Sarah Stewart Arts | Poetry
142
archive,category,category-poetry,category-142,tribe-no-js,tribe-bar-is-disabled,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,boxed,select-child-theme-ver-1.0.0,select-theme-ver-3.7,,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-5.0.1,vc_responsive

Currents

start here

 

before I knew you

before you could drift across the border of my dreams

before we sat on seawall’s edge and spoke of love and things

that rushed up to our doorstep

and retreated in silence so swift and strange

leaving broken things behind that currents rearrange

see how they sculpt so readily?

as if to entertain

and time

the constant conqueror of all things sharp

 

like pain

 

looking out upon the distance and direction since those days

I see how I have changed

weathered shell on window ledge:

microcosm in my hand

reminder where hearts once traveled

 

maps drawn across the sand

0

Lodged in the Atrium

(This poem has no beauty) let’s get that out of the way

Just an expression of where I am:

A nurse who is a poet or a poet who is nursing a career

That can’t get off the ground -no call button within reach

The day I performed my poetry in the atrium of the local hospital

I had no idea that it would be the atrium where I would get stuck

Lodged with no further passage 

No fibs here

There is a clot in the hiring process for nurses and medical staff

A fiscal septicemia runs rampant through the halls and channels

Paralyzing the movement of my resume

On its way from the atrium to the MOB…

Where I want to be nursing wounds that remain unapproximated-

The thought of the opening hanging out for a year makes me feel intoxicated

by the rush of potential energy unrealized here in the dark…

I have tried and tried and applied and applied

I’ve been told that I’m candidate number one once the logjam subsides

And fluidity of funding returns

So I can travel deeper into this dark sacred heart

To be routed to a distal appendage

In wound care

0

The Thief

The thief he spoke in compliments, in riddles and sideways glances

Had me wondering what romance is…

– With a thief

Stolen time,  (no, freely given)

He wears so well understated and underdressed

Why can’t I join the throng and be thoroughly unimpressed- with this professor of love unprofessed?

Instead I wander from potential to kinetic and fill the void with what ifs and other such pathetic

Reverie never reaching an understanding with this thief

Never mind – there is nothing there to find

But what was that he said?  Is this evidence of affection or is it all just in my head?

These are the thoughts that keep me wide awake instead of finding solace in the somnolence of bed

Photostatic copy of my own thoughts with a different filter-

He’s a new lens- same story and charmingly off kilter…

Is this him again just in different skin?

Another insincere bowman taking aim

or a coward playing a careless game of intellectual hit and run

– half won just the same!

He is but an apparition, a vaporous illumination of my own imagination

With no title no references no merit or station to deserve our weekly meeting in a war of attrition

How can something so tangible take meaningful shape within my soul-

And yet hang as immaterial as a name spoken in an empty room?

A shadow is seen but never in  the light -so is it real?

Strange rules of engagement and when this night is over I will need a new arrangement

He lets out just enough light to catch me and reach me-

Days later the sound and shape in absentia still preach to me

In sermons of scattered colors and sacred geometry

– he’s a cultured thief

Within my heart a prison (no, prism)

I keep the prize close to my chest, a heart not won, that mocks in jest my heads adoration of a thief

Whom I will never properly care for –never hold his face in my hands or utter a single prayer for

Consciously from the start I followed this blind shepherd into the dark

Now I’m reeling in what he could never treasure

A heart, mind, soul wide open- love without measure or angles or sideways glances-

No intellectual fodder will feed this fire- No more bait (no debate)

I’m FEARLESS in love and take my chances-

I know what true romances is-

And what it is not

Like my pitiful propensity to connect dots:

Compliments into a constellation

Hoping that it spells “L O V E”

And still he calls out from a lonely place

I know every line and wrinkle in that handsome beggar’s face-

Unreachable, unteachable

And closed

A riddling thief forever I suppose? Always smiling and slowly dying…

I don’t speak constellation

And I’m done trying!

There is a space next to me for a fiend (or a friend) -whichever you be-

But make up your mind

Is it next to me?

0

The Boy With Ocean Eyes

Wild and deep                                                                                                                                                                   Sand and sky                                                                                                                                                                         Surf and wave

Live to ride                                                                                                                                                                          Sand in hair                                                                                                                                                                         Feet in sand

Board in tow                                                                                                                                                                             Sun is high                                                                                                                                                                           Leash in hand

Paddle out                                                                                                                                                                         Hear the break                                                                                                                                                                    Time to stand

Can you feel                                                                                                                                                                     Ocean blue                                                                                                                                                                       Churns below?

Sand and sky                                                                                                                                                                     Live and die                                                                                                                                                                     Now and then

Ride and end                                                                                                                                                                        Surf or die                                                                                                                                                                         Back again

Sky and sand                                                                                                                                                                     Ocean eyes                                                                                                                                                                 Weathered hands

Ride and sky                                                                                                                                                                        Live to ride                                                                                                                                                                          Till the end

0

Bien Dans Sa Peau

Today I loved my own stillness
in silence I found good company
in my reflection: an old friend meeting as if for the first time
and the paradox nourished me like never before
“Bien dans sa peau”is a good place to be
What is life, but a story suspended
with pages torn-
Bookmarked for later mending
A smoothing in time
beyond the insecurities of youth
We find that the tick of the clock and the talk of the town
Mean nothing more
Than the tap of the keyboard
And the turning of a page
At the end of an era
We find our truest selves
Wanting nothing more
Than to be who we are
right now
0

Starcrossed

Love, you are the color of my dreams
Pools of sky dripping into rushes and reeds
It’s calling me
But I can barely breathe
When you’re up there and I’m in between
Love, if I could break into your world
If the stars fell up
I would be your pearl
And we could talk
Like we do right now
If I could swim to you somehow
Love, if I could have my heart’s desire
Just one wish -it would be
To bring me lower and take you higher
That a bird may love a fish
Eternally
0

Ode to the Heart

by Sarah Stewart
(Where is fancy bred in the heart or in the head?)

Oh beating life spring whose perpetual flame
In humor
doth forsake its name
and in chambered whispers and venus hums
take upon a role not won
But the poet’s pen in er doth claim:
Tis throne to loves impetuous reign

Think ye not that we are snared by a more superior way
Than within our breasts droning lair?
On Turkish chair sits fickle master
Leathery batwings in belfries fly much faster than
Butterflies and starry eyed synapses
love is but a series of lapses
in sanity
this technicolored spell binds all humanity with strange threads
from hearts to heads
from graves to beds

today I write in defense of said poetic centre
the scapegoat for slings and arrows to enter
She takes no rest as the poet by day
Now writing in jest of her noble way
Yet boast she may in constant care
the tightrope walk
The balance of science and art
To spare us life interrupted
And so she wears the mask of a fool at play
For who would clasp their head in a heartache
Would be looking more like a headache
Though they seem to end up the same

0

All Roads Lead to Home

by Sarah Stewart

Plant the seeds that will soon be sprouting
Listen the earth in colour is shouting:
All things new, no room for doubting!
All roads lead to home

Breathe the fire of restless summer
The earth she toils in sweat and thunder
Feeding green things that lie asunder
All roads lead to home

Gather in the harvest plenty
Gracious mother provides for many
Let no hearts or hands go empty
All roads lead to home

Walk amongst the snowy deep
Atop earth secrets that she keeps
Eyes wide open while others sleep
All roads lead to home

And the earth will surely teach us
All roads lead to home

0