The Sound of the Stillness

The Sound of the Stillness
By Rebecca Longtin

soaring across the path

a small bird catches my eye 

I pause.

at first overwhelmed by silence

as the wheels of my scooter stop

I breathe.

the song of warblers reaches my ears

a chorus of more than the eye can spot

I am still.

wings push through the air, an audible sound

as they fly over my head

I am.

The Quiet of the Beach on a Windy Day

The Quiet of the Beach on a Windy Day
By Rebecca Longtin

The beach was still long
about an hour after low tide,
not a footprint in sight,
very few shells to be seen.
The sand wiped clean
still glistened from the sea.

The wind howled past
pulling my hair from my face.
Sea foam darted up the shore
barely touching the sand as it soared.
Up near the dunes, loose sand
created a flowing stream. 

The rain began to fall
pelting my raincoat and cheeks.
Then I came upon another person,
the first I had seen on this afternoon walk.
With a wave and a thumbs up,
kindred souls we passed.

When I Suffered, You Did Nothing

When I Suffered, You Did Nothing 

By Rebecca Longtin

You said the loving words 
that you thought I wanted to hear 
despite the fact 
that you didn’t believe them to be true. 

You even dreamed the dreams, 
made the plans, 
and invested the money 
as if we had a future together. 

You watched me 
adapt, bend, and twist 
to meet your ever changing needs 
knowing it would never be enough 

and I somehow missed 
the fact that you weren’t doing the same. 
You didn’t see your role. 
You didn’t want to. 

You stayed silent through it all 
with one foot out the door, 
as you watched me pour myself 
into you and our marriage. 

And then, when you decided you had enough 
you turned the finger on me. 
You pointed out my flaws. 
You blamed me for my reactions. 

You kept your explanations 
vague and varied enough, 
your examples reaching back more than a decade. 
The confusion on my face reflected so clearly. 

With distorted negative perceptions, 
you blamed me for your insecurities 
and you blamed me for my strengths. 
You still refused to see your role. 

You watched my tears fall. 
You saw the pain and confusion in my eyes. 
You witnessed the weight loss and sleepiness nights 
and you did nothing to ease my suffering. 

You heard me plea for clarity. 
You saw my desperation for answers. 
Yet you openly admitted that you had not even bothered 
to work through those answers with your therapist. 

You walked away as if you had never loved me. 
as if you had never cared about me. 
You acted like what we once had 
never had existed.

Sharing the Beach with a Willet

 

Sharing the Beach with a Willet

By Rebecca Longtin

I walked the shore with a Willet,
running in and out of the waves,
the sun low behind us as the day began,
golden light pouring over us.

Finding a treasure higher on shore,
clasping it in his beak, he rushed to the surf 
And dropped it in the water
over and over.
 
Then we continued down the shore.
The sound of the crashing waves
drowning out all else.
The crunch of shells marking time.

The Willet paused,
suddenly wary of my presence.
So I paused too
to gave him space to move on at his own pace. 

Labyrinth

Labyrinth

By Rebecca Longtin (FKA Klamert)

From a birds’ eye view,

I know the end is near,

as I stand and pause

at the very beginning.

Unfamiliar with the path,

my steps are unsteady

and tentatively slow

so I breathe in and I breathe out.

The first turn quickly approaches

followed by another

and then another

as I lose myself in time.

And then a fairly long stretch

of a gentle curve

appears before me.

My pace quickens.

Before long a tight curve

unexpectedly presents itself

causing me to hesitate.

I breathe in and I breathe out.

I do not stop.

I do not turn around.

The only path is forward

so I intentionally progress.

A sense of surprise

rushes over me

as I turn the final curve

and reach the end.

Finally I stop.

I rest and reflect.

I take note of the anxiety within

and I breathe in and I breathe out.

Sunset over the Lincoln Memorial

Sunset over the Lincoln Memorial

By Rebecca Klamert

Cold hard stone supports me as I sit.
The last light of the day
dipping low behind the Lincoln Memorial.
Light dances across the pond,
Disturbed only by a gentle breeze
and the paths of the mallard ducks.
The crisp air chills,
as darkness takes over.
My eyes slowly adjust.
Tourists and photographers
hurry on their way,
nothing much left to see.
Yet I remain seated
as the cold seeps in.

Another Day I Move Forward

Another Day I Move Forward
By Rebecca Klamert

Waves bouncing off the hull
as the ship cuts through the sea.
Pastel colors paint the sky,
announcing the arrival of the sun.

Another day has begun.
Another day time moves forward.
Another day I move forward.

I sit alone on this balcony
wrapped in a luxurious robe,
cup of coffee on the table near me
as I listen and stare into the horizon.

The sun shines brightly now
reflecting harshly off the water.
In the light of day,
the feelings of betrayal resurface.

My heart beat begins to match
the rhythms of the waves.
The salty air infiltrates my senses.
I take a deep breath.

Another day has begun.
Another day time moves forward.
Another day I move forward.

At this table for one I sit,
breakfast finished, lingering over coffee.
The hum of conversations surround me
intruding in on the voice in my head.

I pause to write.
The pencil sliding smoothly over paper,
energy flowing through me
transforming as thoughts become words.

Another day has begun.
Another day time moves forward.
Another day I move forward.

The sun retreats behind a cloud
a child delights at the colors of the sea
while their sibling cries inside,
new beginnings marked by both joy and struggle.

Unplugged and disconnected,
I reach to connect with the sea
internalizing her motion,
breathing in her healing powers.

Another day has begun.
Another day time moves forward.
Another day I move forward.

(Written on a my first solo cruise as my divorce was pending.)

The sun will rise again

The Sun Will Rise Again
By Rebecca Klamert

The train horn heard in the distance
proclaims the way
as I rattle through the night.
The sun has set,
darkness has overcome.
The only voice I hear is my own.
Doubt and uncertainty
cloud my mind
as my eyelids droop closed.
Yet throughout the night
the engine will propel me forward
and tomorrow
the sun will rise again.

Haikus for a Water Lantern Festival

I'm writing again!  I don't know why I let it go so long.  But my poetry has become a comfort in this challenging year.

These were written for a Water Lantern Festival.  I wrote them on the paper water lantern I released out into the pond.  They represent the loss I have experienced, the strength I have found as I faced that loss, and the hope for a new chapter.

Haikus
By Rebecca Klamert

sand, shells, salt water
slip through my fingers freely
waves retreat to sea

roots, branches, and limbs
stretch as deep as wide as high
weathered, worn, yet stands

black of night transforms
first blue, then golden red
my eyes see anew