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Songs of Life and of Love
Poetic inspiration is a strange thing.
My experience of it has been like lightning striking;
a deeply felt emotion births a frenzy or urge of creation.
These moments began for me when I was in my teens.
I can't say that I work hard at my poetry.
Rather, it flows from some unconscious part of me
nearly fully formed: only revision requires any conscious
effort on my part. And writing it down, of course.
My Poems
Oh, I Want Blue Skies and Freedom
Gazing out the wet bus window
Tiny droplets green and silver
Inverted, gleaming miniature worlds
Changing always
Only a shimmer
And then they fall
Walking down an autumn path
Laughing, dodging wet, red leaves
Water racing through the pebbles
Brushing past the sparkling grass
Gold and sweeping
Jewelled raindrop rests on a rose
Brushes off then is soon replaced
One among a thousand others
Each a perfect miracle
I offer to you
Being a physician doesn't matter.
Practicing medicine matters.
Having lots of patients doesn't matter.
Patients matter.
Women matter.
Your wife matters more.
Men matter too.
Your husband matters more.
Children matter a lot.
Our children matter the most.
Take time for the things that matter
And the rest
Doesn't matter.
two--maybe three metres off
from where I sit
balanced
A sandy cliff plunges
and breaks
against sharp gravel
scattered on the edge of
An eternal ocean.
Beside me
a ragged bristlecone creaks
and sighs grey, ancient memories
while below it
a new shoot struggles
for existence
Above an eagle screams
and wheels
on the warm Pacific thermals
sighting death
for a prey meters below
Here
She came when she had only one month to go.
With a two year old boy and a one year old girl,
Standing strong and alone at the door:
Golden skin framed in black leather.
I was her counselor, so I went with her.
She told her story:
This coming child was a child of rape.
She'd been drinking, it was a biker's party.
She couldn't really recall how it happened.
But five abortions had taught her,
Along with that final, late miscarriage,
That human life is precious--
Even a life begun in a hateful moment.
She'd had a rough life,
With never a soft, still moment:
Running with the wild ones,
Selling her body to survive.
Would someone pay for this adoption? She asked.
No, I said, but there were so many empty homes
For a new baby just like hers.
OK, she said, and found a lawyer
And parents too, all on her own.
The day arrived, the phone call came.
I drove her to the hospital.
She pushed out that baby girl so easily.
She had her for a day, perhaps a little more.
The parents came and took their Joy,
And left her on her own.
She bound up her belly,
Along with all her pain,
Zipped up her skintight jeans
Packed her bag and left.
She walked away that day,
One woman among thousands like her.
But I'll never forget her courage
And her silent strength
Walking her straight path
With no hesitation.
Verdant,
A spring forest floor cradles
Among the delicate ferns and
Scattered dry cedar sprays
A lily-hued trillium.
Gently its pure fragrance wanders
Through the green
While a droplet reflects
Miniature and inverted
This vivid and growing world
Oh, I Want Blue Skies and Freedom
Oh, I want blue skies and freedom
I want the wind in my hair
I want a long road before me
I just want to be out of here
I want long grass all around me
I want cool grass underfoot
I want the rocks to sing to me
As the sun rises high up above
But I've got a kitchen needs cleaning
And I've got this laundry to fold
And I've got two kids that need bathing
And I've got those windows to wash
And I've got some bills that need seeing to
The groceries are getting kinda low
And we've got two cats and a turtle
And they all depend on me
Well, I guess my man will be home soon
All hungry and tired and spent
And I guess we'll eat then watch tv
But my heart will long for the wind
I knocked on his door
One winter's day
Looking for
Old family information.
He looked at me
And asked me in.
We went into his office.
We spoke of family,
Of long ago,
And, all the while,
He looked at me so strangely.
"You look so much
Like someone long ago,
an old love of mine, and dear."
She was my mother's cousin.
He was married,
She was young,
The families forbade them,
And love was torn
in two one day,
When finally she left him.
Through all the years,
The pain, the tears,
He'd kept his love so private:
Until one day
I came his way
And my face unlocked his secret.
I am two eyes
Two shades I see
Both love and lies
Are within me
I the right I the left
See vibrant green See filthy black
Love and light Sin and death
Life's lovely sheen Life's futile track
Sings the right Screams the left
Of God and love Of mens' lives lost
Gentle might Souls, a theft
High flies the dove Their screams uptoss'd
I am two eyes, two shades I see
Both love and lies are within me
Mother
that's what He told me to call you,
As we stand here together
looking up at whom we know
is God,
I can understand the sorrow
That tears your heart in two
All the joy
Then bitter loss
Of your beloved son
I, too
Feel how the nails
Gouge into your own hands
And how His
Seemingly wasted lifeblood
pooling at His feet
Causes you such anguish.
For He called me beloved.
Yet we have a hope
He gave us
That we have freedom
From this moment on
For He will be our risen Lord,
Messiah; A king indeed
The fulfillment of ancient, holy
Prophecy.
A fact of ludicrous life
The only thing this little
Starving one knows is certain.
Hunger gnawing distended belly
Cold in a hostile night
Worms. Malaria.
This is as close to comfort as
This one can find.
Dawn only mocks.
Lazily the golden sun rises on reaching buildings.
A white family--full, firm, healthy, well-dressed
One reaches over the unconsciously opulent table
for the daily paper to casually read
Above the sun-baked, barren soil
Early
An anguished, piercing wail
From a mask of grief
A young mother holds
Limp
A wasted child's corpse.
"Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty
or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or
in prison and did not help you?"
"I tell you the truth,
whatever you did not do for one of the least
of these, you did not do for me."
Matt. 25:45, NIV
Late grass heavy seeds now bear
Your eyes reflect late summer sky
Woodsmoke drifts on frosty air
Frozen summer of you and I
All poems by C. L. Van Eysinga, c. 1983 - 1998.
You can contact me at <rogerve@yahoo.com>
This page created by C. L. Van Eysinga, c. 2004.