POETRY

Here are most of my poems that aren't lyrics: observations on life, God, the cosmos, love, peace and purpose. They are in no particular order,

but span from age 11 to 50+. Hopefully I've improved over the years, some are quite cheesy. lol

All of these poems are my original work, and subject to further editing.
. My books, "On Point Polly," and "The Tale of a Runaway Toenail" are also poems.

The Poet Tree

I hail from a family of unpublished poets.
Unheard, understated and misunderstood
With a line of sublime
Navigating our veins
A rhythm, a cadence, a drum beat
A rhyme
A word,
Unheard
But unearthed and birthed
By sorrows and pain and
By the mundane
And by Poverty.
A lineage of souls
With a sign of divine
Inspiration.
A poet tree, if you will,
With a story in search of
An ear that will hear it,
A song to be sung by a voice that will sing it
I hail from a family of unpublished poets
Unheard, understated, and misunderstood.

Looking Out On a Winter’s Day

Peer through a sapphire into the sun
And see scattered about, the reflections of light
That give nature serenity
Pure and unfettered.
Peer and discover the vast ocean sky that surrounds us in silk robes of blue.

Breathe into winter;
Envision your breath caught in swirls
Inside a glass jar.
Now, see breathing, my God, on the mountaintops, mighty
Encasing His breath just along peaks and falls
Breath so pure and so white
Full of light.

See frozen teardrops of laughter and pain
Watch them fall to the ground,
Each a varied expression.
Then gaze at the flakes that float down from the eyes of the angels
And cling to our lashes.

Picture this landscape, where one can see clearly
By light of the moon or the high risen sun
That the darkness is covered in blankets of white
Picture my winter.
See life.

Leah Eddens 1992

A Prayer

Source of our being, in whom we exist, we align our intentions with YOU.

YOU ARE LOVE.

Our thoughts, our words, and our deeds, are a constant, fervent prayer to YOU.

Our being communes with YOU through all of creation.

Through YOU we receive and we give true Love to YOU and to all others.

Wisdom, awareness and insight increase in us constantly.

Miracles, Magic and Light flow through us continually.

We abide in perfect health that we may serve YOU to the utmost.

YOU guard our body, heart and mind from darkness with Your brilliance.

Our Moving and Being are always at Peace, on this plane and all others.

Your provision flows abundantly, allowing us to live and to give freely.

YOU join us with others of like mind and vision uniting Your Kingdom on Earth as in Heaven.

Your divine energy flows out from within us, touching and healing all we encounter.

We are Love, we are Light, we are Truth, we are Peace, we are Joy and we are Beauty.

We follow YOU forever, to realms of higher glory, moving upward and toward YOU in blessed assurance, grateful for ALL THAT YOU ARE and for ALL THAT WE ARE IN YOU.

YOU ARE I AM.

I AM because WE ARE.

WE ARE ONE.

Amen

Love or Fear?

What forbids us from following our heart’s lead but Fear?

Facing Love can be frightening business.
Its path foreboding to many hearts and minds.

Fear walls the heart’s passions in stone edifices,
captive like criminals, dulling and deadening,
stifling and stagnating the life-giving,
light-bearing, soul-surging force.

Pursuits of the heart are indeed daunting.
But remaining in Fear is far more haunting.

Be Whole

Healing brings Wholeness.
Wholeness is Unity.
Unity requires binding Love.
Love has no Fear.
Fear brings Division.
Division is Brokenness.
Brokenness requires Healing.
Healing is Wholeness.
Wholeness is Unity.
Unity requires binding Love...
Love is God
God is One.
One is Whole.
Wholeness brings Healing.

I Say

I say to my Father, “speak to me.”
And he says to me, “Child listen.”
I say to my Mother, “Show me.”
And she says, “Open your eyes.”
I say to my God, “Give to me.”
And She says, “Hold out your hand.”
I say to my Lord, “Live through me.”
And my Lord says to me, “I AM.”

Eyes to See

May we have eyes of the eagle by day,
and eyes of the owl by night.
Not so that we may seek our prey,
but to see most clearly from the heights
and in darkness, to see as if it were light.

If you want to be wise

If you want to be wise,
then ask all the whys,
and open your eyes for the answers.

