Beautiful Bittersweet Life Poems

Exploring the world of life and grief through poetry.

Tag: Poems

  • In the Arms of a Tree

    In the Arms of a Tree

    I sink down on the stone bench
    And let the tree envelope me in her arms.
    Its limbs reach out in all directions
    Providing me space to drop the weight that I’m carrying
    With the promise that they will protect me.

    I close my eyes, and breathe deeply,
    As my body releases its tension,
    Allowing my ears to be my guide
    To the message that nature needs to impart
    As I take a break from the world.

    The water falls from the small fountain
    With its steady trickle
    Drip, drip, dripping a rhythmic beat
    Into the pond below.

    The birds provide the choir
    As they call each other.
    Each sings their own tune,
    Whistling and trilling as they look for their mate
    Or for the joy of being alive.

    The shuffling of feet along the path
    As people wander back and forth in this alcove
    Provides a steady hum of life.
    Voices muted as they take in the beauty that surrounds them.
    Overhead, planes fly unaware of the quietude below.

    This tree is my haven,
    A steadfast presence no matter what is going on
    In the world or my head.
    It’s rooted in my consciousness, bringing me calm

    Even when I’m not in its presence.
    I’m transported to this tree in my mind’s eye.
    My breathing quiets
    And I find my serenity again.

  • Broken Lens

    Broken Lens

    Nature’s beauty spreads before me,
    Begging to be photographed
    But the lens is broken when
    I take off its cover.
    Sometimes, it’s spider cracks.
    Other times, chunks of glass are missing.
    Each time, it takes me unawares.
    How can I forget that my lens hasn’t been repaired?
    But the camera sits on the shelf, in pristine shape.

    It’s my brain misfiring, straining my eyes.
    I still see the beauty.
    The ability to capture that moment is still there.
    With folly, I put myself out there like I’m the old me
    Snapping away as if I can trick my brain.
    But my eyes, my eyes, they refuse to cooperate
    “Rest,” they say. It’s too much.
    It will cost you. Are you willing to pay the price?

    And so, I must listen to the wise voice,
    The one who cares for me,
    Being okay with the unknown future,
    Finding new ways to express myself.

    This poem was inspired by a dream that I kept having. I would be somewhere in nature, see the perfect shot, only to have an unusable camera. It was only after I realized it was my brain trying to deal with visual vertigo and I wrote this poem that the dreams stopped.

  • Under Construction

    Under Construction

    The blockades are set up
    And the caution tape skitters in the breeze
    Warning, merge left, merge right
    Detour this way,
    This road is under construction
    Until further notice.

    It’s uncomfortable having the road torn up,
    Reshaped, uncertain of what it will look like.
    Every day the street looks messier.
    Will it be days, months, years
    until it is back to normal and
    traffic adjustments and restraints are done?

    How glorious it is when
    The barricades are removed.
    The wheels move smoothly over
    The fresh black tar roads, relief replacing
    Frustration and despair.

    I will find joy in driving on this
    Quiet road for as long as it lasts,
    Knowing that potholes will return,
    And it will be upended again.

    This poem was inspired by the continual road construction that is going on. I always feel a sense of frustration with the delays. Then I turn it inwards, reflecting on how my life is constantly under construction. Those times are often overwhelming, and I wish I could skip them. But once I’ve walked through those changes, I come out feeling and functioning better than when I started. This perspective also helps me when I must undergo another excavation, knowing that I will continue to grow.

  • 13 Christmases

    13 Christmases

    Traditions change as time moves on.

    From the magical mornings of childhood,
    Standing at the top of the stairs,
    Waiting for the sheet to be pulled down
    That would reveal the awaiting presents under the lit tree.

    Teenage years met with the blasé response
    That occurs with the knowledge of who has
    left the presents
    And the angst of adolescence.

    How fresh the season felt as we celebrated
    Our first Christmas as a married couple.
    Watching holiday movies and shows,
    Our tree decked out, carols playing.
    Celebrating our joy together, alone,
    Before spending time with family.

    With the birth of our children brought a new enchantment
    as we saw the excitement of Christmas through their eyes.
    They’d wait at the top of the stairs,
    Like when I was a child,
    Their little bodies vibrate with anticipation
    Of what Santa left.

    This is the before world,
    The world that I could make sense of.
    The one where you were still with me.
    Thirteen years have passed since we celebrated
    Our last Christmas,
    Not knowing it would be our last.

    Those first years were brutal,
    From Thanksgiving until the new year
    My body ached with missing you.
    Tears came easily as the decorations and music
    That once brought delight
    Now were hollow and painful.

    I’d avert my eyes as I’d get groceries
    From the festive lights and messages of joy and togetherness,
    but I could not block out the singers blaring from the speakers
    through the aisles, with their empty promises of Christmas peace.

    Our family traditions changed.
    What once was Christmas Eve
    Dinner around the dining table
    was replaced with dinner
    At a local restaurant,
    No reminders of Christmas past.

    With time, the pain eased, though never erased.
    Every year, no matter how well I think I’m doing,
    The grief hits me during December, and I’m
    Still surprised by the ache. This was your favorite season,
    When you found the most peace.

    Now, I live alone.
    I get to choose how I observe Christmas.
    The decorations are minimal, the baking has been reduced.
    Christmas Eve and day are celebrated with my found families.

    I still wear the last Christmas gift you gave me,
    A silver Mobius strip on a chain.
    It reads, “I love you. I love you more.”
    The message of love and connection
    That is never-ending.

  • Right on Time

    Right on Time

    So many times, I feel I’ve
    Arrived late to  the party.
    Discovering a  play or music,
    Only to find out that it’s been around for ages.

    But was I really late
    Or was it the exact right time?
    When I needed a change in direction,
    a new path to follow when the old road was no longer available.
    When my mind and heart we’re ready to explore this new opportunity.

    As I’ve had to deal with new challenges, I have found joy in
    The talents that I did not know existed, the possibilities of a new me.
    Being open has allowed me to work within my limitations and find that
    There’s still so much more to experience
    If I’m willing to be open to this imperfect messy life.