Hard Rain

Words start in a trickle

a gentle drizzle

tickling my senses

teasing me to pick up a pen

After a couple of lines

the wind gusts

and the heavens open

A deluge of hard rain

pummels me with words

too numerous to catch

This rain hurts!

In moments I’m drenched

falling so fast, so hard

the words bruise my mind

bounce off my body leaving welts

then puddle at my feet like spilled ink

Phrases drip from my hair

run into my eyes making vision difficult

then streak down my face and neck

I’m soaked to the skin

drops coursing down my arms

to fall from fingertip to pen

onto a page too wet to hold ink

I fight to save the words

being washed away

 “Me! Me!” they yell

demanding to be written

But I’m drowning

I can’t write fast enough

Suddenly it stops

the overcast opens to blue

and the sun peeks through

The words dry on my arms,

ink on the page becomes readable

I begin moving the pieces around

assembling the jigsaw puzzle

of a poem.

Storm Surge

Once more a poem about writing poetry surged through. I wrote it last night after meditating, then "fixed" it up this morning. Enjoy!

In a half dream

I calmly watch the tide pull back

totally oblivious to what’s about to happen

the quiet deceiving before all hell breaks loose

Mesmerized, I watch it build. It’s huge!

and realize there’s no time to run

with frightening speed

it descends in a deafening rumble

devouring everything in its path

It smashes into me

sweeps me high off my feet

spins me around

then slams me to the ground

its force rolling me

over and over and over

I try to grab onto words

but the surge steals my breath

I try to grab onto explanation

but the ferocity leaves me mindless

I write furiously

but the raging torrents rip away the words

before I can get them all on the page

I try to make sense of it all

but the turbulent forces tumble me along

at speeds too outrageous to describe

leaving no room for cohesive thought

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stops.

I collapse into the wet, slimy mud

stunned, bruised, exhausted

numb and in shock

I watch the water recede, disappear

I breathe in … breathe out

I’m alive!

I begin moving aching limbs

shifting through the debris

of words I wrote down

trying to find what I missed;

searching for the ending

But there’s nothing else here.

After all that intensity

I expected more --

There is no more

Surprised, I realize

the ending already happened

just not the way I expected

what started with such violence

ended quickly, softly.

It’s done.

Downpour or On the Edge of Translation

It rains down

fills my soul

from head to toes

sometimes a heavy downpour

or thunderstorm

Its words with mine

stir my inner beingness

mixing in gut, heart, mind

until clouds of emotions

swirl and dance in partnership

It all bubbles up

threatens to burst my seams

I try to capture

thoughts and contemplations

in language I know

And the words

explode out of me

fall from pen

or onto computer keyboard

faster than I can write

At times

I’m only on the edge

of a translation

I can’t quite grasp

the correct words

Then suddenly

it all ceases

the downpour stops

words cut off

in midsentence or thought

Wait, wait!

I didn’t get it all!

I still haven’t come up with a description of how/what the inflow is really like. Sometimes there are real words I understand, and other times it’s a kind of feeling of what is being channeled; emotion, but not emotion. --SW

Flash Flood

The gates open

words gush down

consuming me

tossing me along a stream

of water, stones, and sand

Words fill my mind

at an alarming rate

mix with emotions

bubbling from

my own inner well

I snatch and grab

try to anchor myself

on the words

try to form them

into cohesive thoughts

sentences and paragraphs

There’s initial success

as the page is filled

with interesting introspection

but the flow too turbulent

I’m soon overpowered

the focus becomes

a jumble of tossed stoned

and I lose the thread

of logic

I’m drowning

unable to control

the flow, the writing

then the torrent rushes on

through me, past me

leaving me exhausted

lying in mud

among the scattered stones.

A Calm Moment

In silence

a subtle move

breath becomes

nothing more than

another movement

In … out …

expand … contract …

the body reacts

the body responds

life flows through

every vein

in … out …

over and over

Heart and mind

follow the breath

in … out …

until it becomes

seamless.

Considering an Overcast Day

Shadows within

a reflection of cloudy skies above

I like this gray

It’s reminiscent

of how I feel

quiet, soft, peaceful

It’s OK that every day

doesn’t have

to be sunny

My mind relaxes

under the gray-colored cloak

pulled in, feeling safe

Maybe that’s why

I like foggy mornings

it matches my soul.

(rewritten from 2009)

A Reason for Fear?

I approach the box

with trepidation

fear of what

might be found

inside

I open the door quickly

Tiny bodies jump

flee the light

I leap back

Spiders spill out

creeping and crawling

by the hundreds it seems

I grab the mail

slam the door

and run

for the house

waiting for something

to slip out

from between envelopes

and scurry up my arm.

When I was a kid, we were playing hide ‘n’ seek and others thought it would be funny to stuff me in the mailbox, so IT wouldn’t find me. They ran off and forgot about me. IT didn’t find me, but spiders did! To this day I still have nightmares of creepy-crawlies getting on me.

In Silence My Heart Weeps

My heart couldn't recall

yesterday’s yearnings,

but the old hurts

laid claim

on unshed tears

In silence

my heart weeps

Walls built

a thousand years ago

cannot be torn down

by wishes alone

In silence

my heart weeps

I keep locked

the terror

that threatens

my soul

My heart

weeping in silence

Not such a big deal

by mind reasons

but still,

I wrap invisible cords

around my fragility

and let my emotions

keep others at bay

My heart weeping

in silence

I keep these feelings

hidden

hope no one

notices.

Alone,

I can only dream

and alone,

I dance in joy

glad I don’t have to

put on an act.

In silence

the tears dry.

