Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Nurture

 

You are but a drooping plant

with a bowed-browned bloom.

Your light is not reflecting –

the shadows grow.

Grief visible like this

is more easily watered.

It calls out for nurturance.

When hidden,

it festers 

and roots into every pore,

making us sick –

stealing the colors.

This is the usual way…

for we are all good at facades

and hiding.

We smile brightly,

despite the pained cracks within.

    Where does it hurt, my friend?

Show me the place

and tell me the story.

Dig out the pain from

your hardened crusts – fashionably covered.

Lift your voice and let the cry be born.

Let me know what is needed.

Take the covers off

and allow the hurt to move you

to a new place of freedom.

All is well, and

I am here with you.

You belong.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

In the Deep Blue

 

With eyes closed

and distractions put away,

I settle and still.

Muscles release and

gradually, breathing deepens.

I am quiet.

Sensing an opportunity to connect

in silence,

my cat curls into my lap.

I look inward and notice things and 

gradually release the grip –

that way of being 

which contracts me.

I let go.

Soon, the colors arrive –

they move about in my awareness

and before my mind’s eye.

I see red and green,

purple – and finally blue.

When I get to the deepening blue,

I am touching awareness and 

I disappear for some time.

It does not scare me to disappear…

but feels like freedom.

The deep blue teaches me 

in ways that soothe.

In its presence, I become one with

the breath of creation.

I flow with the ocean waves,

glow with the trees,

and share the song of the birds.

I see the eyes of Love

looking back at me.

The wisdom of the ages finds me

and its touch heals.

In the deep blue,

I learn that God is real, and

in my very being.

In the deep blue,

there is peace.

I bring it with me.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

In the Chill of Winter

 

In the chill of winter,

build a fire big enough

to warm

your fingers and toes.

Allow the warmth 

to travel to

your center –

let the grip of

cold and contraction

relax.

As you loosen and warm,

release your fear

of harsh winds

and insidious ice

which, in its blackness,

sneaks up on you

and threatens to knock you down.

 

In the chill of winter,

burn with awareness.

Let go of complaining

and resistance,

for they hasten the cold

to root in your being.

Instead, look to creation.

Honor the season.

What can the cold teach us?

The trees do not argue.

The squirrels settle in.

The birds accept the change

and move southward. 

The plants rest.

All of nature flows with the seasons.

So, in the chill of winter,

build a fire,

rest and be warm,

discover wonder and joy

at the coating of the white –

a pure dusting 

which baptizes in beauty,

reflecting the light.

Let this inspire you, and

when you are ready,

learn to play with the cold.

Build a snowman.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Be a Tree

 

You can stand in your ground

with roots that grasp to

all that matters

and holds you in place.

You can reach for the light and

blossom in its glow.

You bloom and grow,

bloom and grow –

shedding what is no longer needed,

in the appropriate season.

Other beings are attracted to you…

they sense your peace.

Its good to allow them

to hug you,

and be in your presence.

For sharing the strength and life

of your core

brings healing –

and releases the knots of

tension and contraction which cause

unnecessary twisting.

As the winds and storms arrive,

remember who you are.

You are not the weather.

You are a tree.

You observe.

You lend air.

You stand tall and alert, and

your stillness blesses.

Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Another Year

 

As in a game that stacks,

each brick a year in length,

we add them to the pile,

observing how they stay.

Some years there is more wobble,

stability stressed by balance.

Some years the heights are awesome,

our vision stretched and soaring.

The years they come so swiftly…

we sing this song together.

Life has a way of moving

each moment easily lost.

We long to learn the secret…

         Who builds this life we live?

We look at its construction,

our gratitude gives us vision.

 

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

When Loved Ones Return

Its a strange gathering –

all of us in our cars at the airport

anxious and watchful for that familiar smile and gait

to be seen among the masses…

Everyone is searching for that connection

to home.

It is like the perfect metaphor for life…

for daily we get lost in the crowdedness

of others in our space

as we journey anxiously –

searching and expectant –

until we are finally recognized, and

our place in the midst of it all

is secured.

We understand where we belong.

Now parked and watchful –

cell phones busy with directions,

our eyes finally meet.

Once bags are stowed, 

and the heated car is filled,

the lively chatter of connection begins.

We navigate the traffic,

and reach the hearth and tree alighted,

exhausted in a happy way.

My daughter releases her bag to the floor –

“I didn’t hug you yet.”

Arms wrap around,

and eager hearts touch.

Christmas has arrived.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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