Similar in ingredients yet different in texture and purpose.
Both are for healing and a balm, thicker in consistency, also protects from outside elements.
The winds, the rains, even the sunshine on a hot day.
Each with their purpose yet each with their own ability to harm.
Today I’m finding Trust as a Balm for the things I think disastrous. How often have I thought the worst only to experience the Balm of Kindness and Love covering my heart - as a shadow. Do I trust this Balm will always be there?
It’s strange, isn’t it? Even the darkness can be a Balm producing Light.
Again I am grateful. And I am in awe.
Oh! What a wondrous thing this thing called Life. Especially when I recognize that
I had to look up the difference between balm and salve too! I've learned something new today. I love your idea of "trust as a balm for the things I think disastrous" - I need some of that too!
Beautiful prompt and poem. I am a longtime single father through sudden tragedy. Most of what I learned about being a father, I learned through mothers in specific and women in general. Didn’t plan it that way, but it is the way it is and I am grateful. - Dwight Lee Wolter. .
Beautiful! Brings up so many heartache memories - my feline companion of 20 years died last year in April. On one of his last earthly days he and I sat in the garden together and he sniffed the blooming violets intensely. It was a little violet patch in a corner next to a rock he loved to sunbathe on. This year spring arrived and the violets have spread all over my garden, reminding me with their gently flowers of the love and kindness he spread wherever his paws touched the earth. There is such an abundance of violets now in my garden that I was able to make a batch of syrup with the flowers and share with my neighbors who loved my cat companion just as much as I did.
I gave myself the idea of starting a little "balm book" to note down the balm I find in my day - I have a tiny handmade journal that was gifted by a friend that I felt was too special to use. Today's balm would be ironing the linen tablecloths after the party listening to Youtube hand pan.
There is a balm to soothe any soul.
Where will I find mine today?
Will it be in the rain that nourishes the earth?
Will it be in the tender shoots pushing up through the soil?
Where is the balm for my weary limbs?
Is it in the unguent created for healing?
Is it in the exercise that strengthens weak, tired muscles?
There is a balm to soothe any soul.
What if the soul feels broken beyond repair?
Will it be in the kindness of friends and strangers?
Will it be found in peaceful dreams at night.
Creator divine grant healing,
be the balm for so many wounded souls.
Will it be in the writing of a poem at the very same time as a new friend I do not know?
It could be!
I had to look it up
What’s the difference between a salve and a balm?
Similar in ingredients yet different in texture and purpose.
Both are for healing and a balm, thicker in consistency, also protects from outside elements.
The winds, the rains, even the sunshine on a hot day.
Each with their purpose yet each with their own ability to harm.
Today I’m finding Trust as a Balm for the things I think disastrous. How often have I thought the worst only to experience the Balm of Kindness and Love covering my heart - as a shadow. Do I trust this Balm will always be there?
It’s strange, isn’t it? Even the darkness can be a Balm producing Light.
Again I am grateful. And I am in awe.
Oh! What a wondrous thing this thing called Life. Especially when I recognize that
It all works together.
A Balm of Unity.
A Balm of Comfort.
A Balm of Love.
Healing. Protecting. Soothing.
Balm.
I had to look up the difference between balm and salve too! I've learned something new today. I love your idea of "trust as a balm for the things I think disastrous" - I need some of that too!
Thanks, Phoebe! It sure is a great thing being in a community where we share so many new and beautiful thoughts. 🌹
It surprises me everyday to see what thoughts come out when I take the time to write them down! And I love reading everyone else's words too . . .
The phone rings three times before I hear
if there is quiet or chaos
rambling in the gaps between your breaths.
-
Three dots of anticipation as you type a reply
in one word - good
with exclamation point or a lack of punctuation
that keeps me guessing
where good is on a scale of one to ten.
-
One score and ten ago
I rubbed the balm on tender skin
to ease the rashes of your interrupted night.
But now, my three, as you fly free
I hold untethered hopes
that
all is well.
"But now, my three, as you fly free
I hold untethered hopes that all is well."
I feel this to the depths of my soul.
According to my 7-year-old, I am 23;
I like dark colours and knitting;
I'm great at making muffins,
and my favourite food is: sushi?
She likes it when we watch TV together,
loves my hugs, and says I always laugh
when she does something funny;
I'm the best, apparently.
She even drew a portrait of me
with a gnome on my head.
