Love Flows Deep

Photography by Edouard Boubat

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 68
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“Every seashell is a broken star scattered in the sand.  A tiny wisp of the ocean lies trapped in it throbbing, for a lost wish.”    ~Author unknown

My grandmother had a huge conch seashell that she used as a door stop.  Her home was an old small house that was probably un-level making doors not stay ajar, but I loved it there.  My most fond childhood memories were there with my grandparents.  For years in my adulthood I would go to that place in my dreams.   A simple old house that held an ocean of lovely memories, much like that seashell that my grandmother had convinced me held the sounds of the sea deep inside for me to hear.

Love finds us

and holds us close

Tight yet gentle

Like a mother’s arms

We learn to hold on

And then we carry it with us

Through storm’s journey

And sunny shores

No matter how far off we drift

it remains close enough to hear

It is a majestic ocean

Within our veins

And we can never be lost

If we learn to truly listen 

To our heart

The Splendor of Simple Things

Linking with Toni's wonderful Wednesday Muse "Butterflies"

Would that I might
always have the heart
of chasing butterflies!
~Japanese hokku

In a world full of

 loud trucks

 crime

 and heartache

It is wonderful to have

 the softer and sweeter things

in life

like a light shower in summer

 rainbows across the sky

  flowers and butterflies.

When Words are Truly Free

"One Day I'll Fly Away"  Photography by Hayley Richards

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Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 66
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Some birds are poets and sing all summer. ~Henry David 

Once my words were caged

Strangled by silence

Like a shy child

They lingered close

In quiet spaces

Whispering in my ear

where no one else would hear

But with time they grew

And so did I

Old cages get rusty

but old birds still fly

now the silence is stifled by words

they reach far places

like migrating birds.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

Listen Hard

Linking with Toni's wonderful Wednesday Muse for Night Sounds
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The day has eyes; the night has ears. ~David Fergusson

In the suburbs one only hears sirens

 and creeks in the halls

no owls no frogs

nor cricket calls

You have to venture

To your own back yard

To hear nature’s voice

In the suburbs you must listen hard.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

Note:  When I was a child I used to stay with my babysitter a lot and she lived on a farm right off the I-35 freeway.  Of course, they kept their windows open to have a breeze and throughout the night you could hear the semi-trucks barreling down the highway.   We were in the middle of a beautiful farm with all the animals you would imagine a farm would have, and that is the sound that I heard most at night.  It was soothing in a way.  A periodical hum that put me to sleep many a night and yet would wake me up as well.  

Photo: Courtesy Google Images

What the Heart Can Hold

Today Toni over at Imaginary Gardens is asking us to write a poem from a quote.
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My closet is becoming smaller

Condensing like a garbage compactor

With so many more things stuffed in every year

But my heart finds more and more places to fill

 no matter how large the size or high the price

It grows like a child in winter

And no matter the cost
it always longs for more.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

Our Hearts Always Hold Them Close,

the butterfly jar by lostinthisphotograph 

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 63


Grief — the great redefiner of life. ~Terri Guillemets

Loss is a burden that we carry with us quietly

And sometimes others eyes do not see

Though it echoes loudly in the holders’ heart

With all the beauty that we touch and come to know

We hold on to love the hardest

Wanting its beauty to linger like a butterfly on display

“Stay with me a little longer my love”

Is what my heart always whispers

But this life has its own plans

Heaven has another time line

That our eyes cannot hold

When we must let go

Sometimes our heart still feels their touch

And still hears their voice in song

seeing their beauty in what remains

and their smile in others that share their last name

loss is a burden that we carry with us quietly

sometimes others eyes do not see

though it echoes loudly in the holders’ heart

those that we have had the blessing to love in this life

come to know a deeper freedom

and our spirits must let them go

but our heart always holds them close

no matter what skies they truly fly.

For Lauren and Seth

Grandchildren both in Heaven’s sweet embrace and always in our hearts.

This week it will be one year since my beautiful Granddaughter Lauren went to Heaven joining my wonderful Grandson Seth who went to Heaven before her in 2000.  Losing someone so young is a grief that is hard to capture in words.  It leaves a gaping hole in our heart and that cannot be filled by anything else in this world.  We hold on tightly to what we hold dear, and letting go is not an option for the heart.  All I can say is this; it will be a beautiful reunion when flying into Heaven’s gates, a beautiful reunion indeed!

A Lullaby I Shall Sing to You and Me

Linking with the Sunday Muse hosted by my awesome friend Shay this week for Muse # 62
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Life is one grand, sweet song, so start the music. ~Ronald Reagan

I dare you to go truly live outside your own front door

Step beyond the side walk’s edge

Venture past the corner store

Drive on down to the county line

Speed past the city

And then take some time

To live to dream to sing to be

Under the blue sky wild and free

I dare you to listen to each song

And then dance and loudly sing along

Don’t just sit and watch the band

 get a tambourine

 move and clap your hands

While you live and dream and sing and be

Under blue skies wild and free

I dare you

to truly live

I dare you

And I dare me!

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

Poetry of the Sea

Photo by Erik Johansson Master Photo-Manipulation Artist

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 61
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The ocean does not preach a sermon

Though it has much to tell

That it shares with the moon and every sea shell

It bravely tells as it swells to the shore

Deep like a poet that speaks high to the sea gulls that soar

But Its stories are not heard by man and his makings

For he does not hear when he is too busy taking

He builds and he builds as he strips from the land

It is a sad truth widely known by each grain of sand

So the sea keeps on moving and reaching out

Whispering a message of longing that is true no doubt

For The ocean does not preach a sermon

Though it has much to say

It is heard not in man’s churches but in each unsettling wave.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

County Fair Second Place Preserves

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Linking with wonderful Toni's Wednesday Muse # 13 ~Berries

I am a jar of crazy eyed musings

And you can set me on any shelf and my peripheral vision will not spoil

A mix of wise pondering and scattered ideas

That jell perfectly in a soft berry muse

Spread me on a blank page

Take small bites

Some may be sticky

But sweetness will roll off your tongue

In between the bites

May be a little tart

please take all it in slowly

Life is sweet poetry

And so is breakfast and berries

If you look at it

With a poet’s heart.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

Note: 

I do not have any wonderful memories of picking berries with my parents, but the lady that watched me after my mother passed away was a farm lady named Odessa and I would go out in the field with her many times picking vegetables and such.  Every year she would go to the County Fair with her latest preserves, and she would let me help her make some so that I could have my own jar to put in the contest.  I think I won second place one time.  My memories of her and the simple life they lived, is etched on my heart, and I am certain that it is in the simplicity of growing and sustaining life that poetry is truly born. 

Thirst of Another Kind

Photography by Carlo Pautasso

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 59
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"They roll by just like water 
And I guess we never learn 
Go through life parched and empty 
Standing knee deep in a river and dying of thirst."
~Kathy Matea

It is desolate in the place of longing

Where I wait for you to notice me and

  quench my desire with more than a passing nod

You with your fountain eyes that never flow my direction

Could you not see me withering away with pining

I would have soaked up anything you would have given me

Hung on your words like petals on a flower

For thirsty is a place that drowns in yearning

Dry throats do not crumple like leaves

But hearts do

Leaving nothing to fall to the ground

But regret

And that is the most desolate place of all.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019