My Poetry Page

I have a lot of dreams and usually remember all of them, sometimes just for a few hours, but sometimes always, and even have serial dreams, some good, some nightmarish. I sometimes get overwhelmed by all the tragedy and despair in the world and my safest release is to write. My poetry is seldom bright and cheery, often dark, but still true to my feelings. I have been called moody and "sensitive", easily affected by events and things I have read, seen and heard. Both are true, and apparent in my writing - very personal expressions of my thoughts and reactions to people and life around me. ************************************************************************************************* *********************************************************************************************************************** 29 Jan 2013 Today is my brother Curt's birthday. Last night I couldn't go to sleep. I had just gotten myself settled on my pillows when a bright light centered on my face. I put my glasses back on and saw that it was a very full moon, beautiful in the midnight sky, surrounded by a yellow tinged irregular mist. Instantly, the view called to mind a leaded colored glass picture my brother Bill made. And, it called forth a poem: MY BROTHER'S MOON As I lay down Late at night My eyes were found By a bright white light What caused this beam? I looked to see And saw the moon Gazing back at me. As the moon shone down so bright, I thought of Bill, Who once stood by his window sill, And gazed upon the silvery light. A muse did stand by his shoulder there, And guided him to memories share: He wrought the view in lead and glass, White, blue, and green like summer's grass. ... Winter's branches in winds do sway, Wave at the glowing ball so high, Where pale gold mists do ring and play, Round the orb in the midnight sky. Irresistible! I'm drawn from bed; Its distant beauty fills my head. And there my brother comes to mind; His gaze like mine the moon did find. What did my sharp-eyed brother view? Cutting across that pearlescent sheen, Framed in midnight's darkest blue, A single branch with leaves of green, Eternized in lead and glass, My brother's moon on my window sits. And every day each time I pass, Memories of Bill again are lit. ... I track the moon across the sky, Watch its arc on this cold clear night, And wonder who else than I Marvels at the very sight. Who calls up memories of moons gone by? Who saw and wondered at the view so high? Who wondered and pondered as did I, Of witnesses to our every sigh? We, so small, mark the pass Of the cold pearl orb's nightly path. We mark its journey, watch it grow, Until at last is quenched its glow. Insignificant are then we, As the moon marches to its bane, Oblivious, inexorably, First it waxes, then it wanes. ... The dark is pierced by moonbeams bright. Black-hued shadows turn to grey. Night's masks limned in pure cold light Cannot hide from moon's bright gaze. Cold, I return once more to bed To ward off the resultant chill, In moonbeams' light my memory's fed Shared views with my brother Bill. Abed, my eyes seek the window once more. Alas, the moon has moved from sight, While my thoughts did loop and soar Like a raven in its flight. Now the moon has gone its way. Bereft, again, of opalescent play, I, pursued by dreams, do lay And await its return another day. Comforted, though, for this I know: That even while wait I must, Tomorrow's night I'll see the glow When day has finally passed to dusk. And every time the moon is full, Memories fill my heart anew, Color the thoughts that time does dull, And keep them fresh and ever true. THE END COPYRIGHT: Marcia J. Maren Vilhjalmsdottir 29 January 2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 28 Jul 2013 This has been a hard year. Einar's and my family have suffered. I had hoped we had seen the end of family crises for a long while, but I received more bad news yesterday, the third time this month. Grief can be overwhelming. Sometimes, a bit of silly whimsy can cut through the murk and the pain, even if only for just a moment, to give a little relief; that makes it worthwhile. And so, I decided that rather than write a sad poem, I would opt for something light, something to bring a smile to the lips and a little warm light to a hurting heart. I dedicate this to my Aunt Irene and my cousins back home. :) A WHIMSICAL SERENADE The night before, all was right as rain, Everything in its place, everything the same. But now, as I gazed, amazed, around Everything was changed, both sight and sound. First I looked up and then I looked down. I'm sure I wore a perplex'd frown! My world had changed, turned topsy-turvy you see. But how, oh how, could this possibly be? I scratched my head, my thoughts in a whirl, Was this a dream, with more to unfurl? If so, I would gladly awaken right now! However, if dream, this t'would not