Grief’s Quagmire…

Day Eighteen…

“No one knows what has been taken from you
When the silence of absence deepens.”
― John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings


In a riverbed
flooded with tears,
caked with mud up to her ears…
she wallowed
and squelched
unable to stand,
in a morass of sorrow
she’d been damned…

And the sediment oozed, unraveling her might,
she’d been sucked under
by hostile blight…
she sloshed and waded
gasping for air,
screaming out from this boggy lair…

to escape
the quicksands of time,
she groveled in
unyielding grime…

And from
grief’s quagmire,
she watched the skies,
she eulogized….
calling out in utter distress,
into dark mud
she coalesced…

The cool sludge
her ghastly pain,
and sacred tears
with healing rains….

image courtesy of PixaBay



“These wounds won’t seem to heal, this pain is just too real
There’s just too much that time cannot erase”
― Evanescence, My Immortal.

the intensity of blue

I’m drawn into light
the intensity of blue,
letting it wash
over me
and call me into view…
To allow particles
to evaporate,
in stillness
of a perfect escape… No longer remembering
the terror
of defeat,
just a little soul searching
to choreograph


Mystical immersions…

“My heart is so small
it’s almost invisible.
How can You place
such big sorrows in it?
“Look,” He answered,
“your eyes are even smaller,
yet they behold the world.”
― Rumi


Broken in pieces,
on the dark side of the moon,
just a cacophony of irrepressible tunes…
My song is over
the crowds have gone home, shattered, 
exposed to the bone… In crypts of longing,
I recounted my fears,
of sacred ceremonies
of sanguine tears… Basking in the resplendence of
Illuminating light,
bent forwards,
I surrendered to the night… Reconciling the struggle of my soul’s journey,
to mystical immersions,
of being set free…


Colors of Misery…

The Uses Of Sorrow (In my sleep I dreamed this poem)
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.”
― Mary Oliver, Thirst

what are the colors of misery

I can’t find the words to say, to make this pain go away…
the landscape is bleak,
my breath hurts
I dare not speak…

Or spill out sounds, tremors stain the ground,
and silence resounds
in ambient vows…

where tinctures of broken dreams,
paint me in dark extremes…

mysterious blessings trawl,
by darkened squalls,
of indigo emotions
unbalanced devotions,
unspeakable doubts,
called out…

and mutterings of dusky woes,
causing me to hold repose, in shadows of composure
abandoned by the exposure
of monochrome

I’ll bask in the misery…
colored by leaden seas,
at rest until


Fallen behind…

“These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.”
― Rumi, The Essential Rumi

fallen behind

Fallen behind
words won’t speak
behind closed doors…

In cloistered silence
obstacles shout
unhinged chaos
wounds leak out…

I descend again
gathered breath
hush my mind
my fears confessed…

by strange
mystical states
tumbled from orbit
dreams translate…

Walking through sludge
buried by fatigue
surrendered again
to grief’s debris…

to trust
the landscape
when emotions babble
affliction rescinds…

Between the lines…

“Everything becomes enchanting once we have full sight!”
― Richard Rohr


Holding the weight of my being,
I succumb to the sound of my feelings…
A seeker of light and tranquillity,
between the lines
of this imagery,
is a collection of allegories and signs,
in the latitude of movement
I am redefined…



When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home…
― John O’Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

delirious 2

Grief ebbs and flows,
I’m engorged with despair,
caught in the headlights
of this spellbinding glare…

Welling up with sorrow
I descend to the depths,
bloated and pitiful
I gasp for breath…

Faint lamentations
of a delirious mind,
in my greatest fear
I have been enshrined…

…and I set my soul to the rhythm of song,
a deeper understanding
of heavenly throngs…