The Story Circle ~ April Poetry

Where we sat in our circle

~ The Story Circle ~
The women sat together
Facing one another in the
circle
The circle like the cup in
her hands
Full of warm liquid,
radiating heat to her flesh
The circle where they held
each one in reverence
And respect and honor and
love
This circle, this O, this
opening,
This place where healing
began
As they told their stories
While the others listened
and were reborn
They sat and beheld the
pain, the joys,
The wandering in the
wilderness, the coming home again
Facing one another
They sat together in the
circle
As she lifted the cup of
warm liquid to her lips
She knew then that she drank
the same cup as they
All did, and the warmth of
the love that poured
From each soul radiated
warmth to all those present
In that circle, that never
ending circle
Where all are equal and no
one is set apart
We are that circle
Where love is, where healing
begins, where story matters
And we must return to the
circle
Again and again and again
Facing one another

In reverence, respect, honor
and love
Deborah L. Tisch, April 14, 2014


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That Something – April Poetry

flowers in the woods

That Something
When spring is coming up in
the woods,
When the air is warm, the
breeze strong,
When the ground is damp and
soft beneath my feet
And I can wander at my own
pace among the trees,
When I see these amazing blooms
Bursting through the layers
of dead leaves
And old branches,
Of moss and humus, fungus, and
rotting wood,
When the perfect shapes and
colors
Of all these amazing
creations grab my attention,
I know then that Something
beyond here, beyond us,
Way beyond our understanding
Is doing the growing, the
sprouting,
The nurturing, and the
letting go.
That Something is choosing
just the right colors,
The perfect shapes, creating
the structures,
Setting in motion this cycle
of life, death, lifeā€¦
Of birth, death,
resurrection,
Of blooming, seeding, fading
and dying,
Of wintering, sleeping, and
awakening.
And I ask Her, that
Something,
To show me
What I need to let go,
And what can be awakened
within me.
 —Deborah L. Tisch, 4/13/14


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Day 13 out of 30…only 17 to go!

First Daffodil ~ April Poetry

I can hear the birds in the
trees

chirping and singing,
while
the birds can hear me
in
my house moving around
and
as I step out on the porch.
Are
the birds as happy to hear me
As
I am to hear them?
The sun light shines through
the window
Casting golden warmth on the
fireplace.
I look toward the sun
through the window
To see her slipping down in
the day.
What
does the sun see when she
Sees
me looking at her?
Can
she know how warm her light is?
Petting the cat as he sits
on the warm sidewalk
The fur beneath my touch is
thick and comforting.
His purr gives me a sense of
comfort and love.
What
does the cat think and feel when I touch that fur?
Do
I purr back at him?
As
he brushes against me
What
does my skin, what do my hands bring to
His
sense of who I am?
The windows on the house are
open
And the spring air fills the
house,
Bringing a freshness I have
longed for since autumn.
Has
the air been waiting to enter this space
So
that it can lift the dust
And
chase away the winter?
The first daffodil broke
open today,
A brilliant flash of yellow
perfection
Celebrating the arrival of
this new season.
She came up through the dirt
After sleeping all winter
beneath a mountain of snow.
Does
she see the look of surprise and wonder
On
our faces as we gaze at her?
Does
she feel how welcomed, how anticipated she has been?
Deborah L. Tisch, 4-12-14
First daffodil in my yard
 ~ On the 12th day of a month of writing poetry ~

The Back Door ~ April Poems

The back door
The Back Door
Where friends come in
and you don’t care if 
your hair is a mess
or the floor needs mopped…
That place where you can
stand on a hot day and
feel the breeze come through the screen
and maybe cool off a bit…
The casual entrance
into a sacred space
where all the masks are dropped,
where you are free to be you,
able to relax.
Out back, in the yard,
a place to sit under the shade
of a maple tree,
listen to the birds,
talk about life, read the paper.
A simple screen door.
A threshold.
A mop propped outside
to dry after the chores are done.
The row of plants by the sidewalk.
Fragments of life,
of memories,
of where we began.
 —Deborah L. Tisch, 4-11-14

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This image is scanned from an old negative.
It is the back door of my grandparent’s home, pictured long before I came
into this world, perhaps even before my parents married.  My parents raised us in this home…in Bismarck, Illinois.
Thank you, friends, for taking the time to read my poems this month, for allowing me that bit of space in your inbox.  I know too well how crowded an inbox can become, so I sincerely appreciate your interest, your support.