allow. My head whipped up at a piercing call. Forging through wheat stalks, I found a hall. A dim light burned; I looked left, then right, And dashed up a rainbow, continuing my flight. I staggered and landed all in a heap, In a meadow full of promenading sheep! Up then I climbed a very rocky cliff, Accompanied by an odd, strange riff. The climb was hard, the rocks were sharp, But encouraged was I by a lilting harp. At the top I saw the strangest sight, And stifled a laugh - it couldn't be right! A spider's web hung from the tines of a hind, The tux-covered spider perched from behind. With his long legs he played the web with aplomb, While ladybugs and bees danced on a comb. Fireflies, in groups, provided soft light. Bullfrogs' croaks resounded left, then right, Beetles played counterpoint (the riff I had heard), And rabbits thumped a beat, chorused by birds. I sat and watched, mesmerized and amused, Until dawn's pink light began to diffuse. I must have made a sound because all of a sudden, The musicians scattered and the cliff became barren. Now all alone, I watched the sun rise. Then two sheep joined me and, to my surprise, Began to critique the musical revels! Bemused and wide-eyed, I stared at these fellows. Then they bundled me tween them, ready to jump. Down the cliff they landed with one mighty thump. Grasping their canes, they lined up behind me, And rolled me - I was soon too dizzy to see! I came to a halt on the rug in my room. The floor shook, I wobbled and fell like a loon Into bed, exhausted, covers over my head. Concussed? Don't know. But that's what people said! But I can still see the scene up on that high cliff, Backlit by fireflies, I hear the weird riff, Of beetles and the deep beat of rabbits and birds, So vivid!; I wish you, too, could have heard! What a wonderful time! I'd go there again! To watch with a smile those sheep swing their canes! Despite my world being turned upside down, A more interesting place could never be found! THE END COPYRIGHT: 28 JULY 2013 MARCIA J MAREN VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 7 Oct 2008 On this day our family was diminished: my niece's sweet son died at the tender age of 3 1/2, after a week spent in the children's icu. He will be sorely missed. I wrote a small poem in memorium: CHRISTOPHER JAMES FAULK Jan 2005 - Oct 2008 What is more precious than an innocent child, whose tears wring our hearts, whose laughter warms our souls? Even the most jaded will soften before the wide-eyed curiosity of a baby's sweet smile. I never had the chance to hug this nephew of mine. Life got in the way, then we ran out of time. But love isn't a measure simply of time. One glance at his picture: on my heart he had signed: 'This one is mine - it belongs to me now.' (A heart full of love never asks why or how.) Short was his life, but his memory will go on. Ended in strife, his spark is now gone, Snuffed like a candle in our lives and time; His innocence shines strong inside of our minds. He burned so brightly but all too briefly, Leaving us consumed with pain and grief, chiefly, His smile so sweet, his eyes shining bright, Full of wonder, and laughter, trust and delight. We'll miss his young presence, his growing up years, The birthdays, the giggles, the fights and the tears, Knobby knees and sharp elbows, grubby face, grimy hands, Caterpillars and beetles, and lightning bugs in cans. We'll miss all that he'd have shared with good cheer; He enriched our lives, these brief three and a half years. In the pain of his loss, can small comfort be found? I believe that it can for life sparks do abound. They fill up the atmosphere, here, there - all around, Full of light and potential but with nary a sound, Until caught and enshrined by the new soul it found. I choose to believe: Though his life spark has departed right here and right now, It will soon be recharged, another soul be endowed. Of course he'll live on: in our hearts and our minds, While his spirit finds peace - the same we must find. In loving memory, Aunt Marcia October 7, 2008 COPYRIGHT: 7 Oct 2008 MARCIA J MAREN VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 27 November 2007 ONE MORNING'S REFLECTION The morning's half gone yet where is the sun? I hear children at play, intent on their fun. Hither and thither they run and they yell, Happy outside till the ring of the bell. Sometimes I glance out the window that faces The yard where they seem to always run races. We chose this home to be close to the noise, Of children at play: shrieking girls, hollering boys. Our street is so quiet over the course of a day, That we need the noise of those children at play, To remind us that outside our quiet little world, A vigorous, rigorous life is awhirl. Busy, endlessly moving and changing, A ballet of dancers, swaying and ranging, From one corner to another on the stage of life, Sometimes moving