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Puddle of Poetry

 

Swinging on the pendulum from sassiness to sensitivity to seriousness, Merri Hiatt shares sixty-two poems about love, compansionship, being a cancer surivor and both the human and spiritual experience.

Dip your toe in the Puddle of Poetry and experience life and all its glorious emotions. Sometimes we all need to get a bit wet.

A few poem titles:
New Baby Smell
Daffodil Whispers
In This Moment
Red Suspenders
Addicted
Unforgiving Soil
Caged Flowers
In the Shallows
Who God Is
Cancer's Hot Breath

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ADDICTED

 

 It roots itself deeply in your soul.

Plays endlessly with your every emotion.

Stings your senses with its poison.

It easily insinuates itself into being your

best friend and your worst enemy --

all rolled into one huge ball of

abhorrent discontent.

You play it cool.

Act as if the danger isn't near.

Can't touch you.

Won't control you.

Doesn't own you.

And then one day you realize

the grip is so tight

you can't even dream of escape.

Guess who you've become?

A three-syllabled

shell of your former self.

Addicted.

 

 

CAGED FLOWERS

 

Home Depot builds cages

to keep its flowers and plants

from escaping.

Tall.

Black.

Wiry

cages.

I wonder if an escaping rose bush

is a common problem?

It's like the doors

in public bathrooms

with their metal locks

and thick doors.

Is there a big problem

with people trying to ram the doors

and watch people pee?

The leaves on the tree next to my staircase

were amazing today.

Fresh.

Vibrant.

Kelly green.

They changed overnight.

I swear they weren't like that yesterday.

I would help them,

the plants and flowers

housed within

those

tall

black

wiry

cages

at Home Depot,

if they asked me to.

 

 

CANCER'S HOT BREATH

 

Even now I can feel the hot sting of death

from the dragon?s fiery throat

against my neck.

Blazing a trail down my spine.

The spittle sizzles on my flesh

as the cells inside my body seize

with an infestation of disease.

 

You see me as a whole, complete person.

Your eyes deceive you.

I am the walking wounded.

A woman who swims

inside a swirling, frenetic spiral

intent on consuming her.

 

The hairs on the back of my neck

stand on end.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting for the teeth of the beast

to pierce my fleshy tissue.

 

How long can I run?

How long can I endure the hunt?

The game I play

has become far too real,

and yet something stirs inside me

and will not let me succumb.

It bids me onward.

Gives my feet wings.

Lets my spirit sing with hope

that the sticky breath will be abated

and I shall be victorious.

 

 

COMPANION OF MY SOUL 


i see you

through the warm eyes of love --

the thinning hair

the failing vision

the creaking body

fade from view

 

what do i see when i look at you --

a gentle heart

warm, soft hands

wonderful crinkly laugh lines

 

the best part --

walking beside you

sharing the silence

traveling the journey

with the companion of my soul

 

 

DAFFODIL WHISPERS 


Daffodils wave their sunny heads

as passersby

snap photographs.

 

The sea of brilliant yellow blooms

whispers to their tender souls:

pause for a moment,

breathe in

the beauty that surrounds you,

remember every second is a gift,

come dance with me

in the warm breeze --

it will be time well spent.

 

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