Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Loss For Words

 

When I have a moment

or three,

I like to sit

and light a candle.

I open my laptop

and position my hands…

my fingers are at the ready.

I wait for the words.

Sometimes they arrive

rather quickly.

Lately,

for reasons only my soul knows,

not so much.

I wonder why this is so.

It has been a challenging time

of late

with a health issue here –

relationship issues there…

My mind and heart

have been busy

and not in the good way –

the way of truth and inspiration.

My spiritual training teaches me

that my distractions of late

are just that –

DISTRACTIONS.

They have a quality of

friction –

and friction usually 

rubs the wrong way.

It can also hurt and harm

when it keeps going

and the tender places

get wounded.

My task now

is to reorient myself.

It is time to surrender

in faith

and allow myself to be lifted

out and beyond

anything that keeps me

from being 

who I really am.

It is time to heal.

So, no more scratching the itch

of all that seems

to be rubbing –

keeping me focussed

on the discomforts of life

that are not real.

Instead, I will mindfully

let go of all that.

It is time to step aside

from the personal

and be here wholeheartedly

as a channel for the divine –

to be a beneficial presence.

What could possibly be better?

It takes practice –

and attention –

moment to moment.

This is not what we are taught

but it is available to us

as the literal, 

ANSWER-

the one we all seek.

I speak the truth.

The fact I know that

means I am on my way…

So, here I go.

Perhaps this larger

expanse of view

will bring 

my words back to me

so I can be helpful

to others

as the divine reaches

through everything I offer

as an expression

of divine love –

always available,

but not always seen.

It seems a beautiful endeavor.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

alphabet-close-up-communication-278887

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

adult-adventure-blue-jeans-286694

Poem · Poetry

Finding the Poem

 

It comes in the quiet of the morning,

or sometimes on a walk among the trees.

Like a tender bud,

it germinates inside my heart,

until it must be born.

I write

because this process

brings me closer to God –

to the very spark of life

within me.

I write

because when I do,

I am blessed with the very Presence

I seek every moment.

I write

because my restless soul

comes alive when my words

enliven a page.

I write

because it touches you,

and in sharing my voice,

my purpose is born.

I write,

because I must.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018laptop and writing

Poem · Poetry

The Poems

You arrive as whispers

calling sweetly in my ear,

causing me to pause and ponder –

leading me forward.

It is like the dawning of hunger

when, no matter what I am doing,

I can think of nothing else.

The urgency must be addressed.

Words must be shaped,

voiced –

labored over and delivered.

Inspiration has called to me.

Each time she visits,

I come alive a little more.

I am born

again and again –

in a blanket of words.

Why me?

I sometimes wonder…

but I open to her, anyway –

and learn to surrender again

to her message

and to what is real.

The whole dance we do

creates a hunger

that builds.

I want more.

In the meantime,

I live the poems I have.

I hold them close to me –

with pregnant anticipation,

I wait for the others.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

words pic

Poem · Poetry

Blank Page

Facing a blank page

waiting for inspiration

is akin to the early morning hours –

when no one else is up,

not even the sun.

Its newness and freshness

has a daunting yet hopeful quality.

I simply love the mornings.

And now I am learning to love

the empty page.

Just like each day,

there are times

when I falter,

filling the white space with nonsense

and disappointing myself.

But when creativity shows up,

when I am engaged in the flow

of divine connection,

nothing else matters.

I have found Presence

once again.

If only each moment

could be like this!

And then I remember,

yes.

Each moment can.

I just need to stay awake

and get out of my own way.

Copyright@ Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2017

blank page

Poem · Poetry

Infant Poet

 

It is the strangest thing

when a poem takes over.

Kidnapped by it,

sometimes it lifts me above

to broaden my view –

or it can

lean me forward

with such focus,

everything else falls away

except the nub of it all.

 

Expanding and contracting,

I breathe the poem

and it breathes me.

We are one,

locked in a gentle tussle

until it is time

for the poem to be born.

 

I never thought of myself

as a poet.

It feels like a gift

given to an infant –

like a mobile hanging above a crib,

like a toy

to keep me busy

and broaden my senses –

to show me who I am

and help me

find my words.

There is an awkwardness –

but also,

deep joy

and a radiance that

nourishes.

 

I have come to rely

on my poems.

They are a gift

akin to the blessing

of having a loving parent

whose embrace

shows me the way.

 

Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2017

 

baby talk