Forming a Pearl

I should write about the fights I lost,

about bigger angels and the punishment they exact,

the feeling in the gut when the tide shifts

and everything underfoot is washed away;

like an oyster with a root into rock

taking a bath because ocean is all there is,

hanging on to the scarred and broken edges,

never certain what’s forming in the hard spot

while wrapping fiercely against the tiny stone

that won’t give up, won’t let go.


 


7 Responses to “Forming a Pearl”

  1. Nancy Rose Meeker says:

    An interesting combination of images. The tiny stone that won’t give up, the feeling in the gut when the tide shifts…
    Yes, I recognize a lot in this poem.
    Thanks.

  2. Athena Coleman says:

    What an elegant way to describe tenacity and spirit! I especially resonate with the phrase “taking a bath because ocean is all there is”.
    There’s an honorable resignation in that piece. This poem grows, much like a pearl, with each read. Beautiful!

  3. I love this poem!! Thanks Don, It really reminds me to be where I am, to do what I can do because that is what there is to do. It is up to me to acknowledge the qualities that make it sparkle. That mystery is the grist that, in retrospect forces growth, causes aha to happen. Lots here. Blessings

  4. T Johansson says:

    Love it. Feel it.

    “T” the Pearl

  5. Thank you for this clear depiction. We spend a lot of effort trying to avoid pain. Yet handled rightly it is one of our finest teachers. Ironically its lessons when learned bring peace, pleasure and an end to regret.

  6. pii Chaii says:

    May I not try to force the shell open…..the Pearl is in greatest of Hands. Sing to it instead.

    May I welcome tears in joy, tears having the same constituancy as drops of the Greater Ocean.

    Thank you, Don.

  7. As a former front-line, in-the-trenches social worker, my life changed abruptly when I retired. Appreciation of the tidal cycles of morning and evening, summer and winter did not come easily. Yet I waited as the seasons changed and memories of the children, of battles won and lost fade from memory. My sword now sheathed, I extend the hand of blessing, knowing full well the seed of tomorrow is ripened within me.

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