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| More Poetry From Caryn |
| Note to Peregrine: Sometimes our lives are touched by the most beautiful of people; but their gentle caresses can be all too brief. Yet, in that transient life span they have embraced many in their circle of love. It is as though their spirit soars higher and higher until they are beyond our physical reach. While they are terribly missed we have been blessed with a very special gift. Along with the pain of their passing we have also been entrusted with their Noble essence. Our heart becomes a temple for the memory of their extraordinary qualities of spirit. The largesse that we offer in return for their gift is to never forget them, to share their spiritual qualities with others by word and deed. Each year the anniversary of their death is like a Perennial Bloom that opens wide to disperse its fragrance, to spill its seed to spread. Our memories are bittersweet, eventually mellowing with time; but always vibrant and real. Our grief mingles with the joy of having known them. These souls are like the falcon, a peregrine born to wander. |
| Lonely Chambers Loneliness echoes ‘gainst the chamber walls, Those solitary rooms wherin’ wanders My Spirit, Stricken, desolate, bereaved and without hope. Crying out in darkness and silence, No one To Hear it. Rushing through the corridors lifeblood gushes wild, Desperate in it’s search for rejoinder, while My Soul Reaches out to’ard warm marrow and sinews of Compatible clay. A voice that answers in the Bedarkend hole I call my heart. A Tender and Sweet Whisper that Willingly replies, however briefly, to the torment in My Breast. LIFE grasps my hand, tears me from a Selfish Core with A Reminder of it’s GLORY. Alas Relief! and TIME Says “Drink, Until you are Replete.” Caryn Arnold |
| Peregrine (To Wander) For what seems so Brief an hour, a PRESENCE Spirals round our hearts in Love’s Embrace, Penetrating our Core, Bequeathing us Joy and Sunshine, Hope and Comfort, offering a Gift, Gilded and Eternal. In flight their SPIRIT circles, soaring Higher and Higher Until the mortal SUBSTANCE we’ve known has passed. Then, our largess is the Temple in our own breast, since We have been Entrusted with their NOBLE Essence. For some Dear Friends are born To Live A ......Peregrine written during the early hours of Morn July 14, 2002 for Rich in Honor of his Dear and Most Loved Friend |
| Mansion of Many Rooms Our mind is a mansion of many rooms in which we live. Some of them are tidy, swept clean of any human debris, the filth and dirt of our pathetic agonies. And many other rooms are wrecked and scarred, marks upon the walls and scrapes across the floors. Furniture, our thoughts, in disarray and our own fingerprints mark the dust as we have traced a lonely path while deep in thought. Visitors, friends and acquaintances, sometimes even family Prefer the respectable room in which the unspeakable is never uttered. The room where we dare not say “I wish to die.” We sit in the well-arranged parlor and exchange banalities, pretending that we have spoken of Great and Significant things. We smile and sip from our cups but Never truly Drink of LIFE. Ah...we ourselves are guilty! We feign that this is our only place of habitation. Lurking in the corner of our sitting room, is shame, self-disgust and fear. Uncomfortable with prevarication and improvising We wait for our guests to leave. All the mirrors in our parlor are turned to face the wall. Yet, our hearts and minds are inescapable and we labor to appear normal, until our visitors Depart and we are free to Roam those rooms wherein we Hate ourselves, yet feel most comfortable. Once more we Wander alone, bereft and racked with a torment that we cannot Define The best that can be said of it is “This home is mine.” |
| Snowsquall The luminary of the Day began it’s decent by degrees Toward the horizon; acquiescent to twilight As the earth’s spinning decrees. Snow burdened clouds, driven by Northern gales Migrated ore’ head and ‘neath heav’ns floor - Natures Kite Bearing a squall, Winter’s gift to this earth, A generation given rebirth. A swirl of hoary snowflakes, dense and opaque Transforms the environs’ and different age make. Where once the pines and spruce bore needles of green, They bow and embrace hooded cloaks of white. Surrounding embranchments Stretch outward and lean To capture their own attire, Generous and eager For sharing their nature, to thrill and delight. The luminary of night beams down on the scene Reflecting upward to’ard heaven it’s radiance Making the forest glisten, twinkle and gleam. Courteous of life the winds continue to blow So that by Morn’ before any damage is done The evergreens and branches are divested of snow. The moon goes to rest; and yet emerges the Sun. by Caryn Arnold |
| One Must Learn One must learn to endure Screams so loud that no one can hear them but ourselves. The sound waves resonate, implode and threaten to crush our spirit, unless we cultivate resilience. And then, once we have learned to bend, we are capable of modifying our expectations, to abandon unrealistic romantic notions; and yet to love without restraint, to live for more than endurance itself; but for the Celebration of Life with its Splendor and Agonies. We must recreate ourselves as one who has few needs, as one who can still choose happiness when those few needs are not met. One must learn to give to ourselves as much as we give to others. The Screams are getting Louder and Louder as my Enlightenment has only just begun. I search for the Reason and the Intellect that will channel this energy away from self-destruction. I flagellate this selfish soul whose lessons never learn. I abhor this self-seeking voice that thinks it must be heard! One must learn to give and give....I am a Butterfly ensnared within its cocoon Ambushed by Death by Caryn L. Arnold |
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