Tag: poetry

I’m your granny -Sue Lobo

I’m not just an old lady, I’m your Granny, my son,

If you want old fairy stories told, then I am the one,

I’m the library of histories, that no one remembers,

I’m warm lap where you sit, cold days in Decembers.

I’m the diary you talk to, when you’re happy or sad,

I’m who you tell when you’ve done something bad,

I’m the spoiler with treats, & we’ll not tell a soul,

I’m the one who hides evidence, down deep in a hole.

I’m the keeper of secrets, wishes, whispers & sighs,

I’m the guardian of memories & dismantler of lies,

I’m the painter of smiles & the old dryer of tears,

I’m your Granny & best friend, regardless of years.

POETRY BY – SUE LOBO © /|\ (Beautiful art by & shared from Lisa Aisato, with love & gratitude): X ❤

My old body – Sue Lobo

My old body is now telling me, it can´t take any more,

It´s saying very clearly, “It´s merely nature´s cruel law,”

In its greying, & groaning, I hark it´s ageing grumbling,

Within it´s creasing & creaking, lies it´s aching crumbling.

It says, “Give me tea & slippers, not oysters & champagne,

Forget expensive perfumes, just give me balsm for the pain,

Don´t give me evening soirèes, I have a much better choice,

Cocoa by the fire-side, now I hope you´ve heard my voice.”

My old body now wants comfort, & not the golden crown,

Merely flannelette pijamas, & not stiffened silken gown,

Please leave my old body be, in tranquility, & in peace,

Every little cell of it, every wrinkle, line, & tiny crease.

POETRY BY – SUE LOBO © /|\ (Beautiful image – Ziza – shared from – The Crone’s Grove, with love & gratitude): X ❤

Mary Oliver

“What can I say that I have not said before?

So I’ll say it again.

The leaf has a song in it.

Stone is the face of patience.

Inside the river there is an unfinishable story and you are somewhere in it and it will never end until all ends.

Take your busy heart to the art museum and the chamber of commerce

but take it also to the forest.

The song you heard singing in the leaf when you were a child is singing still.

I am of years lived, so far, seventy-four, and the leaf is singing still.”

~Mary Oliver

Scared dance of life -Rumi

I sometimes forget

That I was created for Joy.

My mind is too busy.

My Heart is too heavy

For me to remember

That I have been

Called to Dance

the Sacred dance of Life.

I was created to smile

To Love

To be Lifted up

And to Lift others up.

O’ Sacred One

Untangle my feet

From all that trap

Free My Soul.

That we might Dance

and that Our dancing

Might be Infectious

… Rumi💞

May you…

May you never be subservient.

May you never fall prey to fitting in.

May you always swirl in all the directions the sacred winds want to take you.

May you never hush your laughter nor your tears.

May you breathe without restriction.

May you show up every single day to the calling that is you and may you always know the courage of your heart.

~ Fig Ally

Art by Lucy Campbell

Mary Oliver -Saving Lives

“One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began.

Though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice —

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

“Mend my life!”

each voice cried.

But you didn’t stop.

You knew what you had to do.

Little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper

and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do —

determined to save

the only life you could save.”

~ Mary Oliver

Photo: Art by Mara Berendt Friedman

When You Are Old – Yeats

“WHEN YOU ARE OLD” – by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

(One of the last poems that W.B. Yeats wrote. Born 13 June 1865 – Died 28 January 1939)

Image of W.B. Yeats public domain by Charles George Beresford via Wikimedia Commons.

Soul Deep

No one told me

it would be like this—

how growing older

is another passage

of discovery

and that aging is one

grand transformation,

and if some things become torn apart

lost along the way,

many other means show up

to bring me closer

to the center of my heart.

No one ever told me

if whatever wonder

waits ahead

is in another realm

and outside of time.

But the amazement, I found,

is that the disconcerting things

within the here and now

that I stumble

and trip my way

through, also

lead me

gracefully

home.

And no one told me

that I would ever see

an earth so strong

and fragile, or

a world so sad

and beautiful.

And I surely

didn’t know

I’d have

all this life

yet in me

or such fire

inside my

bones.

~Susan Frybort~ With gratitude for this Soul Deep Poem