When I lived in the desert I had no respect for cactus
They were everywhere, prickly, even dangerous
if you fell into them whilst catching a ball
This my son knows well
~~~~
I longed for green, famished
soft grass, tall trees, anything different than these
~~~~
But now I dwell where there are shades of green
more hues than even imagined before
enough to daily stop and stare
I relish in this!
~~~~
But wouldn’t you know
the houseplants I now adore
are those same spiny things I couldn’t wait
to get away from
made precious by the simple fact
that I can admire them one by one
individuals, different,
monuments to creativity and protection, and beauty
I faithfully nurture these and rejoice when they respond
~~~~
This makes me question why do we worry
when we’re perceived different?
Because ‘different’ is rare, even treasured
and rare is beautiful
This a diamond knows well
~~~~
©Heather Pound 2021
When you feel heavy or tired
and you don’t know why
it could be that your heart is singing of loss
and begging you to listen
Loss isn’t always obvious
and shouldn’t be compared to how
others may have it worse, or how
it is better than it used to be
~~~~
Loss, is loss, is loss
It just is
So, if your heart is trying to tell you
about something such as this
listen
and then give it a name
It may be something as simple as
loss of connection, or a relationship
or loss of a freedom even though
everything else ‘should’ be fine
~~~~
If we don’t pay attention when asked
that loss swirls–and expands
and bigger and louder becomes,
screaming,
until it is as if we are covered by storm,
dense and dark and threatening
~~~~
Yet if we just take time to notice the loss
and give it a name–it will breathe
It lets the heart and brain
consider the grief together
and soon something that seemed so huge and
swirling and loud and scary
becomes more manageable
So much so that it might even
fit between your two, strong hands
~~~~~~
—We’ve been in lockdown for a while where I live and many people are expressing a heaviness that they can’t shake. Perhaps acknowledging things that we have lost is something that we need right now.
©Heather Pound 2021
One evening we walked a hundred meters or so up our narrow, dirt lane
And climbed three sets of stairs, painted green. We went
Up, up, up past low doorways where women sold their bodies on repeat
At enormous cost to themselves–but for very little change
~~~~
I remember breathing hard because of closed doors, muffled sounds
As I thought of faces that waited outside for business every day
But at the top stood our friend who gladly waved us in
And with a shy but happy smile, she introduced her home
Small room, large wooden bed, a burner, aluminum pots
Clothing for a family of four with everything in its place
And delicious smells floating–while her beloved pet birds sang
~~~~
But this regal woman was not caged up like her birds
From a life that with no choice began, she was flying free
With women like herself instead she was sewing beautiful things
Uncovering freedom and hope and respect from others
–And choice and dignity
~~~~
She served us curry, rice and dahl
Scooping up nourishment, flavored with love
A celebration of her daughter’s birthday, one more year
In a life that included radical things, like education and enough food
And a freedom as a young woman–that her mother never knew
~~~~
This scene, forever frozen in my heart and in my mind
Because while I have feasted on crystal
Tables precisely covered in linen
My water refilled with every sip
While rubbing shoulders with the mighty
I have never felt more honoured by an invitation than this
Into that humble home, invited in friendship–by her
~~~~~
—-This very personal poem was difficult to write. It is a memory so precious that I wanted to do it justice. I have also realised that while during those years there we focused on hope, partly because we saw good things happening and partly for our own mental wellbeing, I still have many choked back tears over things that we saw as well. A number of them got to slide down my face as this poem developed.
©Heather Pound 2021
Today I am not tasked to solve all this world’s ills
Today is just a normal day with ordinary things
And to be completely honest on this day I do not think
That I have anything left that is remarkable to give
~~~~
So today I spend my time seeking only simple things
Moments of beauty, pauses of peace
Like the sound of gentle raindrops pat-patting on fresh grass
The salty smell of wind as it blows in off the sea
Or sitting in companionable silence with someone that I love
~~~~
It is in these ordinary ways, on normal routine days
That show us who we are and what we’ll be
What habits do we cultivate, what values do we hold
What will we do with passions and with time
These simple things assembled are how we spend our days
And in the end, they’re how we’ll live our lives
~~~~
Don’t underestimate the power of an ordinary life
For every person who has done extraordinary things
Has still lived their life daily one humdrum moment a time
With many days consisting of just normal, average things
~~~~
–simple and faithful is how to change the world.
©Heather Pound 2021
“Everybody wants a revolution. But no-one wants to do the dishes.” -Craig Greenfield
The place where our souls find rest
Space and peace in the middle of the storm
It’s a destination of value and seeking it is
Of more worth than things like
Pleasing others, popularity, or fame
~~~~
There is power in the ‘calm’
It does not mean that you have all the answers
Or that you don’t care deeply for the needs of others
It is not withdrawn
It is simply a space in our souls that stays in the present
And gives voice to things
Like creativity and peace
~~~~
—–and don’t we need a bit more of that in our world?
©Heather Pound 2021
Today is blustery, miserable and damp
One of those spring days that you must endure
For all the glorious ones that will come
But as the wind screams fierce at my window
Two little quail peck happily in my garden
Fat and fluffy, plumes on top cheerfully dancing as if to say
While I watch in stillness from porthole above,
“You can praise the strong wind for our choice of shelter
We relish this break that your hedge provides
And this soggy turf is ideal in the searching for worms.”
So, as the wind continues to howl
I nod back in cheerful realisation that
If it wasn’t for the less than perfect day
I would have missed seeing something else
Perfectly beautiful indeed
~~~~
–there are treasures worth noticing in the midst of imperfect
©Heather Pound 2021
There was a time when trauma roared, vibrations under skin, constant
And inappropriately escalating whenever it chose
Electrified brain, galloping heart, splintered vision, at odds with thought
And despotically, cold-heartedly—-
Inconvenient
~~~~
When the most basic parts of our brains are confused
The ‘off’ and ‘on’ switch stuck tiresomely in-between
Trying to help, but just—–
Dysregulated
~~~~
The fortunate ones can one day speak of such things
Gloriously in past tense. Not meaning that sounds do not startle
Adrenaline too easy to find
But increasingly more pliant, manageable
More often than not
~~~~
It is as if one day after the sacred, demanding work that is healing
We choose to climb out of cocoon, released
Look up at the sky, unfurl soft wings and say,
“This space that I’ve been in, it no longer fits
I need to move about, wobble away. Because
This has been my story, will always be my story, but
My life is now bigger than this”
~~~~
—–there is hope within the cocoon of trauma and PTSD. And I heard a cancer survivor say, “I had cancer, but my life is getting bigger than this.”
©Heather Pound 2021
Heather Pound 