Saturday, October 26, 2024

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.




Wednesday, October 16, 2024

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.



Saturday, October 12, 2024

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.)

Tuesday, October 8, 2024

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.

Saturday, October 5, 2024

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