Author: heatherpound

A poem is the space between words,

the paring down of conversation and story

eliminating here and trimming there

doing away with the unimportant

leaving the richest cream, what’s beautiful or best

from the ebb and flow of words

~~~~

Yet sometimes the poem is the silence,

the things not uttered aloud

but glances and nods between friends

or a beloved’s devoted embrace

more meaningful because they’re unspoken

like the coolness in the breeze at the end of a day

of sun and waves and smiles

~~~~

Heather Pound 2022

We are pieces of crisp, green apple

resting on the table

Each of us fresh, tart, full of flavor,

mouthwatering simply by existing

~~~~

But as slices lay alone, the more stale

they become. Limp, thirsty,

browning edges, unappealing,

rotting in the end

~~~~

Being apart is fine for a time but

like parts of an apple, we belong

as a whole

~~~~

Individuals, yes

but with each other we last longer,

fresh, protected, grounded, resilient

~~~~

We are not meant to be isolated

~~~~

but together

~~~~

–community

~~~~

©Heather Pound 2022

We were not meant to live with constant

images of ourselves, mirrors and

cameras and things such as these

~~~~

This is something that we have created

and not for our own wellbeing

~~~~

It is far better to focus on the person

that we are inside, to appreciate them

deeply and foster their growth

~~~~

This is who we really are

and this is what honestly matters

~~~~

and whether we believe it or not,

this is what people of consequence

actually see

~~~~

I wonder if part of growing old

is to watch the beauty change

so that we focus more within

~~~~

but how much better would it be

to start at that place first

~~~~

–when I was small and people would admire my most distinctive feature, my mother used to say, “She’s pretty on the inside, too.”

©Heather Pound 2022

Tonight, I cooked a pumpkin

One of those planted in the ditch of his retirement village a few months back

A twinkle in his eye when he told us

Contraband in placement, collaboration with the man that cuts the grass

~~~~

I curried it and fed it to his son, my husband

The one that looks like him

And carries his form in character

A man of high standards for himself, and a heart that gives—but a ‘character’ all the same

When that twinkle in the eye unanticipated comes

~~~~

“Just give it a go,” he told his kids, and they all did

Achieving much in life in the ways that make meaning–and joy!

Lavishness in legacy

~~~~

A lot can happen in a few short months

The gardener, now asleep

Someone else harvests the crops

But the many things that he grew live on

And on

~~~~

–in honour of the veteran that we always think of most on Anzac Day, my father-in-law, a WWII bomber pilot, written shortly after he left us in 2021.

©Heather Pound 2021

I am regretful, my love,

for those words that

just left my mouth

critical, unkind

Something that I had not

noticed yet bounced

off my own heart, unexpected,

and targeted yours instead,

and for this I must

most earnestly apologize

~~~~

I will stop now, take space

and listen, grapple with this

clue that I have been given

and find the culprit in my heart

instead of continuing to ask

you to bear the brunt of an

issue that is mine

—–We all have bad moments but projecting our issues onto others is a destroyer of relationships

~~~~

©Heather Pound 2022

I want to soak up light and colour,

feel the late afternoon wind caress,

inhale the salt of sea

Cease losing more moments

of my life to ‘numb’, or

‘making it through the day’

These quietly subtle thieves of time

are wretched scoundrels in disguise

~~~~

I want to embody joy, occupy tranquillity

provide aroha, be present in the now, embrace,

Take the time and space as needed

to examine heart and mind—often,

to unravel to that place

of primal connection to spirit

and what it means to be alive,

to fan the spark that lives within

to fully be alive–and connected–again

~~~~

—when we have been operating on auto-pilot and are missing precious moments of life

©Heather Pound 2022

(Aroha is the Maori word for ‘love, ‘but it speaks to empathy, community, and quite literally breathing life into someone else. This word fully deserves many poems of its own, but just so the non-Kiwis understand it here.)

Darkness gathers thick and threatening

hands gleefully rubbing, ready,

but the flame flickers in the darkness

bouncing shadows off the wall

and darkness shrinks back, startled

~~~~

It only takes one small flame to do this,

because light is stronger and darkness

will always recede when light

is in the room. Remember this

when hope is dim and joy has fled

~~~~

The dark, while dense and imposing,

muscles flexing and intentions clear,

cannot withstand the light of even

the least of flames and magnifies

the presence of light simply by existing

~~~~

So, allow the dark to enhance the light

and focus on the flame. Protect

it, embrace it and the darkness will

flee every-single-time

~~~~

©Heather Pound 2022

Wind lashes, sand stings, the spray

of the sea arrives unexpected

and booms against the rocks

I lean into the power in the howling blast

I watch the crashing waves

and they speak to my heart

of things that are greater than I

and in one whom I can trust

to keep those that I love secure

–even amidst the tempest

~~~~

©Heather Pound 2022

As I sat in the room with my most loved ones 
and played the game of “remember when,” I realized,
that the most treasured things in life aren’t the perfect, neither in the living–or the retelling
but the memories, the most precious parts of the story of us are the things,

that didn’t go as planned

Like how the youngest was sick when we travelled through Bangkok–every. single. time.

And how we walked with tired limbs for hours before we found transport after the New Year’s firework display off the Burj Khalifa that only lasted five minutes

We almost lost each other in a different New Year’s Eve crush, clinging desperately to each other’s hands on Park Street, Calcutta. Somewhat horrific, but laughing in the end  

And then there’s the crazy old man that screamed at us to get back from the edge of the Grand Canyon even though there was no way we could have fallen

Or remember the too-hot-to-sleep nights in Fiji when the neighbours would all sing, harmonies floating in balmy air

And remember when Dad thought that there was a gas station ahead but there wasn’t, yet we made it on fumes towards the ancient glacier along the west coast of the South Island of New Zealand. 

So many other stories of adventure survived around the world—together.
Incredible shared beauty that marks and feeds our corporate soul

It’s not the themed amusement parks of fleeting pleasure,
but the stories of adversity that are leisurely spoken of in our remembrance.
These are the things that bind us together, the foundation of our familial bond

Priceless narratives that remind us we have really lived—and often thrived
The cracks in our lives that are ‘just ours’, they make us strong
Shared adversity seals our hearts in priceless ways,
in a bond that no one else can quite appreciate

So the next time things don’t go quite as planned, instead of stress, embrace
Gather all of the ‘not quite’ fiercely in, hold it close to your chest,

let it grow rich in memory, and smile,

because it’s all the golden cracks that bond us together
that embody the most beautiful whole.

©Heather Pound 2022