Category: Tenneson Woolf Poetry

In recent offering of my poetry, I shared that “most of my poetry is a response to a question that I’m wanting to understand or sometimes answer.”

This poem below is included in Most Mornings. “Moved” was a response to my questions about transitions. The kids getting older. Noting how things got different.

And then taking the personal to the universal. Naming that it is important for any of us to notice that we are meant to move our spirits, our souls. To be in transition. And to claim what inspires us, what we are “moved” to be.

Enjoy.

Moved

The kids are gone now.
Moved to their young-adult lives.
Partnered with people and with life.
Geographied more distantly.
Exploring life, as I”d always wished for them.

What once was semi-regular morning squeals of delight,
jumping on the bed,
has become periodic evening phone calls,
sharing questions or stories of learning from the day.

There comes a time,
when most of us need to face,
or confront,
or evolved,
who we are now moved to be.

Such richness.

The way setting sun
offers last goodnight
to rippling creek.

The way mamma duck
guides five little ones.

Such richness.

To know simple delights
in this rich life.

I love this image near where I live. It is the distant rusted bridge over a creek. As seen from the up close concrete bridge under a road. That captures me. Got me thinking. And writing.

asd

People That Bridge Us

There are people that bridge us,
that transport us, 
from that to this.

Ones that wake near,
eyes slow to open,
yet with grinning first smile,
light the hearth path whole.

There are people that bridge us,
that travel with us, 
from there to here.

Ones that companion the days,
caring for the ordinaries,
yet with delighting anticipation,
celebrate the magic extraordinary.

There are people that bridge us,
that traverse with us, 
from lost to loved.

Ones that insist bloom,
sturdy amongst steady winds,
yet with Day Lilly softness,
whisper the home long sought.