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