And Matthew said to me:
‘He is a god of new beginnings
And taught me how to garner mercies.’
Then he turned and followed his king
To rest in Our Mother’s arms.
©jsmorgane (Sept 2014)
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Tag: poem
Growing Pains
I think we go through life choosing the easy way,
Remaining well within our comfort zone of
Just enough and not too much.
And, really, don’t we have enough on our plates
Without worrying about moral obligations.
We fit ourselves snugly into patterns and routines –
A shell to shield us from unpleasant confrontation.
But every now and then that shield will crack and
In a great upheaval my soul will stretch and grow,
Burst forth like a volcano hot and raw.
Last night, through pain and much discomfort,
My soul outgrew its shell and I’ve been standing
Very still to wait, to catch my breath and to expand,
To catch up and contain again what you
With brutal honesty a bitter truth revealing,
Have questioned, battled, then implored.
That better part of me which you have called upon
And so has come to know a greater way of being.
Without a shell but with a veil of thankfulness and gratitude,
A blessing on your own sweet self.
© jsmorgane (July 2014)
Sonata in C Major
I know a girl –
I don’t pretend to know her well –
But something in the way
She talks to you and me
Reminds me of a piece of music…
… Mozart on the piano.
Right hand fluidly flitting
Over the keys, a happy little tune.
Contained, well-structured, perfectly timed.
Left hand introducing a deeper theme,
The smallest finger tracing a line –
C#, d, b, a, g, f#, b, g, a, g…
Both hands in treble clef but
Slowly showing a darker meaning,
A different story hidden
Amongst the cheerful notes.
That’s how she is – fun and easy,
And all so well laid out,
The clothes, the smiles, the city trips,
The babysitter organised.
For pick-up the family-friendly limousine,
The carefree wave of hand ‘Goodbye!’
Yet we all know
Who sits behind the wheel,
And Mozart’s music starts to play
Each time her lover’s name finds mention
In light-hearted conversation about hats
And this year’s Season.
The minor variation in the Andante –
Heart-rending and beautiful,
Like her artistry, pretty and bright
And gone smoky at the edges.
Like Mozart’s sonata a masterpiece.
When I play it on a long, warm
Summer’s evening,
I step into her half-divined,
Half-imagined life and marvel at
Two works of art, wondering if
I can trace the one –
Like my fingers do the other –
To an ending in a major key…
© jsmorgane (May 2014)