Mother Nature's Depression

Because, sometimes Mother Earth gets depressed for a day or two, just like we do...

Mother Earth's Depression

I think we could
all take a lesson from Mother Earth in
handling our depression.
It
comes,
it
torments,
it sits
it stays,
it blows our spirit and soul away.
It seeps, it infilitrates, discombobulates.
And then,
she
sleeps
she eats
she blows it away.
Refreshes
defeats(repeat)
and gathers strength to fight the new day.

Pure Heart by Tirsa Stewart

Pure Heart

6:30. Too early and he's awake.
Cooing and gooing in my bed,
smacking the covers and my head.
He leans his face on mine to entreat me.
I kiss his cheek with tender affection.
Dropping an inch his head meets the crest of the pillow.my lips still sweeping that perfect skin.
His pleasure must be greater than mine; his eyes close.
I follow up and kiss his closed eye,
his tiny brow,
his precious head.
Pleasure and peace have overcome him.
Deep breathing. He is asleep.
I arrange him.
He is asleep.
I arrange me.
He is asleep.
I hear him and feel him and...
I cannot sleep.
Wondering at the thought that some kisses brought him such joy
And he received it so fully.
A pure heart is simple, and thought breaks not it's intelligence.

Friendship

Friendship

It is more painful than death,

the death of someone that still breathes the mountains’ breath.

Why can’t we stay as roots of the Aspens do---interlocking

not just the will to survive, but the will to thrive

through the sun-beating summer,

the always fatal fall, isolating winter, succulent spring?

Let us stand as one.

Let us not demand dominion one over the other.

Or else, let the sun’s blades sweep, slice, dice---

fillet our intertwined roots,

slow bake them to

feed the new baby Aspens.

Aidas

Recently looking through my poetry from college, I've realized how much I dislike the "worked" "edited" and "polished" versions of my originals. I like how raw they are in the beginning, and for me and my writing style, I feel that normally the first writing best describes my feelings. If I can better the poem without altering the feelings conveyed, great. If not, best leave it as originally written. Until I become a pro at workshopping it, writing it, re-writing it, re-writing it, and then liking what I have produced, I'll stick with the ones I like. The originals. This was written when Aida, my first girl, was just a few months old. Aida is a type of canna lily. I was feeling secluded from the life and freedoms I had previously had, but no feeling can beat out the love for your kiddo :)

Aidas

Nothing has changed,

yet.

Same lack of desire, thrill---

I am a light-bulb flickering out.

Nightly cries are alarms

repeatedly beep

beep

b e e p i n g,

reminding me of

what is gone, telling me 

something's missing.

I get a knot in my chest.

Night leaves every day

and the thick, warm sunshine reminds me

that time will bring growing,

leaving,

missing.

She smells like nature after

having endured a beating rainstorm---

fresh.

And just breathing her in

relieves this knot in my chest.