I’m sure many of you don’t know that I’m a poet — albeit a muse-less one at the moment. I’ve written well over a hundred poems over the last eight or ten years. I went through a rather prolific time five or six years ago, but ever since my mother passed away I’ve been very blocked when it comes to writing. I think in order for one to write well, one must be in touch with all of their emotions on a very raw level. That’s something I have been unable to do since experiencing mom’s passing.

I’ve thought about taking all of my poems and publishing them. I’ve thought about that many times in fact. Not recently, though. Back when I did think about it, the prospect was rather daunting. Now, however, the internet offers us amazing services such as DIY (do-it-yourself) Online Publishing. Wordclay is one such place where you can publish your own book, and a very good one at that! They are an excellent service and are extremely user-friendly, taking you step-by-step through the process — everything from planning the size of your book to designing its cover and formatting the interior.

I’m definitely going to think about gathering all of my poems together and giving this a try!

Online Publishing, Wordclay

It’s happened. The inevitable. The cold. The wet. The white. Yes, my friends, it has snowed. It is white everywhere, and colder than it should ever have a right to be. Bone-chilling cold. The kind of cold that makes you want to stay indoors all day long, wrapped up in your favorite blankie. Hot chocolate is required of course. ;)

I actually love the snow. I just don’t love the fact that it has to be cold in order for it to appear. When it falls, though …. oh my, it is sooo beautiful. Every year when we get our first snow I am reminded of a poem I wrote back in 2002. Snow was much more than simply snow back then, and still is. I thought I’d share it with you today.

Quiet of Snow

Stepping outside,
I was immediately embraced by the
Unmistakable quiet of snow.
As if reading my needs,
It had come in the cover of darkness,
Comforting my saddened heart,
Silencing the echoes of its frightened chambers.

Turning my gaze upward I saw the mighty elm,
Silhouetted against a snow-lit sky,
Its strong arms reaching out,
Catching the graceful dancers as they
Completed their slow-motion fall from the sky,
Becoming one with the earth,
While not even the slightest breeze could be felt against my
Cold-flushed cheeks.

In the distance a lonely train whistle blew,
Heralding the arrival of landscape’s pristine quilting,
White upon dark,
Clean upon soiled,
A true miracle of nature,
Bringing with it the message of hope,
Sparkling from each intricate flake,
Transforming as they kissed my face,
Melting into angel’s tears filled with heaven’s light,
Replacing heartfelt tears, my own,
Gratefully absorbed by spirit thirsting,
Peace and rest, at last, had come.

Copyright © S. Leigh Marin

Who knew the beauty of a snowflake falling could be so healing?

Snow, Snowflakes, Poetry, Quiet of Snow

A piece I wrote on March19th, 2002 –

Within the Magic

The revival of life,
Like a lover’s kiss in the early morn,
Awakens ones senses slowly;
For if its beauty and grandeur burst forth in unison,
The enormity of its life-giving energy could not
Fully be absorbed.

In His infinite wisdom,
He created this yearly serenade;
A concert of nature’s splendor,
Designed to entice our own soul’s dormancy into
The warmth of hope born anew,
Breathing in the fresh air of rebirth and renewal,
With its crescendo coming at season’s end,
When we are escorted into summer’s refrain on
Rainbows from Spring’s refreshing showers,
Carried on our dreams, simultaneously revived,
Within the magic of when the earth comes alive.

Copyright © S. Leigh Marin

Spring, Poetry, Renewal

She sits alone, stoic in the darkness,
the glowing ash of her cigarette poised,
awaiting escape from life burned too long.

Ballads blare with slurred speech from
her sympathetic radio,
its determination drained.

The musty smell of stale perfume and
aging passion’s sweat attempt insult to
senses already long-dead,
While toxic tears of love-gone-bad carve their way
down cheeks of stone.

A siren’s voice hypnotically calls,
false prophet of peace divine;
deaf to her own spirit’s fervent plea,
she steps in with lover’s faith,
lost in the depths of heartbreak’s abyss.

Copyright © S. Leigh Marin
(originally penned January, 2002)

I plead with the darkness to
Hasten its arrival -

Come swiftly to my waiting embrace,
Taking from my vision the glare of light,
From my mind the pain of conscious thought,
Bringing me to screeching numbness,
Delivering me from the gnashing of teeth and the
Twisting of nerves -

Sizzling,
Cauterizing;

Holding captive every drop of
Emotion,
Frustration,
Worry and fear,
With not even a blade’s kiss bringing a crimson offering,
For the gravity of disillusionment pulls every flow of red internal;
The steely false-face of strength frightening tears into submission,
Giving them no choice but to lap at wounds, unforgiving,
Their salt mercilessly stinging,
again,
and again,
and again.

So come, sweet darkness, I beg,
And carry me happily away in your
Nightly vessel to nowhere,
Taking me to the somewhere I long to be -

Alone;
Thinking nothing,
Feeling nothing,
Seeing nothing,
Saying nothing;

All so that in the end, when I awaken,
I can, for a few groggy, half-sleeping moments,
Float in an absent mind,
Believing everything is as it should be,
Before reality snarls me fully awake,
Beginning the journey, once again, in my
Search for the land of “as it should be” within the
Realm of conscious daylight,
Finally healing my need for the somewhere I long to be.

Copyright © S. Leigh Marin
August 26, 2002