And open your ears to let yourself hear,
and quiet your mind,
and silence your fears,
and open your heart for the truth to appear, and embrace it when it comes.

Free Horse

In fields of green there stands a horse,

Not held by tightened reigns.

Set free to run the wild shores,

The mountains, peaks and planes.

In peace she veers adventure’s way

Her mind and heart a-roam.

But this free horse will never stray

Completely from her home.

Leah Eddens (1993)

For my Momma

Paint Me a Picture

Paint me a picture, in words and in deeds,
Of your thoughts and your hopes and your doubts and desires.
Like Vincent in vibrant and bold strokes, expressing—
In calm and calamitous swirls in the night—
His deepest concerns and impressions.

So, set yourself free from the fears that constrain you,
And in doing so, rid my uncertainty and fears.
Risk crushing my hopes, like a rose under foot,
For I’ll give forth a fragrance of grace with my tears.

Or place on the canvas, with rose-coloured palette,
And subtle and sensuous violets and blues
An image of sublime and splendid enchantment
Of irises clothed in garments of royalty
Of princes and princesses swaying together
In rhythm, in motion,
In oneness of being.

Paint me a picture of all that you dream,
Of your thoughts, and your hopes, and your doubts, and desires.
And show me what place I have it
If any.
What hue, and what stroke, and what bloom in your garden.
What star in your starry night.

Leah Eddens © 2000

Regrets

I’ve regretted times and times

The decisions in my life

As hope has been erased by pity’s pine.

But I’ve come to realize

The vanity in all

The futile strainings of my heart and mind.

Now, as life’s continued path

Happens joys and pains along

I’ll look back on all the teaching taught by time

I will live with my regrets,

But they will not be my being,

For God has granted grace and peace, divine.

Leah Eddens © 1993

Unveiled

I have a yearning

A peculiar, alluring, insatiable longing

To race through a shadowy forest

Or on desolate moon-chilled sands

To plunge, naked, into a beguiling abyss.

I want to swim with the fish

And swim with a man of my choosing,

Unabashed, unashamed, underwater.

The whim is within me, to be swallowed up

Engulfed in fathomless, fluid depths

Senses untamed by synthetic trappings.

To be like a fish,

No—a mermaid,

Beautiful, feminine, sensuous, free

Unbound by unholy traditions,

Or restraints of a false civility,

Free to explore, and to find, and to touch,and to feel,

To discover,

What it is

To be real.

Leah Eddens © 2001

Newborn Smile

Eyes move rapidly.
The semblance of a smile lingers on his lips,
And a coo of presumed pleasure alights from his tiny mouth.
Do he and the cherubim romp in the clouds
Playing games of hide-and-go-seek?
A few seconds elapse
And then his brows furrow
Lips tighten
Eyes squint, and then...
What’s that I hear?
A sound all too familiar
As diaper is soiled
And I wonder
Was that really a smile?
Or just gas?

Leah Eddens © 1993

Pot of Gold

School is like a rainbow,

All schools, new and old.

‘Cause at the end of every rainbow,

You will find a pot of gold.

If you’re not a good leprechaun

You’d might as well forget it.

‘Cause as your life goes on and on,

You’ll never ever get it.

School is like a rainbow,

And now you’re being told,

That what I have been telling you

Is learning is the gold.

By Leah Eddens (age 11)

Flag of Truce

Stained…
With the sweat dripping off of my brow
Stained…
With the tears of my sorrow
Stained…
With the blood of my pulsating wounds
That seek solace and healing to borrow.

Torn…
From the washes that pull at the threads
Torn…
From the double-edged sword
Torn…
From fatigue as the ties are pulled tighter
The brown, bloodied bandages made.

Faded…
The brightness that once used to be
Faded…
From sun and from rain
Faded…
From drowning in ominous depths
In the ocean of sin induced pain.

Weary…
I am from the battles I fight
Weary…
And seeking a haven
Weary…
My eyes are from tears that I cry
For my spirit, as black as the raven.

Stained…
From the filth of a demon’s disease
Torn…
From the torrents of war
Faded…
From fighting on elements plains
Weary…
I battle no more.

