My life

Today, I had a strange feeling all day, just thinking about life and how it is but a vapor. This poem is a pouring out of that reflection about place, purpose, and the brevity of life:

My life is but a planting
in a garden I must leave.
What of me will stay behind
I cannot perceive.
I sit in heather hollows
and in the dark womb
of the Earth.

A nagging question haunts me-

What of me has worth?

What of me will bloom someday?

In my garden, I can't stay...

I scatter in the wind's
lonely howl and longing;
The strange yearning cry
echoes with belonging.
I rattle in the leaves above-
a music of sweet sorrow;
Someday the leaves will drop
It may be tomorrow.
tangled in the berry brambles
and shy mountain flowers,
the sun slowly sinks;
I've few blooming hours.
I stand alone - one tree -
in the space of sun and moon.
my roots sink deep and cling,
Night comes much too soon.
though pin-holes of hope
pierce the inky sky...

I stand alone,
Alone,
waiting to fly.

I am a fragmented soul
fragmented by dreams
I am unknown shape
Always becoming, it seems.
Yet I am this much of me, and no more.
I confess-
Sometimes my garden feels like a mess.
I peel away from myself,
down to my core.
Like petals uncurling,
There is the promise of more.
My life is but a planting
of my dreams, and me.
What grows is something-
This is what I see.
-Melissa Ulrich

Letting Go

I found you in the sand,

so perfect, smooth, and pink.

You tumbled in the salty sea - 
I'm so glad you came to me...

But you must soothe another soul,

So from my palm, I let you go. 

I found you in the green,

An amber, glowing thing. 

With veins of life and roots so deep,

Your strength alone is yours to keep.

In this world your color shines - 

You were never to be mine.

I found you by my door

Your softness white and shy

Grateful for this tenderness,

I felt someone else should be blessed.

I kissed you once and let you fly

high into the wild of life,

free to sing your whole song.

We slowly find where, and to whom, we belong.

Anew

These three poems came out during my break at work. I love it when that magic happens...the words just show up and teach me something.

1.

I bottled myself and buried myself
beneath a dark, oak tree.
The roots sunk through
and cracked the glass
and now I grow anew.
High I climb, in sap and green.
A girl in a tree
is a Sight Unseen.

2.

Down, down, down
my heart drops
my hearts stops
I cry.
Unbound by the rhythm of you
It must learn to beat anew.

3.

From the waves to shore-
Forevermore-
My heart is lost at sea.
Somewhere in there,
the covered depths
Have swept my soul from me.

The curling tide
Beckons and cries
to help me breathe anew.
No map ashore,
No, nevermore.
I am scattered in the blue.

I see the light
The sparkle above.
A trail of pearly tears.
The treasured map
of all myself
And salty, savored years.


So, after these poems came out, I was struck by the word "anew" and how it kept showing up. I know our lives are constantly in the process of transformation, as our hearts and minds are ever growing more into who we are supposed to be. When I was young, I spent most of my time hidden in my favorite tree. The middle out of five kids, I was the most shy and I loved that quiet time where I could think my own thoughts and be my own person in my own realm. I found nourishment in the green, even though I had "bottled" myself away. My years spent being adventurous traveling the world and living abroad was how I broke my own bottle, wanting to share myself and who I was, though I still feel much like a lone wolf in not feeling like I belong anywhere...even to this day. I wonder if that is the fate of most writers and artists - we see the world so deeply that there is almost a lens that separates us from truly being part of it.

The second poem is mostly the feeling of acceptance that I might never find my person to share life with. For a long time, I wondered if there was something wrong with me, like maybe I was never enough for someone to want to be with or to love. But that type of energy or thinking does not do my heart good, and until I can believe and accept I am worth loving, even with my eccentricities, then it is never going to happen. The first love must come from myself to myself. The music of myself I long to share with another person, but first my own rhythm must be strong enough.

The last poem is a very personal one. I've found my freedom and belonging out on the ocean, but I haven't felt the same out on the ocean in a long time. It is strange to feel like I've lost something of myself, or that part of me is lost in the depths. It is hard to describe, but I know that life is always flowing, like water. My heart has been through a lot in the past two years, and it longs to feel the way it used to feel. I will think about this some more, and maybe it will become a painting.