(rewritten from May 2009)

Illogic Reigns

Illogic Reigns

In the din

of a crowded room

illogic reigns

pushing me

to the middle

of the arena

An isolated gladiator

unchallenged

ignored

invisible.

I slip

between the web

move

to the outskirts

Now outside

looking in

not belonging,

not fitting in.

I’m overwhelmed

with the need

to escape

and disappear

No one notices

No one cares.

I’m trying to describe what happens to me sometimes when I’m in a crowd. It is illogical. I know I belong. I know I can fit in. I just have to talk to people. But sometimes – I don’t even know what to call it, just that it is overwhelming – I just have to get out of there, to escape.

--Sasha Wolfe

Sometimes Life is Like This

I’m alone – from choice

but sometimes

sadness and grief

overwhelm me

Sometimes it seems

for every one thing

that goes right

too many more go wrong

Sometimes I get so tired

of fighting to stay upbeat

Sometimes the effort

is more than I can bear

Well-meaning words

echo through the canyons

of my mind

suck out my willpower

Harsh words said,

“… because we love you,

worry about you”

are not supportive

Maybe harsh criticism

works for some

ignites their fire

forces them to change

But harsh words to me

do not feel of love

but of finding fault

being talked down to

That if I’m not like them

I’m not perfect

or good enough

or deserving enough

Some days

I don’t feel strong

I don’t want to fight

my energy flatlines

My fire diminishes

I want to crawl

into a hole

and never come out

Sometimes I’m just

too fragile.

Today

I am deflated.

It’s Hard Work to Stay Positive

At the time

I couldn’t understand

why my mother

gave up

I couldn’t understand

why, with so much

life has to offer

she stopped caring

I swore

I would never

be like her!

She’d say,

“Just wait,”

and her entire demeanor

slumped,

“Just wait

until you’re this age

then you’ll

understand.”

I swore

I would never

be like her

The years and the tears

wear me down,

“Yeah, Mum,

I understand now.”

Sometimes I feel

I am becoming

just like her.

Running out of Time

I was thinking how lately I can't seem to find the time to write or paint. I continue to take daily photos, but I can't find the time to post/share them.

But the choices are mine to make during the day. I'm the one choosing to garden or writing emails over painting or working on my book-writing. I'm the one making busy work that doesn't fill my soul.

It's funny, but the older I get the longer it takes to get things done. Where I used to check off many items on my to-do list, now I'm happy if I can get to three. Sadly, those three or four seldom have anything to do with my books or painting. 

Such is life.

Running out of Time

My ship’s body

lies broken

on the ocean floor

Debris, the bits of me

still holding to life

floats upriver on the tide

into a silent swamp

sticks to reeds

and debris from others

also just barely hanging on

Slow decay

stagnant water

leaches the life-source

from my soul

there’s no energy left

My once-vibrant ship

now has only few bubbles

rising from its broken hull

sea life already takes hold

What went wrong?

Why couldn’t I fulfill my dreams?

The papers of my stories

photographs of the many things

that caught my eye

the paintings and drawings

that made me feel alive

dissolve in salt water

I drown in my own tears.

--Sasha Wolfe

Where Does the Joy Go

Where does the joy go

when life lays me out flat

when every little thing is an obstacle

when things just seem to go wrong?

Where does the joy go

when getting up gets harder

when life gets lonelier

when I reach out and get slapped down?

Where does the joy go

when the choices I make turn into mistakes

when decisions are mine alone to make

and I can’t think straight?

Where does the joy go

when there’s no one to share

no one to lean on

and everything comes back to haunt me?

I sink into the pits of despair

allow myself to feel the pain

but then something fans the flame

and the fires of creativity roar again

I am not so all alone,

Joy returns!

Fire Bomb

My soul opens and the fires pour in

a huge downdraft rushes 

through my inner core

igniting the embers of my creativity

I roar in combustion

my mind explodes in a burst of flames

which quickly scorches fingertips

and forces me to hurry

This fire bomb of words and feelings

too strong, too powerful 

comes from every direction

pounds me to the ground

I’m suffocating in a fury of words

I can’t write fast enough!

I can’t breathe!

Because, of course, I’ll die

if I can’t get the words down

if I forget anything

if I misinterpret the message

But I don’t die and 

suddenly it’s over

the fires go out

leaving me drained and exhausted

I can breathe again 

and in a few seconds of rest

I relish the emptiness

As my scorched soul quickly heals

I inhale … exhale …

my mind kicks in again

I pick myself up, 

sort through the debris

The editing begins

words forming an article or a poem 

What amazing accomplishment!

Once more, I am filled with a marvelous joy!

Embers in My Soul

My gut churns 

with longing

Embers deep in my soul

barely glow

Breezes of thought

stir the coals

But not enough to fan 

the fires of creativity

A word, a thought, a sight

a spark glimmers

Emotions jumble

clamber to be free

My soul falls on paper

in words, in color

Sometimes painstakingly slow

other times a rushing flood

A poem or painting

an intense brilliance of joy

Cries to be seen, shared 

its light … my light …

casting a balance 

with the shadows of life

Not just for me

but for all

Initial burst over

my mind quiets

Flames recede

to smoldering embers

while my soul

rests in joy and emptiness

until the next flare up

the next creative flash

Stampede

Thoughts, ideas

excitingly rush through me

like a herd of stampeding cattle

Thundering hooves

shake the ground

freeze me on the sidelines

All I can do is stare

as words and impressions

rush by in speeds

too fast, too strong

too dangerous 

to grasp

With great courage

my mind reaches into the melee

to grab bits and pieces

Pen to paper

I slowly put together fragments

place words on a page

Form them into a cohesive plan

the latest, greatest idea

gathers momentum … but

too late, too old

too busy

to make happen.

-- Sasha Wolfe