On a hill blows a flag of the battle I’ve lost Hanging limp from the pride that I’ve rendered. And Calvary’s victor has looked up to seeThe flag of my spirit’s surrender.

Leah Eddens 1993

From Where We Stand

You stand centred in the vastness
The flatness
Of levelled brown earth, and meadows of green
Where you scan the horizon
No obstacle barring
And no mountain marring
Your perceptions of all that surrounds you
Just land meeting sky
And vision indefinite
Vision that sees what may come or may go
Or what might be or will be or won’t be.
On the edge, I stand gazing
Both upward an outward
Between towering mountains
Unfathomable blue.
The exotic enchants me
The sublime, it haunts me and beckons me in
To encounter the secrets
Atop and beyond and beneath.
I am eager, so eager
To climb or to plunge.
To discover what mystery—terror or joy—Stands to greet me upon my arrival.

Leah Eddens, © 2000

Hopeful Love

What a dream I had last night

I’d prayed to God to send the light

For favor of me in your sight.

Ah yes, last night i dreamed.

Sir Lancelot in gold attire

Your heart afloat, my soul afire

We waltzed ‘til dawn, yet never tired.

Eternal bliss it seemed.

But humility I have been taught.

In wake I fear you see me not

And so my hopes, by serpents caught

Once high, have now careened.

My fallen spirit feels no cheer.

From out my eye there falls a tear

And deep within, a burning fear

Your love from me is weaned.

But then again, whin in light sleep

I dream once more, that you I keep

And though my chances are quite steep

I hold myself esteemed.

For you and I are much the same

And so, some day I may proclaim.

By faith in God and in his name,

The Love that I have deemed.

Leah Eddens – age 15

The Grain of Sand

A time, for many forgotten.
A time evoking few memories.
As I retreat into a desolate subconscious,
My mind
It wanders
To a space that is familiar,
A time that I remember;
A place where war is not a word,
A time when Jesus can be heard.
Of all the ages,
It is but a grain of sand.
Am I life?
I move.I hear.
I feel.
Am I yet a soul?
The breath of life, has it yet come?
In the womb I cry.
Will I learn of light?
For what is light without darkness?

The breath, it finally comes to me.
I am now in a time when Jesus won’t be heard,
Where war, it is a word…
My life, it came.
It soon will go.
The grain of sand,
Is it forgotten?

By Leah Eddens circa 193

Sufficient

“Deep calls to deep by the noise of the falls,
‘All your waves and your billows are gone over me!’”
Yet their torrents rush onward,
Their journey to lands unfamiliar and fathoms unknown.

Where is rest drowning Earth, from the river’s rough waters?
Shall the passions of current and tide e’er run dry?
Shall the deafening crashes of waves
And erosion of mountain-sides cease to take place?
And the land become placid with warmth from the sun
As it recalls the weight of the rain?

Shall communion of blizzard and thunderstorm fall
To command of that great, flaming orb?
And land become arid and oceans yield reign
To the powers of fire and wind?
Shall the Earth become parched?
Wanting, dying for lack of the burdens once granting
Her beauty and life?

Will God, who created all, bring to an end
The enhancement of Earth
For petition of calm,
Declaring His grace insufficient?

Deep calls to deep by the voice of the falls
May your waves and your billows still flow over me.

Leah Eddens 1993

A Conversation With Our Mother

I sat on a river bank of the mighty, majestic Yosemite Valley and visited with our most ancient mother, Earth.
I asked her if the signs I saw among the landscape were her words of direction.
She answered, "As always."

I asked her how quickly her responses to my questions came.
She answered, "Instantly."

I asked if she had a message for me.
She said, "Everyone enjoys me, but few appreciate me."

I understood and considered it for a while.

Then, as I observed the trees planted by the river, I pictured myself, roots grown deep and branches spread wide. Among my leaves, long and narrow, I saw no red, tempting fruit, and no children climbing or swinging from my branches.

I said to my most ancient Mother, "I wish I were a sweet fruit tree, so children would be drawn to come eat of my pleasures."

Earth answered, "Be what you are. Your leaves are medicinal. Your fruit is bitter until cured, and your flavor an acquired taste. When pressed, you express the soothing, healing oil of Spirit. You are an olive tree, aged and twisted. Be what you are."

