Poetry – Page 6 – J. Ruth Kelly

Blossoms Unrelenting

we drink of depths in
resonating moonlight’s call,
unknowingly bound
to a love whose song
blossoms unrelenting in
the rise and fall of
our worst stumblings making us
more nimble, bruised but
tender, used for all the best
of thunder’s drumming.
some ancient humming
we refuses all the loss…
and rhythm, rhyme and meter disintegrate
in the flow of all this living undoing structure and hope
making something sturdier, something resonating to the past
to the future
into the now and
grabbing at my heartstrings, yours, plucking away,
strumming and fretting us along our days
with promise bigger than maybes or pinings away
for days yet to be,
just the being here now and
no matter how much I push you away,
refuse the heartache of what might never be,
nothing ever shatters, severs or shames
the feltness of your unfolding against my skin
these blossoms unrelenting pull me in, wrecking
all my walls meant for safety
flooding fields in sunlight, conjuring blooms
hid long from sight, stirred by
our moon’s wondering ministrations.

j. ruth kelly, 2015, all rights reserved

June 1, 2015June 1, 2015

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A Strange Feast

Spent petals fall to the ground…
closing in…
no more will you hear so much from heart.
Maybe then we can survive
this tide of blithe, unkind,
belittling,
begrudging find.
Maybe too much spills and roars
from depths long lost on those ears,
so…
here’s to days of still and silence.
Pass me the pin, the tag,
the warning sign that says
without saying:
“I’m in silence.”
Let it sound out a rhythm
and grin in the hush of my flow.
Maybe something new grows in the wake
of all the granted taken tokens
rarely really known and sown
far too profusely to be seen here.
So,
raze the fields’ constant yields
with daily ingratitude
and my burgeoning awareness…
and let’s sit in all we don’t say
as all the harvested silence holds sway
in the court of my alleged guilt.
Maybe then new words can bloom
when scales from eyes melt,
revealing a strange feast.

May 24, 2015May 25, 2015

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Blossoms

all the crushing tides,
rivulets, flashing bolts of
life, light, fire and ice
carve these etchings’ speak
and harden, encase tender
flow while seeds erupt
magic, making me
in spite of, because of all
these shredding life songs

April 6, 2015April 8, 2015

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Set Fire to Heaven…

“I carry a torch in one hand
And a bucket of water in the other:
With these things I am going to set fire to Heaven
And put out the flames of Hell
So that no one worships God
for fear of hell or greed of heaven.”
Rabia, Eighth-century Sufi mystic poet

Photo Courtesy of Dave Grant, 2011, 2015

April 5, 2015April 6, 2015

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silence stills

stripping life fells me
white silence stills sweet movement
’til the blooming sings

(I haven’t posted in months due to surreal challenges with CFS/ME and all the stripping life can be even without disease. The passing of two precious souls in February overwhelmed me and well, and. Life will, ultimately, dress us up in our naked humanity revealing the simple truth that with or without great health, with or without traditionally-held realities of identifiable productivity…love is all the reason to keep on, even if it’s a bit of a crawl with rebellious outbursts of dance. Here’s to better days.)

March 11, 2015March 11, 2015

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Earth Awaits

brilliant-coloured birds tend their silence here, perching on stillness and heart’s ache, a hushed fear catching in their throats, poised against a hope we’ve lost sight of in life’s cruel twists…

whose song will they next sing for us, breaking out upon the night a memorial of life precious, fleeting? surely their melodies weave eternal tapestries from the light of each heart that has ached and joyed before us and will flow onward, grasping our own and those yet to come…

let us hear their silence and know all the earth aches for each one of us.

and when their songs fall again on our ears, may we be gently enclosed in the comfort of their epochs, our stories alighting on trees, interwoven with the spirits of all nature, whispering into valleys, bursting along rivers we may never see, yet filling hearts with melodies uniquely given by each of our lives…

let us hear the love and know all the earth awaits our answering songs.

but for now the womb of silence weeps. the songbirds listen,
holding sorrow’s breath…

j. ruth kelly, all rights reserved, 2014

November 5, 2014November 5, 2014

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Red Runs Deep

pounded by rain, shine…
elements crushing seed’s code…
still I bloom red, soft.

now maybe the dark
envelopes all I believed
but warmth lingers, light

in my veins: a story
of days on the horizon,
blooming life anew.

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

September 4, 2014

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The Moon’s Say So…

The heart of the soles of my feet of dancing sigh…they ache on earth pulsing a song long begun, hearing ancient knowing, yearning through the toes to the top of my head.

No ounce of will can bend the tides without the moon’s say so. No gumption of the reddest desire can re-write the years gone by or shift the mountain aside.

So, my feet wait and sigh, humming earth tunes through my being, reminding centuries of roots stretching deep, breathing life in spite of all the carnage haunting dreams left wanting.

And to my end this may be the most these soles know: to grow old in the hum of an ancient song and wait for the next expression of love, to know that only those gifted with fortunate favor and a timing divine make it beyond the mountain and across the sea, only those who dig deep find the center – the one source shaping stories for love’s next challenge, to know one’s failing may be the other’s best and that a world crawling on her knees never gets invited to the wedding feast.

Courtesy Of Dave Grant, 2011 - 2014 — Courtesy Of Dave Grant, 2011 – 2014

July 26, 2014July 26, 2014

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Safe Harbor

“One cannot have doubt about that which he wishes to trust. To trust love you must be convinced of love. One cannot admit what he does not yield to. To yield to love you must be vulnerable to love. One cannot love what he does not dedicate himself to. To dedicate yourself to love you must be forever growing in love.” Leo Buscaglia

shore breaks here whisper
something about constancy.
love knows all our fears

tossing in tides of
change. we cling to sea’s uproar
’til the silence sighs

and we float ashore,
tumbling mystery and
faith in what we know.

Blog Post Image 2014 — j. ruth kelly, 2014

July 17, 2014

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Bloomers and Braids

Gonna buy me some fabric at the store by the coastal mystery, the one with no roof

and no walls ‘cept for rows and rows of fabric rolled up waiting for newness and creative wonder

and a woman whose hair is white, her hands full of keys, so many keys as she laughs at me, but not mocking.

She’s on the shoreline in the white sand at the counter and the cash register is awaiting her usual purchase. As we laugh and talk, her man is hiding amongst all those reams of fabric, spying out at me, knowing.

His dark highlights contrast against all the pale sand and call to a sea just within reach.
He trusts implicitly the woman with all those keys.

Gonna make me some bloomers from the fabric or, maybe no, I’ll do what the beautiful woman told me to do, “Order it from a catalog” ’cause…

I’ll be too busy having fun, too much going on to bother with patterns and eyelet fabric. Or sewing machines.

But fabric, I’ll abide. It hides all the best secrets and covers the future in white refusal of shame.

Gonna go find those hair bands and all the jewel-toned loose ends plaited neatly into silver sync.

And I will laugh.

And laugh. As the man behind the bolts of fabric, standing there in his safe fear-filled haven hides
and waits for the bloomers to reveal his best days: Unafraid.

One day, I’ll see his face.