Breathe Deep the Gathering Bloom

Photo by Terry Owens

The poem Late Lament, by Moody Blues drummer Graeme Edge, is in spoken word as part of the song Nights in White Satin. I must have listened to it often as a teenager in the early/mid 70s. The first line is, "Breathe deep the gathering gloom." The poem ends with, "But we decide which is right and which is an illusion."
Clearly something was stirred recently from those bygone days as the first line of my poem dropped into my head right after an osteopathic treatment.

Breathe Deep the Gathering Bloom

Breathe deep the gathering bloom
as visceral freedom oozes, flows
in, out, and all about.
Open-hearted,
she settles more and more and more
into the bounty of exploring
her Divine fathoms.
Gently she twists the lens
and this time,
each time now,
her innate beauty reveals
in such a way
 that she simply smiles
and knows.
Some detritus may appear
every now and again,
and there may still be some thawing,
but she is keenly aware
of what to do.
Let the decomposition and melting
kindle

as she roots, foliates,
blossoms.
Ah yes,
breathe deep,

loosen, resolve,
allow the ongoing

graceful unfurling
of her beautiful being.
Breathe deep the gathering bloom.

Sarah Carlson

January 29, 2019

Worn Out by Winter?

During the experience represented below I had some moments of loneliness and despair. But they were quickly replaced with the humor of it all, along with the recognition that I am strong and able and get the job done.

Worn Out by Winter?

I woke up this morning with things on my mind.
I wanted to clean out my wood stove
so I could use the ashes to spread
on the skating rink that is my driveway.
And, of course, the stove actually needed cleaning.
With the temperature a balmy 5 degrees
I thought this would be a good chance to
accomplish this feat.
However, when I opened the stove
I noticed the ashes still had some life to them.
Not wanting to carry the ash pan
with lively ashes through my house,
I realized I should shovel out the back door
and up around my deck.
This actually needed to be done anyway,
just in case I run out of wood (good chance of that)
and have to rely on my gas stove later on.
Can’t get gas delivered if the tank is inaccessible.
I hadn’t done this before the rain storm came
that followed the last snow storm due
a sore shoulder that let me know
enough was enough after
cleaning off the front walkway
 and the deck (4 times).
This meant that shoveling this morning
included breaking through an ornery crust
to get to the crystalline snow below,
then lifting it up above the mountainous
banks that now surround.
The ashes, cooled by their new resting place,
 now pave a route to my car,
creating both safety and the messiness
of tracking said ashes into my house.
As I finished I wearily wondered,
“Am I,
 a lover of snow,
 worn out by winter?”
This was quickly followed by,
“Nah, I think I’ll go skiing!”

Sarah Carlson

January 26, 2019

Tears of My Heart

Tears of My Heart

I cried and I cried and I cried.
When I thought I was done
I cried some more.
Tears surfaced
from everywhere at once –
expressions of me,
from me, to me,
for me.
I don’t know the origin
of every droplet.
They were an eclectic mix,
a spectrum from sorrow to joy.
I don’t know if such a purge
will be repeated.
But if it is,
I will allow.
What emerged that day were
tears of my heart.
Open, cleansing, and
pure.
My feelings freely flowing.
No impediment or judgment.
No fear of rejection or retribution.
Just full on
tears of my heart,
clearing the way even more
to Light, Love,

and exquisite liberty.

Sarah Carlson

January 15, 2019

Someone to Cry With

Someone to Cry With

Unexpected, unexpressed emotions
pour forth from previously protected places.
Though unbidden, they must be allowed to flow.
Unfamiliar in their feel,
a product of the newness,
they scour, cleanse, and vitalize.
Lovely little one needs these releases
while she learns not to lug any more,
as does this vibrant, healing me.
But those moments can be
quite a challenge,
 for now.
When the waves crest,
there’s a craving for
someone to cry with,
 who loves me just as I am,
 won’t push me away
for feeling the deep.
Though there’s been no one
in that particular track
for quite some time,
in truth, it’s empty,
but not.

I climb a gentle hill,
breathe deep the woodsy air,
listen to the whispers of the wind.
Suddenly the truth washes through me.
I’m never really alone,
though loneliness still visits.
It is safe to freely feel
whatever I do in the moments of my life.
Anyone who judges that is wrong,
not me.
I can be my own
someone to cry with
as more and more I internalize
all that surfaces
from dropping in.

Sarah Carlson

January 9, 2019

Red Sky at Night

My father was one of the biggest fans of my poetry, even though he died before much of what ended up in my book was written. He followed my blog and every so often would gently say, "You really ought to publish, Sarah." I know he would have loved holding The Radiance of Change in his hands. I've been thinking quite a lot about him recently. Last night walking out of school, I was greeted by this sky and Dad's words from so long ago.

Red Sky at Night

Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.
I can hear my father saying that to me
as we watched sunsets
at the lake, in the mountains,
by the sea.
I smile with the memory as I step out
into a winter’s eve.
Later, skiing through soft snowy woods,
enchantment flows around and through
my being,
accompanied by a deep awareness
of the power and validity of hope.
It’s been there all along for me,
in my heart, my spirit, my words.
Sometimes inner waters
are stirred by winds of change,
though much more gently so.
Old patterns can
still sporadically
cause doubt,
the wonder if I’m wrong.
But, the truth is
my craft is as right as can be,
and it is safe to
 embrace the calm,
bob in the waves,
go with the flow.
Red sky at night,
sailor’s delight.
Thanks, Dad.
I love you.

Sarah Carlson

January 3, 2019

Novelty

Novelty

A gentle softness arrives

with newness.
New Year, new morning,
 new understandings.
Novelty within and without.
Like the freshness of snow
that just happens to blanket the world
in the wee hours
of the first day of the year,
all is muted, quiet, pristine.
For precious moments
 stillness can be
seen, heard, felt.
Rain, wind, blue skies
will come and
the beauty will change.
But, right here, right now
there is peace,
a softness to mourning
 that, though not sought
 or expected,
is gratefully acknowledged.
Breathe deep,
feel the calm,
the scarcity of discomfort.
Celebrate what has come…
novelty.

Sarah Carlson

January 1, 2019