I understood.

I asked if she had another word for me, and she answered, "We take on what we take in."

Then she expounded, "Everything is energy. Whatever we consume, from foods, to air, to thoughts, from tangible to intangible, from visible to invisible, from material to spiritual, blends its energies with our own, and in true essence, becomes a part of our make up. We are what we eat. We become what we consume. We take on what we take in."

I understood.

I sat on a river bank of the mighty, majestic Yosemite Valley and visited with our most ancient mother, Earth. She has much to share with us if we will ask and receive and appreciate.

Leah Kirrane 2017

Dark Night

When Inspiration holds her tongue,
And darkness hides your way,
Be not afraid for night is made
For silence, stillness and repose.
Trust night will lead to morning,
When songs arise,
And lightened skies
Call us to open up our eyes
And see, again,
The way that we should go.

MY MAGNIFICENT MAN!

My courageous counterpart.
Love that surrounds me,
Mind that astounds me.

Your vigor drives and protects,
My vision inspires and directs.
Mate of my body, psyche and soul,
Together we are whole.

You are the wild balance to my domesticity,
You are the exuberance to my simplicity.
I soften you, you sharpen me.

Like sweet repose and work begun,
Like midnight dark and noonday sun,
Together we are one.

Who I Am at 50

In Am steeped in the second side of the century.

A place where I finally feel fit

to embrace my essence,

And shamelessly share who I Am.

My dues have been paid, a worthy investment.

No complaints, no regrets, no demands.

Only Gratitude for the All

That has made me who I Am.

Now, I can say with Authority:

I Am an elder.

I Am a soother of souls and a mover of minds.

I Am an expression of the Divine.

I Am a channel of Earth, Angels and God.

I Am a vessel of Peace, Light and Love.

I Am a seeker, in search of my Source,

while I course within its being.

I Am a poet, a prophet, a priestess,

a mystic, a sage and a queen.

I Am an artist and healer in one,

I heal with my words, my voice and my song.

I heal with the energy flowing within,

The Fire, the Earth, the Water, the Wind.

I Am a bridge between Heaven and Earth

I Am here to give birth to new Life.

I Am here to help open the ears, mouths and eyes

of the deaf and the dumb and the blind,

To speak Truth to the lies

and life to the dehumanized.

I Am here to speak freedom to the oppressed.

I Am blessed to be free, and I give myself freely

That others may hear and that others may see

and receive and believe

in their own Sovereignty.

I Am.

July 2021

Eleanor - An Ode to my mother-in-law, Eleanor Pauls)

Come Muse, and whisper in my ear,
Sing music to each of my senses.
Pour images into my wandering thoughts
That I might speak what comes to mind
With Eleanor:

No darkness comes before closed eyes,
But verdant waves of endless hills
In a cotton-flecked, cornflower sky.

As I lie at the top one of ten-thousand
The breath of an unseen angel
Coerces the heat of the mid-summer sun
From my skin
And brings with it the song of a worshipping lark
On the bank of a nearby brook.

The fragrance of lilac and roses soon follows;
It lulls me and beckons my dreams
Where I sit in a cobblestone cottage’s garden
And savor the wealth of sweet thickened cream
And a bowl of fresh sugared fruit.

Eleanor, mom.
This, my vision of serenity, is also my image of you. God has grafted into you the elements of nature’s sweet peace.

Leah Pauls © 2005

The Tapestry

There it lies, at the foot of the door, on the
Ramshackle front-yard porch.
An occasional gust lifting its threads to catch a glimpse of the lights that wink at the once gilded strands.
Does anyone see what had been?
An exotic luxury, made by the tapestry master, himself.
Silken. Finely woven…
Glistening here and shimmering there.
Depicting an epic tale in rich colored yarns, and forms that traversed its face
In midnights and royals and violets and bloods.

He dismissive, cavalier.
He strode up, and, seeing it hanging on the walls in the halls of availability,
Decided to make it his own,
Failing to know the tapestry’s story,
Failing to value its worth.
And he wore it proudly,
Draped over his shoulder, displaying its beauty and grace for a while.
And it clothed him, caressing his skin, adorning his person,
lending itself to his every whim.
Then the while was gone.
And he unwapped himself of the fabric , the garment, the artwork…
Determined to keep it nearby, for it might still be useful.

