A Father’s Hand
I want to remember the warmth of my father’s hand When I was three He could have walked me along a country road like the child I saw dancing in the Fall leaves before balancing herself on a narrow curb Her father’s hand held hers The innocence of discovering nature and a challenging edge I still walk the edges Perhaps it began at the age of three With the warmth of my father’s hand © Corlene Van Sluizer 2017 |
BelongingI sing in Russian to my lost tribe I sing in Dutch to my elders not knowing who they were nor the sound of their voice nor the feel of their touch I sing in Yiddish to unknown ancestors from the deepest part of me that reaches into the earth roots where we all can meet All in one tree All colors and nationalities All singing and dancing yodeling our connection All drinking from the same vine and root stamping our feet moving our hips around the fire or waterfall Here hold my hand we all belong to each other © Corlene Van Sluizer 2017 |
Dark MotherThe dark mother got stuck in my belly causing great pain until I saw a villager who invited me to play basket ball a simple game we play on earth from the earth It was then that I found the beginnings of our lost dance in my feet I followed the instructions of the Inner Shaman who said to blow the darkness out of my body So I did When I was empty the first sounds of a forgotten song of healing came The women in the village sat in a circle and prayed as I sang © Corlene Van Sluizer |
Counterpoint
I sit with eyes closed
feeling the blessings A Syrian mother watches me You have food and water You have a warm bed Your family is safe Bow, she says and I bow I sit with eyes closed Ancestors in the Holocaust Emaciated, lice infested barracks They are lying on their bunks They are shivering They are dying Starvation and dysentery a whispered Bow and I bow I take another sip of sweetened coffee I draw the Spring lambs Call a friend and schmooze The cat purrs on his comfy Julian reads the paper Kathy calls to see if we need anything The heat goes on The blossoms are white lace The birds at the feeder The fresh green fig leaves are reaching for the sun I write a poem Spring is here and I bow Again and again and again © Corlene Van Sluizer 2020 |
The Fire In The Belly
The fire in the belly
is the ashes of Winter’s darkness The spirit knows the difference as the light begins its return The Daffodils sing its arrival one minute at a time the seeds begin to sprout The fire in the belly is the residue of regret and its compost of its abandonment and its consequences of the soul that could have been but isn’t The fire in the belly endures until all is forgiven but not forgotten © Corlene Van Sluizer 2020 |
Hello,How Are You?Tears without knowing why
Grief, deep grief for all the dark the shadow side of humankind that ends up spewing their disbeliefs on my being and the being of my beloveds Grief, for all the wars and all the epidemics and all the human throwaways...the un-important, the poor, the brown the native, the jew, the muslim.. Grief for all that comes upon the shores of our lives on this precious planet that we are so readily destroying out of greed, ignorance and self centeredness. It is not my problem, it is their problem Who is the they if not us Grief, leaving this planet to my children and grand children I want clear skies I want equity for women, for workers, for justice I want good food raised without pesticides I want health care that is honest and not in the pockets of the pharmaceutical companies Grief for all that is unseen and seen It is mirrored in my heart. Just these tears that don’t seem to have a label an origin, a reason...some deep pool of dark that arises faces of the homeless reflected faces of the abandoned reflected faces of soldiers in foreign countries killing each other faces of families in mourning I am in mourning That is the source of my tears I want a global resurrection and reincarnation of cooperation of loving one another of caring for each other for non judgments for kindness for a sincere Hello How are you? © Corlene Van Sluizer 2020 |
I'm Too Old for CuteKittens are cute and babies A child in a tutu for a performance Her first, Everybody watching mom and dad and grandparents “she is so cute” fluffy and fresh I am too old for cute Look at those two old people They are holding hands “Isn’t that cute’’ She stands tall She wears colorful clothes Her earrings are hand made She walks with confidence People recognize her They don’t see her as cute When She is with her beloved The She becomes They They, with white hair They, a couple of elders still together a picnic in the park “aren’t they cute” Like a Rockwell painting or a caricature drawing at the Fair © Corlene Van Sluizer 2020 |
Body VesselThe body as vessel Let the belly out Let the plum blossoms in Let the fear out Let the song of the sigh in The body vessel is made out of Earth clay It changes shape In time Still holding space Let the breath out and the smell of Daphne in Steele cut oats cooking apple and raisin flavors mixed with cinnamon and real cream The body vessel holds it all Feed it hope water the seeds watch them grow © Corlene Van Sluizer 2020 |
Valentines DayShe wakes one day and the space next to her is empty But It’s Valentines Day! She wakes one day And the chair at the breakfast table has no place-mat before it But It’s Valentine’s Day! She wakes one day and she takes herself to a nearby tree Her arms extend around its girth her tears water its roots deep into the ground where her beloved is buried © Corlene Van Sluizer 2020 |
