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To Be Made Real
I share my poetry
with you because
it needs to be read
to be validated,
to be made real
for me.
I do not seek your praise.
If it touches you
in some way,
if it brings about
a connection
in your soul,
and you wish to
tell me,
then do so.
Otherwise,
it simply needs
to be read.
Otherwise,
why write?
I share my poetry
with you
because I trust you-
implicitly with
who I am.
I can give no other gift
as real,
or as precious.
I give you myself
©Sharon Terry
Change
Today is good,
But when you look closely
You will see the flaw.
It is gravely absent from your life,
And as you open to it,
You will notice where it strikes you,
At the heart.
Open to it, my friend.
Open to the flaw,
See it change,
Acknowledge it, and be whole,
For only in change
May life come anew.
Only in change will we meet again,
You and I.
©Sharon Terry
Autumn
I drive down the roads near our home.
They have changed
over the year.
It was a storm that changed
them most,
A violent, summer, wind storm.
It passed so quickly,
leaving the difference to last forever.
The big sprawling barn fell in
and now is burned,
opening the sky to my eyes
where there was no sky before.
The white house,
the one with the beautiful maples
spreading their carpet of leaves
this time of year,
all golden and yellow and red.
The house is still there.
The trees,
gone.
My beloved cherry tree,
the one they said wouldn't last,
which now brings the birds to our yard,
bends slightly toward the south.
Will it last the winter?
I wonder.
Change.
Measured by the seasons.
It is the way of nature,
they say,
but is it the way of woman?
of man?
Change.
It comes
and goes
and we grow accustomed to it,
and it becomes our reality,
and when change comes again,
we miss the change that was before.
The world around us
cannot stay the same
nor can the world
within.
What was there
becomes a memory.
What is there becomes
the new playground for the mind,
a new imprint,
a new vision,
a new memory for the future.
©Sharon Terry
Dreams
When the night approaches,
turning day into somersaults of memory,
I ponder what dreams may lie upon my pillow
casting shadows into my mind as I lie to rest.
Dreams do not awaken what is,
but what could be,
and, oh, how we shudder at those could be's
--Sometimes.
In reality there is stability in convention,
in knowing what to expect around us,
but in dreams--ahh--the doing of all sorts of
shameful things?
We shudder!
©Sharon Terry
2000
Your Dream
When you awaken tomorrow
To your dream,
Open the window wide.
You will listen
More clearly, then.
You will hear its voice in the wind,
You will open to its beckoning.
You will find peace
And understanding.
©Sharon Terry
Windows
Windows, You know,
We could get pretty deep
about windows.
They could be metaphors
for all kinds of
philosophical things.
But do you know what I think
about windows?
I like them.
You know why?
Because on a snowy day,
I can sit inside
And be warm,
And be outside, too.
©Sharon Terry
His Welcome
"I love you," cries my heart
In pain unbending.
Unyielding hope within my soul
Springs up from wells of love
Not yet tapped.
Hope springs forth bright and alive
As the morning wind brings the rain,
Rain my soul doth reach for
To quench the drought of thought
And hope not yet realized.
My soul doth long for Your glory,
Glory too bright to rise to.
Hope stirs the soul of joy
And brings life anew,
Full of dreams,
Real and imagined,
Yet whole and pure,
Seeking the light of day
As no dreams having gone before.
And You are there.
©Sharon Terry
Morning Dancing
The morning, ripe with the music of spring,
Sounds of the night in slumber.
Fermenting blossoms color the season.
A soft taste of wine kisses the air.
Beneath the earth a seed is dancing,
Giver of life.
©2002 Sharon Terry
Be Quiet, My Soul
Be quiet, my soul
and sever the cord to longing.
Hope beyond hope recognizes
the strength of all things.
Open the gate to
longings of the heart,
not the mind.
There is a difference
Don't you see?
Open the heart,
not the mind.
Open the heart,
not the mind.
You will find a way,
find a way.
You will find a way
Open the heart much as
you open the mind-
the same intensity,
the same longing,
but for spirit
instead of knowledge,
and we will enter.
Chittenango Falls
1.
Water pours through my soul,
The gates of hell
Closed once more
by the onrush.
Leaves of grass penetrate
into the spaces.
Earth rises up and touches my feet,
grounding me to it.
The corners of time are no more,
smoothed out by the flowing,
gushing, rushing sound.
The crow who lives here asks,
"What is all the fuss about?"
Little knowing his daily gift,
the sound of rushing waters.
2.
Rock walls rise majestically,
created by their very nature
of surrender to the earth's
ever changing give and take.
Outcroppings among trees and
plants reveal the wall of
rock beneath me on which I
sit, opposite to the wall I
see across the gorge.
Green has returned once more
to northern climes.
Thankfully, I stretch to
take it all in,
wishing a greater capacity
for awe.
3.
The side brook
had cut its own path
into the rock bed long ago,
making its own music
beside the loud, rushing stream.
Knowing its music was
but for few to hear did not
trouble it one little bit,
for it understood its own soul
and spoke only to those who
would come close enough
to hear and see.
And its voice was lovely.
4.
The rock ledge invited footsteps.
Irresistible, people climbed the
fence, disregarding signs and rules,
to sit on its platform.
5.
There is an old tree that
stands between the gushing, flowing
streams, (I wish I knew its name)
cut off by natural barriers
and unnatural fences.
Almost like a zoo animal,
it stands, inaccessible to
touch by those who are caught by
its beauty.
Tended by the
gardener of all gardeners,
untouchable except
through heart song.
Sharon Terry ©2011
The God of Truth, The God of Hope
I prayed to the God of truth, and God answered.
I prayed to the God of hope, and God answered.
Two answers stood side by side - two realities.
I believed that the answer of hope could be truth.
Hope, though longed for did not prevail,
For truth was truth, and hope could not avail.
I grieved with a broken heart.
I asked for healing, faith, and love,
Sharon Terry, May 13, 2013
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