Yellow Butterfly (for Emma)

Every moment gives a gift
An opportunity to see
A yellow butterfly land
On the pool deck to give
The daughter a smile
She seemed to have lost.

Happy birthday my sweet girl.

Image: Butterfly Painting – Sunflower Butterfly Yellow Gold by JQ Licensing

Posted for my good friend Chuck at The Reluctant Poet, he has been searching far and wide for this post… here you go my friend.

https://thereluctantpoetweb.wordpress.com/2017/09/04/yellow-butterfly/

The Week in Review (8/11/18) – New Beginnings and Old Connections

Original followers of the SailorPoet blog now retitled Pointed Home may recall The Week in Review feature where I would reflect on what was written the week prior, look ahead to my writing plans for the week, share a multitude of links, and occasionally offer a reflection on what the week meant to me.

Its back. Over the last year, I have deconstructed and reconstructed my life. No need to go into details here, as I develop my new blog, MySevenStoreys (https://mysevenstoreys.blog/), I suspect enough of that story will be revealed to help followers of my writing understand some meaning behind the words. I note the important thing this week bringing back this feature: new connections and reconnections. From Otters to Bobcats, Domers to Norfolkians, Baristas to Sailors, I reflect with gratitude on all who have believed in me and stuck around.

So, what went down last week? First an invitation to the Go Dog Go Cafe and the return of my good friend Gina, one of the original baristas who has resumed her reflections on the week at the Cafe with her Come Sit With Me series. The Baristas at the cafe, new and old, are thrilled to have Gina back after a particularly trying year for her:

11th August 2018 – Come Sit With Me – In the Go Dog Go Tree Top Café

Continue reading

Begins Its Beat

So the chorus sings together, I hear them:
This is me, this is me, and this is me, no apologies.
And all of a sudden my chest opens up
To the flood it had held back like risk.

These words, too simple to be accepted
Now break down all of the barriers built
And all of a sudden my chest opens up
My heart brave, begins to more than throb.

It glows and drowns the darkness
This is me, this is me and I deserve your love.
And all of a sudden my chest opens up
My heart absorbs the flood and begins its beat.

My Voice:

The past month, I have been healing with my children and some amazing friends. I thank a one very good friend in particular for introducing me to The Greatest Showman one evening that provided a needed rudder shift. This week’s song of the week, the majestic and entrancing anthem, This Is Me, inspires and tonight I felt something change for good inside me. I am not sure this poem puts a finger on it, perhaps it does, perhaps it doesn’t, but something new now begins its beat.

The Song:

The Lyrics:

This Is Me
Keala Settle, The Greatest Showman Ensemble
Songwriters: Justin Paul / Benj Pasek

I am not a stranger to the dark
Hide away, they say
‘Cause we don’t want your broken parts
I’ve learned to be ashamed of all my scars
Run away, they say
No one’ll love you as you are

But I won’t let them break me down to dust
I know that there’s a place for us
For we are glorious

When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I am brave, I am bruised
I am who I’m meant to be, this is me
Look out ’cause here I come
And I’m marching on to the beat I drum
I’m not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me

Oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh, oh

Another round of bullets hits my skin
Well, fire away ’cause today, I won’t let the shame sink in
We are bursting through the barricades and
Reaching for the sun (we are warriors)
Yeah, that’s what we’ve become (yeah, that’s what we’ve become)

I won’t let them break me down to dust
I know that there’s a place for us
For we are glorious

When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I am brave, I am bruised
I am who I’m meant to be, this is me
Look out ’cause here I come
And I’m marching on to the beat I drum
I’m not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me

Oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh, oh
This is me

and I know that I deserve your love
(Oh-oh-oh-oh) ’cause there’s nothing I’m not worthy of
(Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh, oh)
When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
This is brave, this is proof
This is who I’m meant to be, this is me

Look out ’cause here I come (look out ’cause here I come)
And I’m marching on to the beat I drum (marching on, marching, marching on)
I’m not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me

When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I’m gonna send a flood
Gonna drown them out
Oh
This is me

This Is Me lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

Treasure Chest

Their voices travel
Thousands of miles
Through desert heat
Bringing tales, comfort;
Small nuggets of gold
Such sweet wealth!

Together, we mine life
Revel in its wealth.
We don’t sift dirt
For fool’s dust,
Our treasure overflows
Smiles and laughter.

No one can hunt
Our treasure map
No spot is marked,
Nothing to be buried.
Nothing can hold
This treasure.

Little feet mark the trail
Joyous calls discover
On the beach on our island:
A Frog!
A Giraffe!
A Lizard!

This treasure chest
Holds life’s truth
Holds life’s joy

When the Doll Broke (for Emma)

When the doll broke, shattered on the floor
What did she find inside the dusted shell?
Did daddy leave a note tucked away in the leg –
Some words that would remind her of a love
He promised would never fade like the linens
The doll wore everyday, no matter the occasion.
By the time she discovered it, would her heart be
Repaired well enough to beat a regular rhythm
When she saw his name or remembered his picture
Turned down on the dresser with the other dolls
Collected on his travels, now just dust-laden?
The good book talks about dust to dust, and this
Dust feels like the blood from his heart when it
Was admitted to the floor of a life left with crumbs
Of a plan, of a hope, of a stitched patchwork claim
Of promises long ago tossed in a barrel over the falls.
Now he walks down the path that had the better claim
Having blazed the trail back to that divergence
In the yellow wood. He stared down both again,
With a deep sigh, saw the trodden one and turned
Away from it, choosing instead the one his heart
Called him to take when he wasn’t listening, when
He thought its regular beat could not be trusted.

Image: Girl Accident Broken Doll by Henri Guillaume Schlesinger (German painter, 1814-1893)