The Yearning to go Home

My heart yearns to go home

but there’s no home left there

family is gone, moved

landscape changed

 

My gut tightens

with the yearning

to walk the old trails

to be out in nature

 

To remember

those times of feeling safe

to let the woods give comfort

to my sorrowed heart

 

But it is no more

no home, no old trails

paths changed

the property unrecognizable

 

Aloneness eats at my soul

I feel I have no roots

no connections

no sense of belonging

 

I’m left floundering

like the end of a rope

flopping in the wind

with nothing to tie it to

 

There’s no old home

to return to.

 

--Sasha Wolfe

On Writing Poems

Last night while getting ready for bed, I was recalling how I came to write “They’ll Never Write Songs About Me.”

The title had come from an incident from when I was 17 and pregnant for the first time. Bill and I had gone to a concert at Canobie Lake with our friends, the Stanleys. We managed to get right up to the edge of the stage. At one point, the lead singer dedicated a song to my friend Carole. I was happy for her, but I remember thinking, no one would ever dedicate a song to me.

 Then in 1994, after going through the Healing Tao three-week intensive training, I was one of only 10 to get certified to teach out of 50 people from all over the world. It was one of the biggest accomplishments in my life.

Upon returning home, I’d sunk into a depression that lasted three months. Then, at a retreat, “They’ll Never Write Songs About Me” just poured out of me. And when I read it aloud to the group, almost everyone present had tears, even the guys. (To this day, my eyes well up whenever I recite that poem.)

That experience woke something within me. I’d written a few poems over the years, but this ignited a new kind of fire in poetry writing as sometimes, the words just pour out of me … faster than I can write them down. It was, and is, kind of magical. This mostly happened when I was out walking in nature or during times of emotional stress. Now, poems come a little more slowly – maybe because I don’t get out in nature much anymore.

Since then, I’ve had a couple chap books of poetry printed and a book of poems accompanied by photos I’d taken. I have another book of poems ready to publish. (Sadly, I’ll probably never get around to taking that step.) Plus, there are hundreds of other poems.

 

Firestorm II

Mental firestorm

and I’m inundated with words,
thoughts and feelings
Like some unknown entity
turns on a faucet
and words pour out
 
And before I get half written
another topic comes gushing
then another
An uncontrollable, untamable

mental firestorm
ripping through my brain
 
It’s like being in a rodeo
getting thrown
from one bucking bronco
and grabbing another
only to get tossed
from that one, too
 
It’s exciting
but hard to focus
as my mind jumps
from one topic to another
before I finish thoughts
about the previous
 
Words stampede
through my brain
like herd of wild horses
being chased across a prairie
by a pack of word wolves
 
It’s like trying to grasp hold
of the brass ring
on a carousel ride
but the momentum
carries me past too quickly
 
I may catch a tiny piece
before I’m whipped away
by another thought or idea
but I can’t finish
one line of thought
before I’m jumping
to the next horse
 
(I often compare myself
to a fat bumblebee
flitting from one blossom to the next,
but in these instances
there is no simple goal
as with bees
 
In these cases
it is those stampeding horses
and I’m trying desperately
to hang on
milk the ride for every word
define every feeling
before I’m tossed to the ground
to grab the next horse
running by
before it all dries up.

Slowly, Quietly

Slowly, quietly

I want to walk the trails I once walked,

stopping to look and listen;

just being in those places

where I once felt happy and safe.

 

I want to feel the air I once felt.

I want to smell the pines and other trees of the forest.

I want to feel the soft pine needles

and old leaves crunch quietly under my feet.

 

I want to hear the babbling brook,

getting my feet wet in the crossing,

climb the pine needled covered hill

moving deeper into the forest.

 

Slowly, quietly,

I want to remember

what my childhood felt like

in those happiest of places…

in the woods, in the quiet

in the peacefulness of nature.

 

I want to come out of the dark wood

into that little grassy area

where violets and bluets grew

in a small patch of sunlight

 

Slowly, quietly

I want to step back

into the cool gloom again

following the trail

to an open field

 

Then deciding

whether to go farther

wading through the tall grasses

or turn around and head back home.

 

Funny how the return journey,

even along the same paths,

always felt different,

yet, either way,

I felt hugged by the forest.

 

Slowly, quietly,

I want to let

these old feelings resurface,

bring me back

to less complicated times.

 

I want to return

to those happy places,

hoping my memory

hasn’t deceived me.

 

Tightrope

I gingerly slide my feet

along a deteriorating tightrope

holding in anxious thoughts

One slight slip

of thought or balance

might send me

Tumbling into the abyss 

of emotional chaos

and uncontrollable tears and sobs

I try to hold onto

pleasant thoughts and wishful goals

just beyond my fingertips

I’ve forgotten

what it feels like

to be happy

These days

I’m not even sure what

will make me happy

And I know

I’m the only one

who can figure that out.

--Sasha Wolfe

 

Shipwrecked

The mast snaps

topples to the deck

smashing everything

in its path

 

My positive attitude

nosedives into an unnamed sadness

These days, it doesn’t

take much to set me off

 

My rigging deteriorates

its strength rotted away

and shredded sails scream

in the gale winds of grief

 

My hull rips open

and the angry sea rushes in

drowning me in a misery

too deep to explain

 

I take a deep breath

and strike out

for the shoreline –

only I can save myself.

--Sasha Wolfe

Ice Storm

          Standing on tip toes

the edge of the precipice

pulls me to lean…

just a tad more

 

The raging storm of life

pummels me

Who would really care?

Why would I?

 

I’m surprised

my body holds rigid

when emotionally

I’m a puddled mess

 

Part of me

doesn’t care any more

I’m almost tempted

to slip forward

 

But I wait

wracked in sobs

the sharp shards of sleet

stabbing me to the core

 

How can I be so frozen

yet still feel intensely

the heat of pain and fear

worry consumes me

 

How can I ever trust again

when my heart has been broken

so many times, it’ll never heal

when the fear isolates me further

 

How can I live wholeheartedly

when days are filled

with scammers and thieves

I see not hope for the future

 

I shift my weight closer

How can there be any hope?

Is there is no saving of me?

I am so forever damaged

 

But once more

I step away from the edge

I may be forever damaged

but there is still …

 

For now, anyway.