Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Permission to Grow

 

With an abundance of time,

I can get a bit lost.

I am used to being driven

by duty,

with all its necessary tasks

keeping me busy.

But I am not so needed

right now –

or so it seems.

Reluctantly, I learn to be grateful 

for the quiet,

the stillness that is always underneath.

I sit and open to it.

Once rested and

pretty soon, 

my eyes begin to catch a vision

while my heart bubbles forth

with an effervescent song.

Its music is an invitation to grow –

to gather all the pieces

and moments

of wisdom, pain, and insight that

have been stacking in the corners –

to sit with them

and to honor their sacredness.

 

As I look back to review them,

the melody of their song

begins to weave together.

It travels in and through me,

bringing lightness and energy

to my searching heart.

The music floats up into my awareness

and sings to me:

       You know how to knit all this together.

       Trust what has been given to you.

The words form into a melody

only I can hear.

I can see now that

there is a song to be born, and

I have been invited 

to sing it.

My feet become light

as I learn dance 

to a new tune.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, May 2020

“To love someone is to learn the song in their heart and to sing it to them when they have forgotten.” – Arne Garbing

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

First Draft

 

This is not a good poem.

I can’t seem to find my voice –

It is missing among the tangle

in my heart.

I keep digging in the bramble

and coming up empty.

I invite her back

and tell her I miss her soothing tones

which lift and heal.

I miss her guidance.

I know this is an important time –

a time when the losses are dramatic and scary

and a deeper knowing 

is required. 

I have been preparing for this moment

as have you.

Life has brought us here together.

We have certainly hit the brambles before.

And we have made it through…

But this time I find myself speechless.

The brambles are thick and unrelenting,

paralyzing expression.

It seems a moment

when words cannot dare to speak

what the heart cannot sort 

or feel.

It is a time

to nurture the silence.

It needs space right now. 

The words can rest

until they know what to say.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, April 10, 2020

Covid 19 Pandemic

 

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

The Call of the Morning Bird

 

A chorus has erupted

and it filters through the open window.

A haunting call began it all.

Is it a cry? An alarm? 

Is this creature hungry?

The cry repeats in

a rhythm of hurt.

As I attend to its voice,

I begin to hear others return the call.

Their message seems to say:

                All is well.

               We are here!

                Join us- for you belong in the world.

               We care about you.

After some time, and continued voicing,

the cry of the suffering bird eases.

 

Attending to this natural befriending

soothes my soul.

I begin this day 

with the reminder that

we are one –

and attending to our sacred cries

is as natural and reliable as

the rising of the morning sun.

Our presence with one another

has the reassuring power

of gifting hope

and returning us to stillness.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

We Are Needed

 

It takes just a moment

to pause and let go –

to notice.

Presence always waits patiently for us.

She is found in the smallest of things…

 

The slow drip of water 

off a rock

which holds the riverbank in place….

Presence is there.

 

The thought that gives birth to the word that spawns a tear…

Yes.  There.

 

In that moment between

the reach of your hand

to the lifting of another –

Or when the homeless man 

catches your eye and

a generous smile blooms…

There!

 

How short our time is!

We squander Presence like we waste water…

We forget to look,

to hear the slow drip,

to speak the unspoken word.

We get lonely in this poverty

of connection.

 

Sad, isn’t it?

This slip of a rose through the grasp of our fingers.

We ignore the dropped flower

and miss out on the bouquet,

the colors…

And then we grieve the loss of 

a flower to cheer us –

it’s brilliance unwitnessed.

 

Love is like this , too.

It can hide beneath.

 

So, let’s elevate the 

Presence and the Love, too.

For without them,

we aren’t even here.

And we are so needed.

 

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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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

The Body Knows

 

You bark at me

when I am off kilter –

when you don’t get what you need.

I can hear you 

scratching at my door

seeking urgent attention.

I get in my head

and forget you need me, too,

and I need to be present.

Like a caged cheetah,

your tension tells me

that something is amiss.

Gradually, through your constant blabbering,

I get the message.

I learn to listen to you.

Your complaining wakes me up:

This pain, that stiffness, is not you. Stop and see.”

I open my eyes,

look deep within,

and find there is more.

I can change my way of being.

Peace is born.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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Poem · Poetry

When I Am Not Writing

 

The babbling brook that

is the stream of life, passes

before me,

its eternal and purposeful movement,

effortlessly dancing –

its whispers inviting me

into the water.

I sit on the shore,

afraid to get wet –

mistaken by the idea

that in staying dry,

I can somehow 

avoid the discomfort and uncertainty

of change –

when in actuality,

I am delaying my

ongoing baptism into Life.

In this moment,

I dip my toe back in.

 

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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