smoothly, other times in strife. Most days I look up and glance out that window, To witness the day's natural come-and-go flow. I'll busy myself with my daily chores, And then head out to wander in stores. I don't go to buy, but to see and hear others, To walk and listen to humanity's mutters. Then, when I'm full, filled clear to the brim, I head back home to the quiet within. There it's peaceful and ordered, the opposite in fact, Of the chaos and noise the outside never lacks. I'm grateful that both of these needs can be filled, To be one with the masses or alone, quiet, still. The psyche needs both, to find the right balance, To know one's self and find sense and a stance, To one's place in the world, one's niche in life, Reducing the confusion and conflicts so rife. Each day is a challenge that has to be met. How it will be faced is undecided as yet. But if I'm serene in my heart, soul and mind, I meet those challenges more easily I find. So the goal for me is to achieve serenity, To defy the things that provoke enmity. I try to embrace the good things instead: To concentrate on hope inside of my head. On the days I succeed, I'm happy, content. On the days that I don't, I feel frustrated and spent. I guess that the way one approaches that goal, Will decide the amount of happiness amassed in one's soul. COPYRIGHT 27 NOV 2007 MARCIA J. MAREN VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ********************************************************* Feb 27, 2007. The sun is shining. Its warmth on my face is banishing the blues. :) ODE TO THE SUN Spirits may hang low, so very far down, But with your presence, blues depart, hope is found. Shadows, banished, vanquished before you, Crouch, wary, where you cannot pursue. Pure white clouds drift through sky's blue, Hues brighten, glisten in dawn's early dew; All due to you, all due to you. Green blood rises, eager for your kiss, And when you shine, they feel naught amiss. Whether leaping from water's vital embrace, Flitting through air and leaving no trace, Or trodding earth's cover: brown, green or black, All look up, yearning to follow your track, Silently praying: come back, come back. Time is measured by your passing each day, Rising early for morn, later fading away. Your arrival we cheer, we relish your promise. Your warmth, your rays help the living to flourish; Lifelong, all need your daily touch. Your absence cuts life, dims colors and such; Yes, we'd miss you: so much, so very much. COPYRIGHT 27 FEB 2007 MARCIA J. MAREN VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************** Aug 31, 2006. Last night's dreams led me to write this: FIRST LOVE Euphoria followed by deepest despair: You made my heart sing, Then slashed it to the core. When the tide came rushing in, I was helpless, like sand on a shore, Carried along until inundated. Overwhelmed, I awaited the next rush. I was a leaf in the force of your wake, Swept here and there, At the mercy of your smile. Tears filled my eyes; My heart sobbed and my dreams filled with longing. When I awoke, memories of you hid behind my eyes, Never to be forgotten, never to be replaced. Obsessed, possessed. Impossible to erase Over passing years of love and life. You were yet in my heart and my mind. Noone, nothing will ever come close To that first bloom, first hope, first taste. You woke me, tempted me to sweet embrace, Then left, leaving me bereft and alone: My first love. COPYRIGHT: 2006 AUG 31 MARCIA J MAREN VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED **************************************************************** Aug. 3, 2006. I was thinking about the past. This occurred to me. ODE TO THE PAST So long ago, decades now, I first beheld you and thought to myself: wow. Your head was bowed, your body bent To protect and defend 'gainst any breach or comment. Shy and lean, your green eyes gleamed. I walked through the crowd, head held high yet inside cowed, thinking: How grand it would be if you'd come to see That this shy young girl could eventually be a recipient of friendship, or sometime just a real sincere smile, maybe someday your trust. You looked so alone, never spoke, never smiled. An outsider, like me, yet you disdained in great style. I wanted to ease your pain, to understand: What could cause that defensive sham? No knowledge had I of the cause of that why But I knew that behind that wall was a boy Who deserved to smile, and live life with some joy, A boy worth knowing, and appreciated. I knew. I, just as lonely, wanted to be valued, too. Together we sang, although briefly - what fun! But my heart sang louder. Do you remember that day? I felt like the cloud that had hidden the sun Gave way to joy's breeze and withered away. To me, singing speaks to the heart and the soul; Singing with a friend makes that cup overflow. And that's how I felt those years long ago. How brief was that