Sunday, March 12, 2017

The Lost Archives

A forgotten archive appeared recently on my computer. It was simply titled "Poems" and by chance I found it on one of my backup hard drives. It reminds me of the power words have to heal.

When the folder opened, I discovered my writing from around fourteen years ago. My oldest daughter Naomi died in 1999. She opened and transformed my heart during her struggle with cancer. When she passed away I had become a different person.

A couple years later I regularly wrote poetry to convey my intense feelings.

Here is a sampling of verse that I found in the lost archives:

Nostalgia in a Japanese Garden

In the garden
by the pagoda
a breeze rustles bamboo stalks,
stirs wind chimes.
White blossoms fall
into a dark pond.

When you were here, you
walked slowly on
the stone path,
pointed to glistening goldfish.

The moss has grown
greener since then.


Always a step ahead,
You arrived before me

At the gate. I  hear
hummingbird wings!

There must be nectar nearby.
The scent of jasmine—

Is this a perfumed memory,
Or a vivid hallucination?

A falling leaf reminds me
I am alone in the garden.

As the dazzling light fades, 
The air grows cold.

Barred by my beating heart
From an immutable threshold,

I linger, like some poor dog
Awaiting its master.

Gathered in your heart
were all the flowers of creation.

With every breath
the angels came
and tended the garden
until its beauty was so great
the world fell away in shame.

Suddenly a fire of longing
came upon you—its
consuming flame leaping forth . . .

You vanished,
leaving only ashes
mingled with

Broken into One

Along the stream
where we drowned
iris bloom.
(Lovers approach
arm in arm, the sound
of their laughter
mingling with the murmur
of flowing water.)

When we loved, the moon watched
while the scent of pines
dazzled our senses.
Our fierce longing ignited
a flame that sealed our fate.
Throwing ourselves into the water,
we succumbed to the current.
As our bodies dashed
together upon the rocks,
we reached the place
where the ancient songs arise.

(Now embracing,
the lovers listen—
our melody mingles
with the beating
of their hearts.)


Be a falcon
on the wrist of God
excellent in the art
of conquest.

Be a whale
swimming in the primeval ocean
sifting mysteries from
fathomless deep.

Be the wind
soaring above mountains
gathering perfume from the fields,
caressing lovers embracing.

Be a rainbow
that blesses the darkening day
like a necklace of pearls
worn by the bride of the sun.

Be a tree
reaching to heaven
while rooted in one place
a thousand years.

Be a thought
that precedes birth
dancing on the shore of dawn.

Be an emblem
of God’s remembrance
shining light in
deep dark eternity.

 © Steven Boone 2002 -2017 All Rights Reserved

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