I never thought I would write poetry and now writing it is a passion. This adventure started about 2 1/2 years ago after the loss of a friend. After her memorial service, I inexplicably wrote two poems and decided to share them. During almost two years, I wrote only about a half dozen. I was "waiting for inspiration". I finally came to understand that I did not need to wait; I needed to work. In the last seven months, I have written more than 20 poems.
The first poem I am posting is one of the original two. The second is more recent and deals with making the decision to take this journey wherever it leads me. I have come to realize that all of this is another gift from my friend Cynthia.
The garden was planted, out of love,
to surround the home of hospitality.
It became overgrown when the gardener
had to fight a different kind of weed.
The garden was restored, out of love,
by the friends the gardener had cultivated.
She left, too soon, to work in eternal fields.
The friendships she planted remain-perennials.
(In fond remembrance of Cynthia Gabel)
New dreams play in my mind
like a movie marathon of some kind.
They call out "Make us come true.
We are what is best for you."
The doubts creep in.
Is this a journey I want to begin?
I remember Grandma Moses' art.
She waited until her 70's to start.
You're never too old to make a change
and let new dreams extend your range.