feeling but still my heart knows Exactly how it felt, how it swelled up with joy At sharing a happy moment with that green-eyed boy. Now it's decades later, and who would have thought that after all these years our paths would now cross. But cross they have, and the wall is down, You've opened your heart and at last lost the frown. I can hear the happiness in your voice as you speak. You've found your way, though long you did seek. You wallowed in troughs, then to the crags leaped. Your spirit has risen, like a bird just set free A phoenix born anew flown from ashes with glee. And I, too, have benefitted; I'm no longer so blue. An ache, long endured, finally healed through and through. Friendship doesn't die, e'en left long adrift; Not time nor distance can capsize that skiff. Once given, it's there, and may smoulder to a coal. But given fresh room to grow in the heart, To cover with warmth and comfort that grassy knoll, It becomes a welcoming beacon and a meaningful part Of a deeper understanding and a caring start. COPYRIGHT: 3 AUG 2006 MARCIA VILHJALMSDOTTIR, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************** June 30, 2005. This morning I awoke, Norah Jones singing in muted tones in the back of my mind, and this came to mind: IN THE AFTERGLOW In the afterglow of love, While you are slumbering sweetly, I hear the singing of birds above, And rain's hush, falling fleetly. As the world awakens around us, And the sun rises in the sky, I watch you climb aboard the last bus, Alone again, I wave goodbye. Another day to get through, Same ol' chores from dawn till dusk, I daydream about me and you, Have to wait, though; I guess I must. It's almost time to see you, The wait is almost done, The skies are turning bright blue, You're brighter than the sun. Thinking about you, time rushes by, Thoughts of you - they make me smile, Spark a loving twinkle in my eye, In your arms for just awhile. The world turns around us, Always changing, always the same, People come and go in a rush, I wonder why - this eternal game. But as long as we're together, With the passing of each season, It doesn't matter whether, It makes sense, rhyme or reason. I just want to be with you, As we both grow old and grey, For your smile draws me anew, Warms me each and every day. In the afterglow of our love, While you are sweetly sleeping, Contentment fills me, my love, Our life is well worth keeping. COPYRIGHT 30 June 2005 Marcia J. Maren Vilhjálmsdóttir ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************************** June 8, 2005. I was reading a poetry book called Cold was that Beauty...Icelandic nature poetry. I recommend it highly! I wanted to compose something for a friend of mine who loves trees, when I glanced out my window at the tree which fills our diningroom window. Sometimes we are lucky enough to see birds in the branches, and it is beautiful when new snow coats the branches. OUTSIDE MY WINDOW Triangular fan: brushes of grey-green needles; New: lime green, tipped in brown cones. Underbrush: coated, brown and dry Clogging stringent scent, sticky sap, rough bark. Frosted with snow, apex to base Home to birds, year-round, night, day. Stately, beautiful, skyscraping, Ever-green. Nature lives! COPYRIGHT 8 June 2005 Marcia J M Vilhjálmsdóttir ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************************** May 26, 2004. Sometimes, it is oh-so hard to cope. Is love enough, ever, to win through life's barbs? One is in a maze, running in endless circles, pushing through tangles encountered before, where misunderstandings and bruised hearts crash together yet again. Why can't one avoid these thorns that attack any who come within reach, including oneself, or at least thicken one's protection against them? Why can't one find the one safe true path? Is the maze without solution? I ask myself these questions time and again. I don't know the answers, nor if it is possible to move beyond these prickly hedges grown throughout the years. Today, I feel the need to express these thoughts. PRICKLY HEDGES Doomed. - Are we? Mistakes repeated, Ad infinitum? The lesson learned, Yet never LEARNED. To hurt. To be hurt, Misunderstood, Fragile. Each, we carry, Heavy, that past, Chained by memory. Locked by pain. Our life? Mine? Yours? Everyone's? Who can say? Is failure inevitable? Questions abound. Where are the answers? Do they exist? Or only the hope for them? COPYRIGHT 26 May 2004 Marcia J M Vilhjálmsdóttir ALL RIGHTS RESERVED *************************************************************************** April 24, 2005. I felt really bad about being judgemental and pushy with my mom. My words to her were sparked by worry about her health, but still I feel I went way beyond the mark. I felt it so strongly that I had to write it down. I did and sent it to her and she was gracious enough to forgive me. But I want to