Poems

Every since I remember my family has recited poetry. I remember my Grandma doing it when she was in the Nursing home for people still. I think she was 90 something. My Dad always tells me stories of driving teams of horses with my grandpa with him reciting poetry to him. With the reciting poems we have always written some. Some of them are funny some are in remembrance, some tell a story, some describe a feeling. I have written one lately that I am quite nervous to post here, but I am going to do it anyway. It isn't a rhyming one it is more serious about a walk I took about a week and a half ago. Hope you enjoy.

The Garden

I visited the Garden,
again late last night.

Only the full moon to guide me,
but still I took the flight.

I brought with me my platter,
heaped high with heart break and sin.

And I walked it through the moonlight Garden
though I did not want to enter in.

I wander hopeless and crying,
my body weak and hurting.

Till I found Him in the moonlight Garden,
still kneeling, praying, pleading,

The earth was cold and damp,
yet spongey covered in moss.
I knew the place was sacred,
I held my breath, forgot to breath,
Could I? Would I? Really lay my platter at His knee.

I approached almost crawling
Still fighting every urge to run.

Till I too knelt at that alter
beside Gods only begotten Son.

My platter still in hand.
Why do I hold it so tight?

I again took in the alter,
made of rock, so solid, to with stand any pain.
To the touch it was so rough,
yet beautiful, with running color in its veins.

I looked again at my platter,
the massive, hoard seemed just too much,
Could I? Would I? just place any of it down,
did it really even matter?


It was to hard to handle,
so awkward, and unbalanced.
It finally just dropped down,
upon the musty ground.

He looked at me still bleeding,
those eyes,
I bowed my head.
I saw Him reach down to my platter,
and plucked it off, the earth, so low.
I wept, and stayed a while,
not really understanding,
why he had to hurt just so.


Could I? Would I? take my platter back.
Make easier this burden to bare.

When he turned to me, and looked my way, me kneeling still right there.

“No, my sister this is the plan,
I was sent here to do.
I will take the platter that is why I am here.
So I can heal you.”

My frame so weak,
my mind still numb,
I got up off the holy soil.

And walked back through the moonlight Garden,
Where I placed my platters down.

Will I be back?
Yes surely
It is the way its suppose to be
Me coming through the moonlight Garden
often and repeatedly.


Barb Pilling Salmon
January 2010