Category: Poetry

We’ve shared some of Pam’s poetry here, but look for her book of original poetry, Heart of Courage—coming soon!

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Instead of Sleeping

 

 

I break my heart and dissect it each night.

The evening is when I reflect on life, on my soul

And often find myself writing my life

Instead of sleeping.

I ask myself continually what it is I need from others

And I know the answer is nothing

I know this in my head

But my heart… my heart goes on longing

Like a ship-captains’ bride awaiting the return of its lover from sea

But he never comes.

The longing becomes an ache.

 

I go on.

I function and even find happiness

Until I sit and reflect again,

Again with insomnia, asking

Always asking

Just what is it?

What does the heart want?

What do you expect?

Is it seriously total love all day every day

From every corner of the world?

Are you that needy? If so why?

I ask my heart these things

And during the daylight

I have all the answers.

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Poetry at 4 that Flies by Day

 

At 4 a.m. I lay awake

Writing some of the best poetry of my life

Inside my head

Knowing it may flee by daylight.

Thoughts of my journey to here

To now—

Dark splinters in wood and bone

Digging them out

Tossing them aside

Old pain, old slivers

Buried so deep

From the shattering.

New growth formed over

Must dig them out

Must get it all out

Or else

The pain will never ease.

Years, it took

Working on me

Poking, scraping at scabs

Digging up bones

Others say to leave them be

But I know I cannot

Like the Princess and the Pea

I dig at them until they’re

All gone

All gone.

Now what?

What replaces the pain?

I know why some identify so greatly

With their pain

That it becomes them, and they become it.

Together by osmosis.

And everyone says, “Let it go.”

“Let it be scabbed over.”

“Leave it.”

And then that day

It happened that I had dug

The last splinter.

I slept for 10 hours.

I woke up empty.

What now? I keep asking.

I did the work,

Now what do I do

Who am I if not the pain?

If not the scabs?

Not one to ask for help,

I did.

And they did.

And I am learning to walk again.

Hoping one day to fly.

 

 

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Light Bugs in a Jar

Light Bugs in a Jar

 

Like light bugs in a jar, I keep your love.

Stashed away, never releasing it, but clasped in tight fingers.

Come here, be with me, then go.

Go away, but not too far.

Stay where I can see your bright lights shining like home.

 

Light my path and keep me warm

As surely as the summer sun.

Then, as the sun in Autumn, go about your business.

Still, I know you will return,

Bright lights shining the way home.

 

Find me always, my bright one

Like a torch as you search me out

Just out of reach, but your shadows seen

So, when I cry out you draw near,

And kiss my face with the warmth of you.

 

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A Little Prayer

If you’re up there listening, whomever, whatever you are

I’m earnest in my search for truth

I don’t believe in the religious boxes of man

I believe in doing all I can

To be truthful

To be good to myself and others

and prayer as a construct left me for a while

but the lines of communication are always open

every thought moving between me and thee

whomever, whatever you are.

Look out for the smallest, the weakest, the different.

Look out for the victims of the bullies, no matter what clothing they wear or insignia is attached to their breasts.

Protect the unprotected

love the unloved

stand for the fallen

speak up for the hearts true, tilt things in their favor.

From one who doesn’t pray much or often but speaks out constantly

hear this little prayer

for all of us

to you.

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“A Million Hugs for You”

This is for the different, the misfit, the one that refuses to step into line.

This is for the ones being called names for not fitting in or looking like all the rest.

This is a hug for the woman dismissed as “sweetheart” and believed to be brainless. A slap on the ass and a stare at the chest.

This is for all the times you were judged by your looks alone, for all of the times you were told to smile more, sit up straight, change your clothes, shut your mouth.

This is for the ones told to Stay in Your Lane or get back in the kitchen or the bedroom.

This is for all the times your quiet demeanor was mistaken for weakness.

This one’s for your soft voice being trampled over and dismissed by louder ones, even by someone you love.

This one is for all the times you were pushed down, held down, shut down. For trying to use your voice only to have it be ignored, torn apart deliberately misunderstood.

This one’s for daring to go against the flow, for continually being told you’re wrong, stupid, or uninformed by those in caves and boxes of their own design.

This one is for the publicly shamed or humiliated for simply being you.

This one is for the ones brave enough to

Keep

On

Going.

💙
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Witness

I’ve felt at times like a small child, carrying a bundled napkin in my hands, holding it out in front of me
and inside that napkin is my stuff, my trauma
and I’m walking the world looking
seeking for someone strong and true
to open and view what’s inside the napkin
and not tell me I’m crazy
or a drama queen
or looking for attention
or that it was my fault
or that I need to get over it
or just to bury it deep inside my pocket
and never take it out again
I’m looking for witness
I’m looking to be heard
Pam Swyers–copyright 2019
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Ode to the Atlantic Ocean and Beaches

 

(Flagler Beach, Old Salt, and the Hammock beaches up and down the coast)

 

As I come over the bridge, I see you there, on the horizon.

You are the horizon, and already my excitement builds.

I say out loud, “There you are, ocean, my ocean.”

It’s a tradition and something I can’t make myself stop saying.