And it was.
He used it to cover the toast-colored tea stains that blemished
The whitewashed table.
He used it to soak up the fresh-fallen rain that had leaked to the floor through
the cracks in the ceiling.
He used it to dry and to clean and to buff and to polish and then…

There it lies, at the foot of the door, on the
Ramshackle front-yard porch.
And he wipes the filth from his feet on its face as he enters his home,
Draped again with a temporal treasure.

As the tapestry master goes by, a gust of wind lifts the threads, and he catches a glimpse of
The lights that wink at the once gilded strands.
And the masterful hands raise it up gently, and carry it swiftly to safety,
To wash and to reweave the tatters, and replace the glittering fibres
With new and refined strands of silver and gold.
Restoring its beauty.
Enhancing the tale it tells.

Leah Eddens (2001)

Proposal

It’s the common dilemma of hesitant woos,
My friends say to me, “you’ve got nothing to lose.”
They all say, “Don’t worry,” but to no avail,
My mind’s in a flurry, “oh what if I fail?”

But the challenge in on, and ideas have rendered
All sorts of approaches, as this, which I’ve tendered.
Some say, “let’s all sing,” but I do not agree,
Nor have I the courage to beg on one knee.

I have thought, “just be blunt, don’t prolong the objective,”
But poetry tells me to be more inventive.
I try to be charming, but it’s to no use,
I find myself sounding much like Dr. Seuss.

But I’m giving this poem as a token to you
And eruption of courage, without further ado.
Not sung, not asked curtly, nor down on one knee.
Just a quaint poem to ask…
“Will you go out with me?”

Leah Eddens © 1990

He Loves Me…

The flower picked my loveless fate,

My fingers picked the petals.

Of war and peace and love and hate

And all destiny settles.

I chanted those enchanted words,

While soft the flower crumbled.

The noiseless thoughts that could be heard,

Afraid of being humbled.

Alas, the last were in my line,

I found…he loved me not.

Another vacant valentine.

Another hopeless thought.

The Waltz

"Show me your ways, oh Lord; teach me your paths. Leah me in you truth…"
Psalm 25:4

He asked me for the dance.
I humbly accepted.
Nervously, graciously, humbly accepted.

He leads me in his steps,
The music softly playing;
One-two-three, One-two-three, One-two-three, swaying.

The rhythm it grows faster.
The dance I do not know.
Then spinning, spinning round and round;
The volume growing,
Oh the sound!
He leads me, still.
He holds me still.
Yet never stills the motion.

My feet unsure, unstable,
His strong arms hold me near,
Guiding me, leading me, easing my fear.

I’ll follow where He leads me,
Long past the day I die,
Waltzing eternally, Jesus and I.

Leah Eddens © 1996

And Still We Crucify

Mingling chants and screams arise.
The blades, the blood, the flames entice
The worshipers to give their first
For ritual and sacrifice.

The bread is dipped and passed.

Neighborhoods, arenas now,
For young men guarding sacred grounds
With guns and knives as tools of play.
In tears the young men’s mothers drown.

A man kneels down to pay.

Painted faces on street corners.
Once a crawler, now a walker.
Red lights from a bedroom’s window
Call unfaithful men to stalk her.

The cup is not to pass.

Beds of matrimony stained
By wanton woman, savage man.
Infidels of purer ways
Mock the once symbolic band.

A vile kiss betrays.

Reaping what another’s sown,
Elusive hand to pocket delves.
Pillagers of darkness lend
Their service to themselves.

His skin the scourges rend.

Words of no concern to self
And words defying what is true
Seep from lips like second’s sands
With more but to ensue.

The nails pierce his hands

Love of money, love of vice
Need smoke, need food, need golden calf!
A bank account as savior stands
To plead on our behalf.

The nails pierce his hands.

Others never first in mind
But me, myself and I
Will weild my pleasure on demand
My will will never die!

The nails rip his hands.

Self-righteous faith, it will not yield
Its time and energy
Yet so proclaimed a love, a lie
To him who sets us free.

And still we crucify.

Leah Eddens