record it here as a reminder - to me. One cannot live someone else's life for them, not even to save them from harm. People must live their own lives, and suffer their own consequences, and all we can do is sit back and watch. It may be painful, but it is their right. APOLOGY I said some things I shouldn't say And now you're mad, so I must pay. You've closed me out, and not a word Shall pass your lips that might be heard. In my defense I have to tell you You scared me badly that soon I'd lose you. Time's against us, moving fast, A breath or two, and then the last! I said some things to make you aware, I'd do anything for your welfare! And hoped you'd feel the same as me, No matter how hard that something might be. Although I push and make you mad, It's because I love you. Is that so bad? You're important to me!! I cherish you so, More than anyone could ever know. I'm not ready to say goodbye! I'll never be. And so I try To make that last breath long and slow To share more with you before we go. The thought of losing you makes me so sad, So forgive me, Mom, for making you mad. I love you. I need you. I count you my friend, The one I can turn to through thick and thin. Please - don't close me out, don't lock me away. Listen to my plea, hear what I say. I'm sorry I hurt you, truly I am. The heart speaks louder than mere words can. I wrote this for you, to let you know Why I said what I said, and now you should know. I panicked, reacted. Words vomited forth, Brutal, abrupt, ugly and coarse. I wanted to scare you as you have scared me, To shake up your world, so that you would see, How I fear another life-threatening session, If nothing is changed, status quo - no concessions. The fear is not gone, nor ever will go. I've lost one parent, and him long ago. I miss him so much, but you I'd miss more, For a friend you've become, my mother, but more. I hoped that you wanted that as much as I do, But I feared you did not, feared what you might do, Like give up the battle, see no joy up ahead, No hope, no future, no fun, and no love. If you've read this through, you must now understand, Why I panicked and reacted and took such a stand. Our family has seen a lot of trouble and strife, But we've all pulled together. The best part of life. I hope that you will allay my fears, Forgive me my outburst, mother-mine dear. Write me back, make it quick, I'm ever so blue. I miss your voice, your shrewdness, your wimsy; I miss you. COPYRIGHT 24 April 2005 Marcia J. Maren Vilhjálmsdóttir ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************************** This morning, Wednesday, 17 Sep 2003, I was reading some silly poems by Lewis Carroll. It put me into a really good mood, and a couple of lines of my own flashed in my head which encouraged me to get them down on paper, so I wrote a silly poem of my own. Here it is: A SILLY POEM ABOUT LIFE As I was walking down the street, Into a storefront I did peek, To see what offers there did lie, For customers such as I. Busily I perused their wares, In search of something oh-so rare. Success at last I felt I found, A curiosity of which few abound. Twas round in shape, Within a rim, Of vines and grapes, Tree leaves and limbs. And in amongst the twisting bits, Pixies danced, smirked and bit The grapes until the seeds went flying, While others the seeds to catch were trying. Their antics tickled, I had to laugh, And once begun, Increased by half. I went inside the better to see The treasure there that called to me. I picked it up and turned it round, And other carvings then I found. Elephants, dogs, and squirrels, too, Leaped here and there in ones and twos, Above the clouds, among the stars, In skirts of grass with hats like jars. While far below, Seahorses in tights, Played guitars, harps, And bubble pipes. Absurd and silly, That rim around, I laughed so hard, My tears fell down. Then when I looked inside the rim, And saw what looked back from within, I couldn't help but laugh again! Within the rim a face I see, But who I wonder could it be, That grins and laughs so heartily? Closer I peer, the better to spy, The rosy cheeks, the crinkled eyes. I know I've seen that face before, Long ago, twenty years or more! And as I gaze upon the sight, As laughter calms and memory fights, To find the name that fits the face, I realize, and solve the case. Twenty years back and even more, That face held youth and energy in store, Shone with hope, full of light, Reflected happiness, eyes so bright. Twenty years have come and gone, That face is older, youth is done. But deep within in the mind's eye, The face lives on to match the "I", That showed before, and now hides inside. Whose is that visage, that shell I see, That once shone bright and young with glee, Moments before, reflected within, Crinkled with laughter inside the rim? I know, and I smile, full of chagrin! Absurd! Ridiculous! How could it be? But yes, it's true, it's reflecting me! THE END COPYRIGHT 2003 MARCIA VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************************* This summer, I was thinking about my family, as I often do, and then to how much I missed my brother, Bill. I felt the need to write about how I felt when he died. So on July 4, 2003, I wrote: BILLY My brother is gone. So I've been told. He suffered for long, But had hopes, dreams, interests, goals, All brought to naught. Alone, his heart beat once, Twice, and then stopped. ........ I miss him, Our talks. The visits, though seldom, Loom bright in my thoughts. I miss him! Too soon was his passing, Too quick he was gone. His life newly blossomed, New meaning he'd found. All snuffed in a moment, Outside sight and sound. I miss him. He's gone. Life's diminished again, First Dad, and now Billy. Oh, when will it end? No more sharing nor talks, No more visits or walks. He's gone and I miss him, His voice has gone dim. But memories live on, And pictures bring sight, Of Mom's firstborn son, My brother, to light. THE END COPYRIGHT 2003 MARCIA VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************************* The following I wrote in July, 2003, after several weeks of illness: DOES IT END? I am weary, so tired. To breathe is labor. My voice is but a whisper. My shoulders ache. My back and my hip Remind me of the pain always there. Sometimes I wish: One could just say "enough", And the pain would Either disappear, or Envelop me once and for all, And swallow me in oblivion. ...... Is there oblivion? Do we become "not" at death? Or merely continue to live the pain In a new existence? COPYRIGHT 2003 MARCIA VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED *********************************************************************** I was feeling all warm and content, so decided to write something a little more upbeat than my usual compositions. So, on 12 Nov. 02, I wrote: DRUNK ON HAPPINESS I'm feeling silly, Perhaps you can tell. I'm feeling like candles, puppies, and bells! It's like Christmas is here! My heart's overflowing, With thoughts of my loved ones, warm and glowing. The sky is clear. The stars are sparkling, Reflecting the beauty of snowy peaks, and rivers rushing. The Northern Lights dance through the dark, A breeze off the bay smells salty and tart. Again it hits me! I live on an island, In the middle of the ocean, Far from other countries, a land in commotion! Home it's become, A home away from home. A family there and a family here, Separated in fact, in thoughts always near. So close to nature! It's both tranquil and scary. Earthquakes, wind, eruptions and rain.. Passing morning to night, but never the same. Mountains so rugged, plains black and bare, Impossible to believe that people live there! Stoic, strong, unbelievably shy, Full of opinions, they argue and vie, To succeed, to progress, work hard and have fun, Preserve heritage and language for generations to come. I sometimes get homesick, That's normal, in fact. I sometimes go visit, want to see a new view. But after awhile, I long to come back, To where trees are scarce, and geysers still spew, Where waterfalls abound, and sheep do, too! The smell of sunwarmed heather's in the air. Colors are so incredible: one can only stare. Yes! I feel happy! Incredibly so! I know it sounds sappy, But it's true, even so. Sometimes I forget the good things in my life. Then something will hit, I'll feel a warm glow, I'll forget all my worries, the daily stress and the strife, Remember the good bits, Friends and family I know! I'll feel drunk on pure joy, Want to laugh and to smile, Make everyone else happy - Carefree for awhile. I know that I'm lucky, More than so-so, In love and in life. Very lucky! I know. If you can't understand, Or still cannot see, What's important in life, For all, not just for me, In time you may learn, (If you're open and try): Where happiness burns, Is really close by. THE END COPYRIGHT 2002 MARCIA VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************************ Here's one I wrote on the 24th of May, 2002, remembering past emotions: LOST IN DESPAIR Wrapped tight in my mind So afraid to unlock Someone might see And recoil in shock. Who can I trust? My thoughts are so dark. Exposed to the light Their burn leaves a mark. Sometimes I wonder The pressure's so great. My heart, body, mind, Which first will break? Isolated, alone, a spectator of life, Is it truly enough? My thoughts whirl around, The doubts loud and rife. Never far away Are gloom and despair Riding my soul Stripping my heart bare. Is love enough To carry me through, When purpose is empty And contacts are few? Even when you're near If not wrapped in your arms I can't hide from my fears, Worries, alarms. Will I ever find surcease From this constant fight? I tire of trying, And hoping. That's