Faith is Falling

I stood on the edge of the abyss,
my heart pounding fiercely as I asked,
"How did I get myself into this?"

"Just turn your back and look straight ahead,"
a voice at my side said quietly.
The pounding in my chest filled me with dread.

Faith is falling,
falling down
into the unseen arms.

"I don't want to fall. Will you catch me? This is insane!"
my head screamed as the same gentle voice answered.
"Only those who let go find what there is to gain."

I took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
Terror mixed with inexplicable joy
began to replace my crippling doubt.

Faith is falling,
falling down
and getting back up again.

My arms spread wide like a cross,
I stepped back off the cliff.
Panic! Then peace engulfed me as I embraced loss.

Faith is trusting and leaping and falling,
soaring and seeing what others don't.
Faith alone hears that silent calling.

It's the phoenix rising from the ashes of men.
And when I've been knocked down and out,
Faith is what makes me get up again.

Faith is falling,
falling down
and getting back up again.

Faith is falling,
falling down
into the unseen arms.

Faith is calling,
calling now
and lifting me up again.

La Joie des contes de fées

Ce qui me fait de la joie

c'est l'expression "il y avait une fois..."

Rien ne m'amènera aux cieux

que des contes de jeunes amoureux,

surtout les chevaliers tous preux

qui ont fait de beaux voeux

garder leur amour fidèle.

La princesse est toujours belle

et sage ou plutôt intellectuelle.

L'amant est jeune, beau et brave

même au face d'un péril grave.

Ni monstres ni ogres ni méchantes fées

ne puissent-ils leur amour s'arrêter.

Tous les obstacles contre leur amitié

ils ont, grâce à Dieu, à la fin surmonté.

C'est pourquoi, jusqu'à l'heure, il me plaît

lire les mots "ils restent tous deux heureux, satisfaits."

_______________________________________________

(Someday I may translate this into English, but I fear it will lose its eloquence in the translation.)

I heard the owl call my name

The old storytellers around the fire would weave

a tale of the owl calling the one who would leave

this world and its heartaches behind.

I'm comforted by the soft, mournful cry

of the owl outside my window each night,

his lonesome sigh soothing my mind.

_______________________________________________

The Apple and the Onion

I drifted lonely as could be

along the briney shore

and sought some ancient part of me,

but found it there no more.

And there amongst the flotsom-

great incongruity-

an apple and an onion;

one like you, the other me.

The apple, still intact inside

and undiminished by the sea,

was sweeter than a blushing bride

in innocent reverie.

The onion, battered by the tide

and washed upon the shore,

reminded me of tears I cried

when you walked out the door.

I drifted lonely as could be

along the salty shore

and sought some ancient part of me,

but you were there no more.

____________________________________

(Some of my best ideas for poems come from my walks along the Gulf of Mexico. I had to laugh when I saw an apple and an onion floating on the tide...it seemed so incongruous after seeing thousands of sandals or "flip-flops" along the shore.)

The Ice Queen of Hearts

The Ice Queen of Hearts

I suppose my garden turned to stone

on the night when the Ice Queen came.

I thought it was locked safely inside

my lover's warm embrace.

But the Ice Queen came sweeping in

in all her regal procession

one mid-summer's eve,

her mocking eyes reflected in my own.

The nightingale hushed its song.

The roses bowed and shrank

beneath her haughty eye.

Their fragile petals shrivelled into brown.

The chattering fountain grew silent

and still as it fell

beneath the power of her chill.

And as she bent to gaze into the pool,

I saw my own eyes staring back at me.

I touched the face

of the water and it crackled with

crystals of ice, spreading out in marvelous rays,

just skimming along the surface.

I felt the power of my icy fingers

tracing scars in sculptures of stone.

And I am Pygmalion's statue: Tentatum mollescit ebur, positoque rigore subsedit digitis.

(He touches the ivory statue; it starts to soften; its hardness gone; it yields to his fingers.)

So powerful, yet so fragile...

so apt to melt under a lover's glance

or with the sweet, warm scent of his breath.

A Note to the Lost Boys

Here's to all the Lost Boys who feign felicity

and mouth your hollow words of falsest flattery.

Perhaps you're thinking to appeal to my own vanity?

But I've no illusions upon that text,

nor delusions of my appeal for your sex.

I'm not one to vaunt or fake sincerity,

nor am I guilty, in this case, of false humility.

When from my earliest childhood days, I heard it said of me,

"Pity that a beauty that child will never be,

for really she does have a pleasant personality."

So I have ne'er deceived myself 'bout my physiognomy.

You do yourself no credit, boy, and do me injury

(or, at the very least, insult my mental faculty)

when, in one breath, you whisper sweet nothings to me,

and, in the next, declare undying loyalty

for some other girl whom you wish to marry.

And I am not so silly as I once used to be,

nor desperate for attention despite my malady.

Though unsightly you may think me,

and I don't pretend to be

deserving of the deepest intimacy.

But I can't help but hope for the possibility

of great affection with a man who sees the inner me

and treats me not with vague contempt, but with humanity.

Ah, my lonely Lost Boys, who do as you please,

save your noisy nastiness and vain inanities

for someone other than myself for I am ill-at-ease.

What more is there to say?

Shall we remain friendly?

Will you amend your puerile way?

Till then-

Sincerely,

Wendy

_______________________________________________________

(I have been accused numerous times that my verses are "not for the common man". But I remain steadfast and stubborn in this....I WILL not dumb down the vocabulary for my reader, not even for young readers. If you do not know the meaning of a word, look it up. You will be richer for it. You will be even richer if you research its etymology. I could go on and on about the 6th grade vocabulary perpetrated upon us by the current news media, but that is a soapbox for yet another day.)

Grace and Hope

Yesterday my soul was hungry,

longing to be a mother,

and grieving for what can never be.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick in time.

I wept for the babes I will never hold,

the childish love that would never be mine.

And just when my failing, un-mom heart thought to despair,

love came to me in the form of a pair

of two little girls called Hope and Grace,

reaching to me with chubby arms,

melting my heart in a bear hug embrace.

"Hold me!" cried Hope.

My arms opened wide to her innocent charms.

"Me, too!" giggled Grace.

I made room for her as I saw the light in her face

beaming on me as she squeezed my neck tight.

Now I'm radiant too as I walk away

with promises to come another day

and hold them again and maybe we'll read

or just sit and talk and they'll crawl up in my lap.

And my heart doesn't feel so empty

as I count up the hugs and kisses

lavished so undeservedly on an un-mom like me.

__________________________________________

(This actually did happen one night as I came home from work to an empty apartment. As I was walking through my complex, Hope and Grace (yes, their real names) saw me and came running up to hug me. It made my day! Hope cried when I had to leave and would not let go of my neck until I promised to come back another day and play...so sweet!)

Vive la revolution!