 

We pile our chairs and water out and take them to the sand.

As soon as my feet touch the damp heat of it, I know I’m almost there,

like the front yard of the house I grew up in.

I’m almost home.

 

We park our things, settle in,

then immediately must go down to the shore.

My eyes automatically scan the plethora of things

beneath my feet on the way down.

 

I’m looking out for crabs and other living creatures,

making sure I don’t cut my foot on a broken bit of shell.

Occasionally, I stop and pick up a shell, ask myself if it is worthy

of washing off and taking home to add to my ever-expanding collection.

I have so many that I have to be pickier about what I take home,

lest they take over my living room entirely.

 

My eyes look up and see the crashing wave coming towards me, as if to say, “Hello, again! It’s you! Where’ve you been?” And I mentally answer back, “I’m here every week. I always come back. It’s so lovely to see you, my friend… my ocean.”

Hubs and I lock eyes and smile. We know we are truly home now.

The next hour or more is spent walking the edge along surf and sand, periodically stopping to admire something, watch a surfer or para-sailor, going back to sit and grab a sip of water.

He says how we’re on vacation, he says it every week. It’s tradition. I answer back, “Yup.”

But we live here now, nearby, not too far, just over the big bridge.

I can’t really explain the draw, the love, the longing, the belonging I feel here. Perhaps I lived or died here in some previous form of existence. All I know is that it feels like home.

I’m finally home.

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Leaves for Lesser Creatures

(I wrote this last fall and I find myself thinking of it again. Can’t wait for those gorgeous orange leaves and cooler temps. Published in Heart of Courage, a book of poetry.)

 

Looking out at the breeze

As it knocks at the leaves

Some fall

Others don’t

Their colors like a drug trip

Colors only the imagination can dream up

But here they are

Real

Touchable

A signature of a Creative Mind

Showing off

To lesser creatures

 

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Family Tree

The people who are always there

Always care

Even amidst disagreement

The ones who really see you

This is true family

 

Family does not always consist of shared DNA

Blood type

Skin color

Nationality

Belief systems

 

Sometimes it’s a connection with someone

Halfway across the world

Someone you met and clicked with

Someone you GET and who GETS you

 

So thankful for my family

The real and the cobbled together

Souls cut from the same yard of cloth

In the quilt of life

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She Sings (An Elderly Woman’s Tale)

Aged and aging, sitting on the porch,

reminiscing about her life, she rocks. She sings.

 

She’s given birth seven times, two died and five thrived,

grew to be parents themselves.

Hard times have come and gone and with each she learned, she grew.

Now she waits for the kids and grandkids to come and visit

and at times the waiting seems like an eternity, so she waits, she rocks, and she sings.

 

She remembers a time when her oldest son wouldn’t let her out of his sight

and she chuckles at the memory. She thought he’d never learn to be apart

from her and now all these years later, he’s learned the lesson all too well.

Busy with his own life, conquering industry and the world,

raising his own little ones, and doing an admirable job of it.

A tear slides down her cheek, a tear of pride and pain at the same time.

 

The second son is in prison, twenty years or more yet to go

and she knows she likely will never lay eyes on him again.

He was the sensitive child, always unhappy,

always in the midst of storms, almost always made by himself.

Troubled, that’s what they called him. A troubled child.

Not strong enough for taking the high roads in life,

but more comfortable on the low roads amongst the

crooks and druggies. Made him feel superior maybe,

or maybe just accepted. He wanted to fit in somewhere,

and now he does.

 

Another tear escapes.

 

The only daughter comes to mind,

now on her third marriage,

a child that lives with her father.

She was the little princess.

Tried to protect her, to show her the way,

and in the end, she just wanted love

and looked for it in all the wrong places.

But a good woman, just the same,

has a good heart.

Works at the diner in town, sixty plus hours a week

and wouldn’t have it any other way.

Maybe works herself into exhaustion so she doesn’t have to think

about the mistakes she’s made in her life,

doesn’t have to think about the days

when she drank heavily and lost custody of her only child.

Such a sad life, yet, she’s trying.

She’s pressing on and there’s something to that.

No matter what, there’s something to that.

 

The two youngest boys are living outside of town,

sharing a rental house together,

going to school and working, carving out lives for themselves.

Only a year apart, they are the tightest of the siblings

and genuinely seem to look out for each other,

and that makes the old lady happy, truly warms her heart.

 

She muses, she remembers, she rocks, she sings.

 

As her heart fills with love and gratitude,

she grows tired. Soon the chair stills as the sun goes down.

The creaking of the chair stops, her head falls forward.

 

In heaven, she appears on a white rocking chair,

she jerks awake. Lifts her head, opens her eyes.

Tears flow down,

 

and she rocks and she sings.

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Or Else

Sometimes I think we are here simply for someone’s amusement.

Ants under the glass, birds in a cage, mice in a maze.

It feels like we’re being tested, constantly tested.

How will I respond to this pressure or that problem?

Will I throw in the towel, give in to depression?

Will I grow bitter and bent like a dying tree?

Or rise from the ashes to conquer life again?

 

When we zoom out and see our world as the blue marble it is

It offers a different perspective.