right. Perhaps my friend's right And I have an old soul. Seems I've been fighting this fight Since I was seven or so. Now that I'm grown With kids of my own My need to be strong Now they're grown, is quite gone. With noone to need me My life's purpose is adrift I'm flailing wildly Who? What? Where? Why? If.. Life just IS, Both a curse and a gift. It's what you make of it: Flowery field/barren rift. A reason, a goal A lifelong dream... Without such to reach for Life becomes ephemeral, With no more substance than steam. THE END. COPYRIGHT 2002 MARCIA VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************************ This is a poem I wrote April 13th, 1999. I call it: HEART'S LAMENT Too many years, Just making do. Too many years, Trying happiness with you. Maybe I should just go, Maybe I should leave. If...if I did go, Would you follow me? I'm all by myself, With no place to go, And noone to talk to. Feel like it's always so. Constantly in doubt, And crying deep inside, If I let it out, You'd only say I lied. Yet again you've gone away, I stare at emptiness, And wonder why, oh why, For you away is best. You're so alive upon return, Aglow with happiness, Repleat and full of memories, But tired, you need to rest! Wondering deep inside my soul, Laying here by your side, Would I be more alone to go, Than if instead I should abide? I sit here in solitude, Too often on my own, To go, to stay? To go today? Would you write or telephone? To choose to go: So many years, & what to show? To choose to stay: Well, there's a price to pay. And now, you think I'm losing my mind. If I'm sad, if I'm down, It'll pass, give it time! It's all in my head, Why, what could be wrong? Nothing has changed, Life just carries on! We walk, sometimes talk. What more could I want? You're busy, so busy, ...Until your next jaunt. Is it all just habit now? Do you really care? Is it routine that you want? Sometimes that's what I fear. So many years have passed, A life we've shared together. The question is, will there be more, Not how, not where, but whether. It's hard to part, to say goodbye To life and love before we die. But is it harder for me to stay, And always watch you walk away? Oh, where has the love gone? When will we talk? Do you want a life with me? Shall I stay, or shall I walk? Too many years, Just making do. Too many years, Trying happiness with you. Maybe I should just go. Maybe I should leave. If...if I did go, Would you miss me? THE END COPYRIGHT 2002 MARCIA VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************************* This poem was written in September 1999. It is called: IN THE BALANCE ...the beginning... Young, eager, happy, future unknown, I bow before your age and obvious intellect, Vaguely aware that problems might arise. But love's sweet glow banishes such shadows. Love will conquer all. Time passes. Responsibilities mount. Problems do arise - some between us. Unsure of your love or support, I muffle my usual daily vocal avowal of my love for you. Did you notice? I begin an unsure quest to discover if my love is returned. Years pass. My quest is unfulfilled. Your life becomes fuller, Mine becomes futile. Bitterness, anger and silence put checks on harmony. Less time is spent together. Emptiness abounds. Memories: both good and bad. When weighed, I find past good and the eternal hope of future harmony, Always outweigh the tough times. --At least for me, with you. You were, are, and will be the man for me. The question is: what do the scales say to you? THE END COPYRIGHT 2002 MARCIA VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ***************************************************************************** I wrote this two part poem on May 7th, 1999: BEFORE AND AFTER PART I: PANIC Quivering, shaking, so hard and fast. Heart racing, beating against fist pressed tight to the breast. Quick! Curl up! Grasp head in hands. Don't let go! Rocking back and forth. Be still!! Be still! Closed eyes. It'll pass, given time...Hold tight! Be still! Or break into a million pieces, psyche shattered, alone, agonized, strength gone. I tremble. The soul betrayed - blackness engulfs. A merciful end or the start of a circle? PART II: CONTROL I agree to try: And so for two weeks, I suffer, I shake. I think: 'No, no more. This is more than I can take!' Each day I wonder: 'Will it never end?' Each day I hesitate - 'Shall I go on?' Each day i am pushed past my endurance; sick, nauseous, exhausted. Sleep? It eludes me. Food? No, it's worse when I have eaten. And now? Can I cry? Can I feel? I'm so numb! Is this me? I sleep. I eat. But the me inside is gone. No highs, no lows, no panic, no agony, no laughter, no tears - only an unnatural calm. The me inside is locked behind a wall. Forever? THE END COPYRIGHT 2002 MARCIA VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************************ On October 12th, 