Tag Archives: poetry

Eternal Rhythm

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Eternal Rhythm

The golden leaves fall,
fearing not the decay of
a coming winter.

Death is essential
to the renewal of life –
All will spring again.

If each in nature
can feel this simple rhythm,
so can humans too.

Why do we resist?
Our fears overshadow the
truth of our being.

But the fall leaves know,
they show us that we too will
green the tree anew.

Eternal Rhythm is from Soul Journey: The Poetry of Life. This post is a nod to All Souls’ Day (also known as The Day of the Dead), celebrated by many this weekend. They say the veil is very thin on Hallowe’en. Certainly I have had my own personal undeniable encounters with spirits who still linger.

Remember the ones you love, yes, but resist becoming trapped by the sorrow of their leaving. Celebrate life, always.

© Susan L Hart 2024

Crimson Reverie

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Friends send word
that it’s a stellar
autumn back home,
punctuated with pics
of unimaginable
flushes of perfect
color, ringing against
deep blue skies,
nudging my heart
to impossible
yearnings…

For long luxurious
walks scented
by Nature’s turning,
the poignant musk of
her full fruition,
apricot and crimson
ablaze with sunlight,
her dazzling glow
embracing me,
bending my mood
and contemplation.

Whoever could feel
tired or defeated
on such days?

I felt naught
but goodness and
rightness on these
halcyon treks,
Nature teaching me
the natural way
of everything –
It is not death,
but a tender
“see you later”,
only to rise up
again, transformed
in sweet green,
bidding me “hello”,
begging me to
walk and talk
of possibilities,
plans, the rebirth
of everything,
including me.

But just for awhile,
how my heart longs
to stroll once again
‘neath that crimson.

Crimson Reverie is an excerpt from Soul Journey: The Poetry of Life

Posting Crimson Reverie has become an autumn tradition for me. It’s a nod to home and its beauty, my love of nature and its rhythms, family and friends who I miss deeply, so much that I hold dear in my heart. It’s life.

Tick-tock Madman

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That round evil man
with his shallow pretty face
leers from my wall.
Cruelly and incessantly,
he chips away at my life
with his sharp little pick-axe.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

My days mete out
in an endless dribble of
tasks and responsibilities,
and he watches me.
Be on time, get it right!
Get up again, do it again.
and again, and again, and again.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

I thought he was my friend
that insidious little man,
Mom said he was!
Just dress for success,
always be on time,
and your life will be right.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

Then one day I woke up
and my life felt all wrong.
Where are my dreams
you cunning little man?
You stole them while
I toiled to your

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

Oh poacher of my hours!
Is there time for me?
Still hope for me?
The Me you took while
I played by the rules,
always obeying time.

And that smug little man
with his false pretty face
just stares coldly at me
from his unfeeling wall.
Silent he is, but for
the relentless

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

Tick-tock Madman is an excerpt from Soul Journey: The Poetry of Life

Melding

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Melding

Everything fades to dust
eventually,
the wheels of progress turn
inevitably.

The elders of the tribe
woefully,
remember times not lived
respectfully.

History hides secrets
illicitly,
of the big lessons doled
cruelly.

The past is only known
truthfully,
by the ones who lived it
successfully.

If young people listened
graciously,
to the old wisdom learned
painfully,

together they could build
splendidly,
a new vision that’s forged
lovingly.

Many indigenous cultures believe that under the symbol of the rainbow, humanity will come into balance with one another and the Earth to experience the Golden Age. However, first an alignment with spiritual values, a healing between brothers and sisters, and a renewed reverence and appreciation for the Earth must take place.

There is an ancient theme that runs through many American Native legends that warns of the devastation the European white man would bring to the land. However, the myths also promise that some time in the future, when the devastation (especially as it was wrought upon the native peoples and upon the land itself) was at its worst, spiritually aligned souls among peoples of all colors, peoples of the rainbow, would feel a calling of Spirit and come together to bring things back to proper balance.

These souls, who would do no violence and would work to end violence, would be called the Rainbow Warriors.

The time of the Rainbow Warriors has come.