We’re small, so very tiny and unimportant, or so it seems.

Life, grass, fish, animals, sky, oceans, all connected

Yet we are the species that kills and not for food or survival

But out of some twisted brokenness, some irreparable damage?

Who are we and why are we here?

 

Religions, churches, built to house the seeking and the faithful

And yes, the broken, for we are all this… broken;

Part of a species striving for survival, trying to comprehend human-ness,

Unknowable, unlivable life

Just too difficult for many to live.

Yet hope remains, enough to keep at least most of us from

Taking our own life, taking matters into our own hands.

 

Nations and rulers continue to threaten and boast

Attempting to force the other to conform or else.

Be our religion, worship our god, or else.

Leave us alone or else,

Stop enslaving and destroying the innocent or else,

Do what I say or else.

Someone always waiting to bring the hammer down.

 

We watch way too much, know way too much in the information age.

I now know more than I ever truly wanted to know about the nature of man,

The all-consuming self-destructive nature of man;

Always judging, fault-finding, accusing, trying to change the other guy

In our homes as well as in our world.

Whoever you are, you’re wrong; be more like me, like us,

Or Else.

 

What if we stopped doing that and evolved?

What if we started every conversation from a stand point

Of wonder and awe and love and acceptance?

What if we saw ourselves as the blue marble miraculously

Balanced in the skies?

What if we acknowledged the miracle of our existence;

The wonder and beauty of existing at all?

 

I’m the first to say I don’t understand.

I don’t know what God is up to,

Why all this happened, what it’s all about.

And yes, I’ve heard hundreds of people tell me

Their version of belief, their reality, their belief system.

The scriptures as explained by many millions and no two

Even agree on what they say and why, not really,

Not in the end.

 

So, it’s up to me to figure it out, for me.

What do I believe? What’s it all about?

I’ve got to learn to live with unanswered questions,

Because I believe nobody here can truly tell me, not really,

And I’ve got to figure out how to live on this rock

Not knowing, not fully understanding, I’ve got to be okay with that;

I’ve got to, or else.

 

Or else all hope is gone and I won’t live like that.

I won’t live a hopeless life.

Hope in my Creator not to abandon us entirely,

Hope for change, for life, for love.

I have to hope that things can get better

Because why else would we be here

If not to try to bring about positive change?

 

And change never comes unless one person says;

It starts with me, right here, right now.

I’ll change me with divine help, I’ll determine to love more,

Hate less, judge less, reach people more…

 

Love More.

We have to, we really do, or else.

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This Is Love (Gold & Blue)

 

 

An aura of gold and blue

Surrounds them

For they have been one with the other

His and hers

Hers and his

And the light, the aura

Stays

 

Occupying the same narrow space

For hours at a time

His ocean to her shore

Ever wanting more

Never needing to flow back outward

And it’s blue and it’s gold

And it’s nameless thousands of other colors

Pulsing

 

His hand upon her is electric

Tracing the lights and color

Creating the aura

And she is his

 

Until at last they, with slower breath, sleep

Wrapped up together

His arms like mist

Lost in her hair

And everywhere

And they know nothing

Except each other

 

And it lasts as long as it lasts

For love knows no timetable

No schedule to meet

No clock to watch

 

And the seasons follow

Glide and slide

Over the tunnel of time

And it changes

They change

But insist on flowing still

Into one another

And creating the blue and the gold

 

The aura

His ocean to her shore

They meet again

And again

 

This is love

 

 

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US

 

Once I needed you

Because I needed someone, anyone

But now I need you

Because of you, who you are

You’ve proved yourself to me

Time and time again

I thought I loved you for you

But I loved you for me

I was that shallow

Not fully understanding self or even need

And over the years

You showed me

You

And I finally understood

That you are more than I ever knew

Not just that you love me, too

But that you get me

And you’re honest

And true

And such a good soul

And then the changes came

Life happened

And here we still are

Still together

Still you and me

Still us

And you’ve always been the steady one

The straight line to my squiggles

Always there

A rock

A mountain

And I, the child, learning to walk and run

Learning who I’d become

A storm next to a sunny day

And the storm still rages

Though calmer now

With focus as well as intensity

And you’re still there with me

You’re there

You’re here

We’re here

We’re us

To stay

To this day

 

 

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In Head and Heart

When my mind won’t keep still

I get lost in daydreams and nightmares

Of demons both real and imagined

The monkey mind off its leash

Causing chaos

The mind revisiting things best left alone

In the darkness of the past

But there I go, digging them up again, turning them ‘round

Thinking that this time, this time

I’ll figure them out and release them finally

Never to be haunted again

But they stay, lodged quite firmly, comfy in their home

In my head

And in my heart

 

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The Panic in My Mind

My best days are spent not thinking of you
My worst days are spent thinking only of myself
On the bad days, I fall into the well of guessing
Your thoughts
Your feelings
Your motivations
But it isn’t about you at all
After all
It’s only my own personal madness
Descending full blast
Ready to melt my brains and fry my heart
Again
The what-ifs that drive a person
Full-on crazy
The other shoe won’t drop
But it teases you into thinking
It will
When you least expect it
And there’s the rub