heather pound 2025
A poem of healing.
you are my second chance.
you sometimes catch me staring adoring, amazed
you probably think i’m a little bit strange
but for a heart that was bruised, undernourished
cast aside,
you are an anchor, a safe haven
a place of trust, of peace
a well that runs deep
i catch your eyes in private moments,
not quite so open as mine,
but deep, utter, abandoned joy—reciprocated.
all the more precious because you chose to let me in.
always present, but not so carelessly strewn about
like mine
second chances are rare,
sparkling precious like the sea in the afternoon sun
never, ever unguarded
not from fear, but worth
we know the value of what we have
heather pound 2025
did you wake today
with pile of burdens
pressing down heavy
even before your feet
reached the cold floor?
(you are not alone in this
for i have felt it too.)
do you know the psalmist
once metaphorically said
that the Source of Love
collects each tear in a bottle
records them in his book?
as i read this recent
i observed that
it never said only the tears
that were worthy,
somehow selflessly shed.
these are not the perfect tears
in the bottle, holy
crystal clear
no, these are all your tears
every single one
because the Giver of Life
understands your pain
he sees, he cares
about the depths of your ache
and longs to wipe every tear
away
and one day he’s promised
he will
the frost will melt
the dawn will come
hold on for this marvellous day
heather pound 2025
the rubber covers dropped off the wheels
of my khaki-coloured bag multiple years ago,
and people turn to look when they hear me
approach as i tow it clanking along
but while my bag is noisy and even a little
bit tattered, a small tear here, a stain or two there,
it conjures up recollections of far of places
i’ve been, experiences lived, stories to tell—
i pulled it past ladies in colourful saris down
grubby calcutta lanes as its wheels turned
faithful--containing every single thing i brought
to make a new home.
it has trundled past women, as black burkas
flowed in the desert city of dubai on the trip
where we rode the elevator up, up, up
the tallest building in the world.
it travelled to viti levu in the exotic fijian isles.
the place i lived for many years before the bag
became mine, and it picked up sparkling
grains of sand and listened to tropical song.
and maybe it remembers the bahaman honeymoon
after this former widow wed, and observed daily
as we arranged sun-filled adventures there.
so, while in this airport i see other bags glide smoothly
along, hard-sided wonders that need no holding up
at all, i know my bag’s every cranny and nook and
just how much weight it will hold.
so, go ahead and acquire your spiffy new luggage,
but i will keep mine as long as vintage wheels turn and
zippers attach, for this bag holds memories as well.
---ode to a very good suitcase
heather pound 2025
I’m not usually very sentimental about material things–but sometimes things take us right back to the memories that they’re connected to. Don’t they?
my indian rope plant that my mother-in-law
gave mere months before she left,
gifted us this autumn
with its third round of balls of pink
since the start of spring
i have no idea why it did this
since some years this particular hoya
never delivers these water-filled
blossoms at all
so multiple times a day, i lift the vine
and pause, soaking the beauty in close,
a daylight garden galaxy
of ruby-hearted mauve
and i marvel and muse at how spectacular
nature consistently, honestly is--and smile
that right here beside my kitchen sink,
my husband’s big-hearted mum
encourages me still
(and i would hugely suspect that she
is completely delighted too)
--when they linger in our memory
heather pound 2025
there is a part of me that grips on knuckles white
(and maybe there’s one living in you too)
that says “we must always hope”
we must, we must--because if we don’t
even for one day
then all will probably be lost
(at least that what it says)
and this part can battle so long and strong
for optimists like me
reigning supreme, demanding attention
relentlessly persistent
endlessly insistent
(but ultimately unbalanced and counterproductive)
as the pieces that need to simply be sad
in order to heal, disintegrate
gathering sludge and gunk at the bottom
of our personal well of sadness, stagnant
since the surface sad overflows at times
but the rest is never tended to long enough
to impact what lies beneath
but, (as with anything we feel)
sadness has things to say
wisdom we will miss
if we never let her speak
this is why i have learned
(am learning--and always, i think will be)
to welcome all emotions, allow them their rightful place
to balance my mind as was always intended
so be sad, she is painfully uncomfortable--but safe.
and is not the destroyer of hope that some of us think
because in the end
there is simply no other way to heal
then to support her in her work
and to walk her cleansing flame
and hope is the bulb perennial
always blooming once again in spring
---sadness is a pathway but never a home
the owner of the fashionable shop
told me that wearing one necklace
was unmodern, one must layer them
and that to layer a necklace
there needed to be not two of them
but three
i listened, nodded my head
and left the shop
all the more determined
not to do this thing
because layering just two of them
is enough to keep untangled
isn’t it, let alone three!
so if there is something someone
is telling you is the only right
and respectable way, that you
must follow their opinion based
advice to be adequate
stop to consider the source
and what they may gain or not
by your acquiescence
they may be honestly trying to help
(but this doesn’t automatically
make them correct)
or they may simply be trying
to sell you another necklace
heather pound 2025
Photo by Sherise Van Dyk on Unsplash
morning rays filter through the atmosphere
mixing patterns of blush and amber
seasoning with saffron
that in a matter of a few minutes only
transform into zephyr blue
as all along the birds and cicadas sing
and i, who used to slumber through sunrise
know these days that this
is something worth rising early for
and that a few more moments of stolen sleep
do not outweigh the soul-filling sustenance
gifted by the beauty of a storm-less dawn
--intentionally filling my cup
heather pound 2024
How do you fill your wellbeing cup? Does the way you live provide that naturally or do you, like myself, tend to get caught up with the tyranny of the urgent and realise at times you are trying to push on with very little left to give? My cup is filled with moments of connection: with the beauty of the natural world, time spent with people I love, with creativity (mine or sitting with someone else’s), time spent with the Holy or sometimes just reconnecting with myself.
Do you know what fills YOUR cup? If you’re not quite sure, perhaps it’s time to be intentionally curious and foster this practice–before you find yourself empty.
photo by Lino C for Unsplash+
Heather Pound 