1999, after watching a tv program about a woman beaten by her husband, I couldn't get the awful tragedy out of my mind, so I wrote: CONFUSION Awake and restless, late at night. My thoughts go round and round. I hear a step out on the porch and then your knock - you're back in town. My heart starts racing and I look up. I wonder what I'll see. Will it be the look of love, shining from your eyes? Or one that glitters like a rock of fool's gold - full of lies? A spiteful slap? A sweet caress? Which awaits me? With hope in my heart, I fear to guess. THE END COPYRIGHT 2002 MARCIA VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ************************************************************************** Morning, 14 August 2002, I felt I should express my feelings about what happened this summer. This work is entitled: REFLECTIONS: JULY 2002 I thought the most I'd have to bear Was your not being here, but somewhere there. I thought: life goes on, The usual routine... But I was wrong, so wrong. Who could have seen? ............... A call in the night, not so unexpected. I wait for day's light, my child is affected. Starting years ago, We worried but hoped. We watched, talked, encouraged, But you slept or you moped. Sullen, so down, adrift, so alone. You needed some friends, to share with and phone. For awhile it happened, you were bright, busy, happy. But something went wrong. You changed, became snappy. You argued - all the time. Speech tempo increased. No time for answers, No time for sleep. Ego inflated, thinking non-stop, Your friends backed away, you sneered: 'Jerks, the lot!' Answers you wanted - right now, this second! 'Can't you see I'm busy, no time for reflection! I can do anything, noone can stop me! Invincible, too quick, too smart - you can't boss me!' Climbing so high, not as high as your mind! We thought you might fall - a question of time. You scoffed at our worries. 'Chill', you would say. 'Nothing can touch me or hurt me these days.' You bit out your words, So articulate and clear. Hands clenched, body stiff, Your eyes glittered and seared: 'I....K-N-O-W....W-H-A-T....I-'M....D-O-I-N-G. I-'V-E....N-E-V-E-R....F-E-L-T....B-E-T-T-E-R.' In manner and voice: looming, But controlled to the letter! Unaware that your manner just made us more afraid, That a problem existed, you continued the tirade: 'I-'M.... F-I-N-E....A-N-D....I-'M....H-A-P-P-Y!!' You said in a monotone, even but snappy. Then came the clincher, The ultimate aside: 'I-T-'S....N-O-N-E....O-F....Y-O-U-R....B-U-S-I-N-E-S-S! I-T-'S....M-Y....L-I-F-E.....I....D-E-C-I-D-E!!' Walking on egg shells, for the next verbal attack, Trying to keep peace, to cope with the flack, Your sister so angry, but sure you were sick. You brought her to tears. 'You need help', she said. 'Quick!' That night you seemed more rational and calm, As you left the house in the car with your phone. Perhaps you were starting to deal with your life... To gain some control, to minimize the strife. I hoped, as you left, that the night was a start. Getting back on track and playing it smart. A start it did prove, but not what we thought. The high culminated and intervention was sought. So angry, so sure a mistake had been made. Nothing was wrong, save your rights had been frayed. They took away your freedom, they doped you and watched. Made you sleep midst the 'loonies' and kept the door locked. No music, no computer, But books you could read. And paper to write on, and food when you need. So thirsty! You need water. 'It's probably drugged!' Forty-eight hours and you're out of this jug! The family - so concerned, all came together, To tell you we cared, judged not and would never. But you have to admit that the problem exists, Accept help, talk it through and work hard to get fit. Discipline, control, a routine to follow. Keeping busy and sleeping through the night til the morrow. ................... So quickly the world can turn upside down. Even with warning, the shock still resounds. To have to be strong, when you both are not here, Is more than what I think I can bear. Thank God for the kids! We help one another. We lean on each other, not 'kids and their mother'. But FAMILY, strong in their love and their trust. We can face any problem, together, all of us. But, oh, how I yearn for you to come home! When you're here, it's much easier for me to be strong. You are calm and so sure that with forethought and toil, We can help our child plan a way through this coil. And when you give vent to your thoughts and reflections, I can focus and think, add rebuttal and objections. To find the right way to help our young child, To get through each day, the rough and the wild, To find a balance and keep it throughout, Whatever may chance, within and without. THE END COPYRIGHT 2002 MARCIA VILHJALMSDOTTIR ALL RIGHTS RESERVED [Marcia] [Links] [Interests] [Personal] [Chatbox] [LiteraryPage]