A Possession by an Unborn Poem

It’s Sunday night
and again, like other times before,
a poem seems to be echoing
through my mind
before even it’s been formed.
It’s just the hint of a poem
wanting to come forth -
to be birthed as it were.
The words nag and repeat
over and over in my mind
and I keep thinking,
“I’ll work on this later.”
but the poem keeps nagging
and repeating
and shaping itself
and in my mind,
I know it isn’t fully formed yet
the poem isn’t ready to be written…
ideas need to be flushed out better.
But the poem won’t be quiet.
I suppose you cannot shape a poem
or develop it within your mind.
You have to give it some kind of form
on paper or your computer.
That’s how it posses me, now,
this formless poem
yet to be -
the ghost of another poem.

By Bruce Whealton
November 2, 2009

I want to believe the warmth will return

On this cold Autumn Beach,
I stare at the saves
and I don’t know if I’m looking
forward or backward,
in time,
but I remember
the warmth
and the life
that was here
and I want to believe
and I want to hope
that this season
of death
is only temporary
and I want to believe
and I want to hope
that the warmth
will return.

Bruce Whealton
October 31, 2009

On the Beach

On the beach
A mother rocks her infant child
in her arms.
It seems to me
that her motions
are synchronized
with the rhythm
of the waves.

I’ve known moments like this,
where I, as a man,
have felt like an infant
in the arms of God.
I’d lay in bed,
close my eyes
and breath deeply
entering into meditative prayer
drifting, deeper and deeper
into relaxation
in the arms
of God.
I’ve found that soft embrace
and to her, I return
often,
as I do now,
on the beach.

October 10, 2009
Bruce Whealton

To be a ghost

Michael Jackson singing,
“I always feel like,
somebody’s watching me.”
Is he paranoid or is this
the backdrop of something horrifying?
I think it’s more frightening
to be a ghost – invisible -
to walk these streets,
to walk into places,
to go about your day,
and have no one notice you
at all…
nothing you do,
good or bad
great or small
gains the attention
of anyone -
You’re Invisible -
That is most frightening.

October 10, 2009
Bruce Whealton

Loss of Self and Identity

Sometimes I’m afraid
that having found myself
my voice and my self expression
that the ideas will stop coming
that I’ll stop writing…
maybe losing some sense of myself.
My writing -
being a poet -
it’s who I am.
And every poet faces the fear
that the ideas will one day run out
and all that will remain
are old poems
old ideas,
like memories of what once was…
like someone you loved
and lost….
but it’s not exactly like that.
These poems,
the ideas I’ve shared
will always be there
like children,
like anything else that is a part of ourselves
a creation…
and my poems are still alive
and hopefully always will be.

Bruce Whealton
October 26, 2009

God’s Forgiveness – Not Really a poem

This life without you hurts so much.
If only it was possible
to find the right words
to express, just how sorry I am
for what I did wrong.
How is it, that God is so ready
to forgive our wrongs
our mistakes?
It’s amazing the way
we can continually do wrong by God,
to God, whom we love so much,
and God believes in us
and our love.
Would anyone else
still love us? Still want to
have such an intimate, passionate relationship
with us
if we did to them anything like
the things we do to God or against God?
So, why is it?
Why is there no chance at forgiveness,
when one of the least of us is so ready,
when one is ready to do anything
to express with a contrite heart
one’s regret?