Seaside

SEASIDE

for the artists ~ © Laura Lewis Blischke

(This poem was written for the artists
in February 2007 at the Creative Capital Workshop)

Creative Capital Workshop

time

echoes in
sea blue glass

finds
morning birds

wing-dipped
with sugared sand.

Winter’s wind
reflects

the collected flow
of
my life.

upon this shore
i leave
my smallness

mirroring
strength
on this back
called

today.

Fire and Ice

Fire and Ice

by

Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

Dimijian Images Fire & Ice

The Colors of Christmas

The Colors of Christmas


We drove through Pickens,

South Carolina, following

the road up and over

Caesar’s Head towards

Connestee Falls.

The elevation found a display

of autumn leave leftovers

and barren branches

hung on mountain trees.

The road, grey-misted

and lonely in an afternoon fog,

fell to a valley of green,

quite in contrast

to the December browns.

When we arrived,

Mother was hanging

icicle lights on the house;

it felt like home.

Even the rain

belonged to the day

and the cold outside

found a welcoming fire

inside where the children

and I snuggled

next to the Christmas tree

adorned with my favorite

childhood ornaments,

each special memory

remembered

by those represented.

As dusk seeped her color

across a western sky,

darkness twinkled

diamonds

into a clearing night

that brought a borealis

of pink, peach, and ice blue;

as my children

pressed their noses

to frosted glass

making Santa and reindeer

finger paintings,

I caught the moment

before it drifted away,

tucking it deep inside

next to last year's

Christmas colors.

monday poem

Uncertain                                   


spring buds;
newly born,
vulnerable
brace bitter air.

sun-warmed
their tender shoots
unfold
velvet petals.

pink whirls into orange
firm against the roar
shouting March. 


© Laura Lewis Blischke










photo credit: Meg Burke Photography



          
       

                                                                                                        
                                                                                          

Monday's Poem

Cardinal

Against the grey sky,

in the drizzle of an early morning rain,

your fiery red atop the branch

of a tall green pine,

warbling a song to your mate

who calls back to you from the thicket

of the mulberry brush,

I watch; I listen.

You are there every morning,
six mornings in a row,
looking, calling for her,
your lifetime mate.

I wonder if you've done this each day,
coming to this very same tree
while she gathers the berries;
you, stoic in your perch there,
watching in your puffed up way.                                                                                                      photo image source

You, persistent in stance,
consistent with presence,
relentless in song,
and I,
I sit still with awe.

© Laura Lewis Blischke ~ 2008

Fine Lines

A poet can take all the grief from her heart
(the pain that can swell and break a heart)
and write it in fine black lines
on starchy white paper. . . .

--from Fine Black Lines, Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad

photo credit

WHEN my former husband abandoned our family back in 2005 (the girls were then 2 and 4 years old), I felt as though I’d had the life sucked from me. After several months in survival mode doing what I had to do to make sure that we would continue to live on, I started writing. At first, the task of putting down those first words was daunting. When grief is new, feelings are so raw and close to the surface. I found that every time something came out, I would see it on the white sheets of paper and cry; sob. But, what surfaced over time was a way to lay down my pain, and through writing, promote my mental and physical well-being.

TIME wasn’t an issue. I felt like I had a lot of time. Although I still had my day-to-day tasks of caring for two very young children, 24 hours seemed like an eternity of time. I began by carrying a spiral bound notebook. I would jot down memories, or words that would conjure a thought or a scene. After a few days, I had many ideas down to work from. My earliest works were so lonely and sad; sentences strewn together that had no resolve. Eventually this all evolved into a process.

PROCESS- There did not seem to be a set time frame in my mind for how long I would write. I knew that it was a process and my hope was that someday the writing would become less frequent, signaling at least to me an end to the pain. But as I continued to write, not only did I become interested in WHAT I was writing, but what it LOOKED like on the page; how it SOUNDED out loud and what it FELT like. The process became clearer.

GOD– He was there through all of what my children and I went through and continues to be with us each day. I was surrounded by my wonderful family and friends, and a wonderful CHURCH. I knew that God had placed us in the home we lived in just so that I could be close to Vicky, my across-the-street neighbor who became one of my dearest friends, and prayer buddies. The girls had wonderful playmates, and for the 7 months that followed we made it; by God’s grace, we made it!

THE 7 STAGES OF GRIEF– There really are 7 stages in grieving. I am certain all of them came to me, if not one at a time, sometimes all at once!  And I wrote through them all; denial, pain and guilt, anger, depression and loneliness, the upward turn, and finally HOPE! God reminds us in Jeremiah 29:11, “For I know the plans I have for you”, declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (NIV)

What did I write about? –

At first; anger, hate, denial, frustration, hopelessness, pain, guilt, depression, sadness, loneliness, desperation, and resentment.

Then later; my children, my childhood, happy memories, faith, beauty, God, a future, and HOPE!

I realized yesterday, that what I began writing in 2006 has evolved into the culmination of around 140 poems, maybe more. In the fall of 2007, I took a Poetry class here at The Florida State University. After having been out of college since 1984, going back was a shock and so much fun! By the way, I made an A in my class. Since then, some of my work has been published here, here, here, HERE, and HERE!!!!! I also realized that in 2010, I only wrote one poem. For the most part, the healing is complete. The writing has subsided, if not all together ceased.

The Muse – My muse has left me for now. Healing became my art; I became a poet. God’s grace IS sufficient; MORE than sufficient!



Monday's Poem

Winter White

I watch the paperwhites
rise toward the sun
in their straight shoots;
each height of stem
a darker shade of green

like the color of grass
as it unfolds in spring;
I wait for snowy blossoms
to lift and kiss me.
Soon; any day now.

© Laura Lewis Blischke 2008

photo image source