry
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I
drive down the roads near our home.
They have changed
over the year.
It was a storm that changed
them most,
A violent, summer, wind storm.
It passed so quickly,
leaving the difference
to last forever.
The big sprawling barn fell in
and now is burned,
opening the sky to my eyes
where there was no sky before.
The white house,
the one with the beautiful
maples
spreading their carpet of leaves
this time of year,
all golden and yellow and red.
The house is still there.
The trees,
gone.
My beloved cherry tree,
the one they said wouldn't
last,
which
now brings the birds to our yard,
bends slightly toward the south.
Will it last the winter?
I wonder.
Change.
Measured by the seasons.
It is the way of nature,
they say,
but is it the way of woman?
of man?
Change.
It comes
and goes
and we grow
accustomed to it,
and
it becomes our reality,
and
when change comes again,
we
miss the change that was before.
The world around us
cannot stay the same
nor can the world
within.
What was there
becomes a memory.
What is there becomes
the new playground
for the mind,
a new imprint,
a new vision,
a new memory for the future.
©1992
Sharon
Terry
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Reaching Toward Heaven,
Falling Toward Earth
I
don't get all agog about spring like I do about
fall's ahhs and oohs.
Spring is more a subtle drinking in of the cool
green liquid
that it pours into my soul.
In the fall, the heat of the moment is too hot
to drink.
Instead, it warms me in a way no blanket can.
I have already spoken elsewhere of the contrast
between
warm colors and cool breezes of autumn,
and so will not do so again here.
I wish to see the contrast between the opposing
seasons,
Spring and Fall,
one ebbing toward the warmth, the other ebbing
away from it,
one reaching toward heaven, the other falling
to earth.
If the trees of spring were oranges and golds
we would melt in summer's sun.
Cool green, instead, holds death at bay when
temperatures climb.
I wish fall's season of life come for me in
the spring of my days,
for 'twill make the chill and the warmth as
one
and bring balance as old fades into new.
©2000
Sharon Terry
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Resurrection
The
bulb lies heavy in the earth,
Sodden with the cold and damp of winter months,
Yet clinging to its beautiful life of brief
loveliness.
I stand heavy upon the earth,
Weighed down with winter's cold and damp,
Yet clinging to a beautiful life waiting to
pen loveliness.
Let spring resurrect within me
The excitement of my youth,
And may rejoicing follow.
©2000 Sharon Terry
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