Winter Writing Sanctuary, Spark 2.1, Exchanging Words, Spark 6

 

Light

If I’m careful,

I could let this

spark stay

alive. 

Flickering, 

a little, 

subsisting. 

Or, 

I could let it

go into

a blaze

and consume

the night. 

Does it depend

on my

caution

or careless-

ness, 

really?

Or am I

just shielding

my eyes

from what 

I am made

of? 

Light. 

Justine C. Tajonera

NaPWriMo#11: Resurrection

NaPoWriMo or National Poetry Writing Month, is an annual project in which participating poets attempt to write a poem a day for the month of April.

Resurrection
By Justine C. Tajonera

From nowhere, from sleep, from darkness
there will be a light, a bright source.
I refuse a never ending darkness and
forgetfulness. I cannot say that I am right.
It is not for me to claim or to prove.
It will not do anything for me now.
But it is a comfort. The bindings left
on the stone. The hush of the moment
after oblivion. It is a fiction worth repeating
to children afraid of the dark, afraid of being
left behind to fend for themselves.
It was a story I was told as a child.
"She is safe. She is in heaven. She is
waiting for you." And I have believed it.
It has never had to be true.

Entering the Light

by Justine C. Tajonera

There are days when
I have time to study
the shadow of a leaf
at the edge of a wading pool
or glimpse the reddish
tint of dawn before
my alarm clock rings.

There are days when
I can watch my son sleep
and wait for him to slowly
awaken with a smile on his face
or the slightly puzzled look
of someone just emerging
from a dream.

These are the days that are
enough,
when time is not a measure
but a great expanse,
a canvas of possibilities.

I know because there are
also days, in equal or greater
number,
when there is just not
enough:
a chasing of hours
into the exhaustion of
evenings,
a blur or repetition
of motions.

In the quiet palm
of good days
I rest my questioning,
my drive to
finish what needs
to be finished

and hold the flickering
light and comfort
of solitude and
happiness where they
can shine
in their immeasurable
brightness.


October 5, 2010
Image from http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/337143

Difficult Prayer

by Justine C. Tajonera

This prayer is difficult and full
of distraction.
I try to disappear into a corner
of the screen
in front of me,
wanting divine
intervention.

There are layers of truths
and lies that stand between
myself and the peace
of being no different
from a still
mountain or a silent
root, firm and
slow seeking
in the earth.

There is something within
me that is no different
from the element
that holds all our
flimsy creations
in its palm.

There is a silence within me
that is waiting for
the end of a machinery
of chatter
and doubt.

I sit here and
acknowledge
my distance
from the answers,
from the light that
relentlessly reaches
for me
through the
darkness.

(April 22, 2010)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/multiget/2317928071/

Some Mornings

by Justine C. Tajonera

Some mornings
are beautiful, suffused in
cool light,
white window curtains
rustling with wind
and the promise
of a brand new day.

Some mornings
are ugly, unbearably
bright and hot or
melancholy and
steel-gray cold,
killing any comfort
saved over
the night.

Does it matter
which one
I wake up to?

Each morning
I am born,
pulled out
from the womb
of dreaming,
facing another
series of conscious
hours,
choosing, each
time,
the quality
of the
light.

(March 23, 2010)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/emdot/3035769570/

Monsters

by Justine C. Tajonera

Like victims, we allow
monsters to be.
We give them permission,
we give them the keys to
our fears.

Like love, we keep them
close to our hearts.
We feed them with our
emotions,
we clothe them with
our despair.

They are hiding in the
borders of our comfort,
just two or three steps
away from what we call
safe.

But give them something bigger
than your insecurities,
something stronger than
mere conformity,
and they, too,
will cower before
your strength
and the sheer power
of your
will
like shadows
cast in the face
of light.

(Feb. 1, 2010)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/spiritwalk/216461646/

Light in the Water

by Justine C. Tajonera

Same body of water,
same box,
same volume of liquid
but what has changed?

Only the quality of the light.
For this one change,
there are so many different
feelings:
happiness, hope,
something to look forward to.

When the light touches
the water,
beautiful things
are visible,
whole imagined
cities and
happy
memories.

Nothing is different
but everything is
transformed
in the light
in the
water.

(Jan. 18. 2010)

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/bibliona/208792522

The Act of Creation: Sestina for Clea

by Justine C. Tajonera

To make something out of nothing
is a talent and a thing of pure delight
or the joy of a poet or an artist in flight.
It is the pastime of a god or a king.
It has no rhyme or reason for being.
There are no requirements for its light.

Imagine darkness and a single point of light.
Look for a force that rises from nothing.
Think of wonderful ways of being.
Bask in a toddler’s simple delight.
Feel the force of a flock of a hundred’s flight.
It would be no less than a tribute to a king.

And what would please a wizard, a master, a king?
Who would disturb an artist’s obsession with light?
Nothing would ground a creature mid flight.
Repressing one’s heart will come to nothing.
And why would one curb what brings delight?
Why would we avoid the zenith of being?

I fear and anticipate what comes into being
when a queen finds her match in a king;
when gravity and reason confront delight.
What great thing resides between shadow and light?
What mystery unfolds from existing and nothing?
I feel the longing of the wingless for flight.

For only we who have invented the tools of flight
envy the birds their natural being.
We are never content to be fated for nothing.
We want to be no less than status of king.
We want all that is hidden to be brought to light
and we spend our lives chasing delight.

No, we are never content without our delight.
We would choose the fight over flight;
We would struggle with darkness to seek the light.
It is written in our blood, in our being,
whether born merchant or pauper or king.
We are born for seeking, stopping at nothing.

This is our delight, our song of being,
It is the dream of a king, the story of flight:
To live in the light, rising from nothing.

(Jan. 15, 2010)

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/bettinatizzy/3047363756/