POETRY BY JEANMARIE CONLON

 Fire   



Flames the house was on fire

like a pilar of wood up on wooded land

piled straight up

the red house now was standing all engulfed in flames

and I was a witness to myself

I walked through the fire each piece of wood straight up

around moving through and around I was led

in and out passing through and within

where I felt the heat of the wood and the embers

Each room in the fire was a memory

a reminder of some one's violence that unleashed

one night could not be erased yet my mission was clear

as the stilness moved an echo in my memory

yet I walked through knowing

I had no choice and I was protected

I knew I had to enter remembering the way

I was the bearer of the light and forgiving

Rooted strongly I turned inward and empty lost all possessions

I am in the white stillness blue of the deep winter.





Visions Falling 



Visions

There is no way out

except through these visions.

They have entwined me

since I was young.

Something stirred me to answer the call

I see long skinny saplings growing out of the ice

in the free frozen streams.

I see the pond I skated on.

I see the cemetery

where sixteenth century stones lie.

I would crawl over the high wall

and sit for hours inside

quietly.

Falling

I plunge down the well

deep into the earth,

rocks falling around me

my fingers reaching for something to hold.

My child lies at the bottom.

I hold her in my arms.

My body like a soft blanket made from lambs

protects her.





An angel of peace and forgiveness



An angel of peace and forgiveness

An angel came through the curtains as I was sleeping

and I felt a presence

as if one of my children had wakened from sleep

and crawled in bed with me.

I was still and the wind whispered forgive

for I am an angel of peace and forgiveness

and your mission is to walk with me

through these gates of the unknown.

So i lay there knowing something bigger than the sky had whispered

and I held my new companion

like my child whose dream was now my dream.




Winter 



Tall trees stand like giant brown anchors,

their hooks buried in the snow-covered earth.

Soft whispering lilac snow petals drift openly

from heaven, peacefully dancing like ballerinas

through the ocean's windy atmosphere, going

this way and that way.

Remembering the moment

and in quiet solitude,

I stand naked inside

the winter's eve.




a Haiku by Jeanmarie Conlon



If all we are is dust in the wind

then we need to be light like fireflies

and use our light well 





The Dove's Calling


I awoke to a strong calling this morning

as I arrived to a clearing in the woods.

Rain running across the water

and showers of rain swiftly parting in the sky,

tall trees standing upright on the banks of the river.

Wishing I was one of those trees

scattered , yet each one

peacefully rooted in the earth, planted

in a labyrinth of sacredness.

The rain poured so hard.

Out and up across the sky came a white Dove

I recognized the white wings,

the movement, and bowed my head

in thankfulness.

The water moved with the wind,

and the wind moved in the air,

weaving within the white dove.





Forgive



Must I forgive? asks the child.

Forgive, says the mother,

for in forgiving we wipe each other's tears

fallen like the rain upon the earth.

Our tears go back to the earth's universall mother

who silently gathers all the tears born from forgiveness

into your own child's dreams,

whose dreams are stars that become shells upon the shore

and the sand meets the sea forevermore.

As the milk weed in the meadow blows the wish in the air

forgiveness gives birth to peace.

Must I forgive? asks the child.

Forgive, says the mother.





Carson



Innocent like white snow upon my window,

morning doves singing in the meadows,

you walked into my room and it

was as if your sensitivity lightened the room.

And where silence fell still,

a reminder of our gentleness as human beings

from a long time ago.

I wrapped my arms around you

with my paints.

Safeness of soul now opened

unto the spring air and free with possibilities.

while the rain fell upon my garden.

Carson, Carson,

gentle like Guinavere.

You were wounded in side your shell ,

until you felt safe to come out.





Jenny's Garden



The garden wrapped itself around the house,

a white moon in the sky.

I always remember Jenny

carrying a special secret inside.

She was the only woman

who talked with her eyes

and returned to the beauty of her backyard.

I always wondered what magic did she know.

It was the garden that grew inside of her

Huge crimson hyacinths dancing,

and charming yellow sunflowers waving to me,

and lavender flowers

that smelled like some field in France,

and those red juicy tomatoes bigger than my thighs,

sweetest fruit ever,

waking me up to myself,

as I rode my bike down the street in that peaceful summer

quieter than a desert.

Yesterday.

I tucked this all away into the pocket of my apron

like a letter waiting to be read

over and over again.





Sharon



In the distance I was standing in the heat of the summer

remembering playing games

with my friend's sister, making her laugh.

Always entering her bedroom quietly

knowing that she was never going to leave that bed.

She knew that, too.

My friend and I, we brought the backyard

into her bedroom, and filled it with our play.

For deep down we both knew something,

yet only the moment absorbed.

It was such a still hot day.

I pounded out the screen door onto the road.

We had no sidewalks or curbs.

I stopped at the edge of the front lawn.

There was a black car in my friend's driveway.

where his sister now lifeless

lay like a bird

that had fallen dead on the ground.

The car drove by with the sleeping girl

who was never to awake again

to the sound of our childish laughter in that same room.

I looked at the empty window of her bedroom.

And now I could see from the corner of my eye

Out on the horizon

Sharon,

she was playing somewhere way far out in the distance,

In another land where we could not go

for now.

image20