My 4-year-old loves me to pieces;
smiles at me from a puzzle-laden frame;
put painted hands next to a poem
he can't yet read, and wrote his name,
plus L-O-V-E. When asked, he said
"I like it when my mom plays with me,"
said I'm the best at making food;
I say "I love you" so frequently
it's the first thing he could think of,
and it's because I'm gentle that he loves me.
Only some of these things
are as true as I would like them to be,
but I'm trying, desperately, and it seems
they must see that, at least.
beautiful....
Balm
I live in a house where a mind is being lost.
Keys misplaced.
words scrambled like eggs
medication, appointments, days of the week forgotten.
When will it be my name?
I do what is necessary
And outside my window
There are crows!
A cawing murder of them,
High among the trees.
Two, flying like huge black bombers,
come in for a landing on my birdbath.
They cock their glossy heads,
bend to drink.
One of them looks with beady greedy eye
at the feeder hanging nearby.
Hooks the wire,
Pulls it toward him
With tweezer beak
and helps himself to
one seed after another.
These, or another two,
have been building a nest.
Breaking twigs from trees and ferrying them
To a high pine.
Back and forth
Back and forth
Busy architects.
Now I wait for them each morning
Eager to join my day to theirs.
I can breathe.
" I live in a house where a mind is being lost"....my heart, this!
Beautiful prompt and poem. I am a longtime single father through sudden tragedy. Most of what I learned about being a father, I learned through mothers in specific and women in general. Didn’t plan it that way, but it is the way it is and I am grateful. - Dwight Lee Wolter. .
A CONFESSION
I use Zillow as a balm
for all that is pain-filled,
inflamed and
tender to the touch
in this world right now.
On bad days I can spend hours
seeking out a different world,
a different life,
in a different place:
A place where ICE is simply
that which you use to
cool the mocktail
while sitting on the patio
off that sunny, flowerpot-laden back deck
overflowing with lush, red, succulent strawberries
while gazing out at the blue sky.
Like the one on Zillow.
A place where freedom
is for everyone,
not just those with bucko-bucks and
white skin and
very particular chromosomes.
Where everyone and anyone
can rest assured that
they are worthy
and valued
and bearers of dignity,
like the 1902 craftsman house
with hand-crafted wooden railings
and the etched, leaded glass
that seems to call out:
Look at me! I am something special!"
Like the one on Zillow.
A place where food is organic
and nutritious
and beautiful
and available to everyone
regardless of ability to pay.
And folks have all they need
to cook the food for themselves and their families
and gather around the table every evening
to celebrate the goodness of the earth
and the goodness of each other
and the goodness of that
perfectly appointed kitchen.
Like the one on Zillow.
A place where creativity flourishes
and shelves are filled with books
and people of all ages have what they need
to learn new things every day.
And comfy chairs beside the fireplace
lure you into rest at days end
with a book in hand -
or knitting form the basket beside the chair.
And the day winds down in peace.
And life is good.
Like the one on Zillow.
I use Zillow as a balm.
Because some days the reality of what IS
is simply too painful to bear.
So I lose myself in a far-off imaginal land
where I dream a new world into being.
Like the one on Zillow.
There must be a better way.
yes! I know this and feel this...Minneapolis resident here. :)
The humming of bees and a gentle breeze
compose a quiet hymn
amidst the groans of earth
and crescendos of creation.
Abundance is on full display
even in this tiny, mighty dye garden.
A harvested haul of living color
offer blooms for the brewing.
The lingering scent of marigolds
on my palms are a balm for the senses–
a humble yet holy ointment–
nature’s almsgiving to the poor in spirit
for the worried and wearied parts of me.
Oh, living color, a sight for sore eyes!
I am a maker existing in the world
which is ever making itself–
may I too be a balm
devoted to mutual nourishing.
May I too be a balm- I love that.
Balm
I wonder if the best, most effective, balms
are the unexpected ones
That moment of connection
That glimpse of a beautiful bird
That kind word
That encouraging smile
That warm hug
The balm to the soul
That eases the stress
Calms the nerves
Soothes the anxious thoughts
In ways we did not imagine
Perhaps cannot even see
But we feel it deeply
the healing
and hope
the comfort of divine presence
the touch of God's love
I visualize my balms hurriedly
trying to head off a full blown anxiety attack …
Just thinking about dolphins gliding upon water’s surface
Bluebirds creating their home in the box I placed for them
Companion trees swaying their gladness in the breezes
A cushion of calm that slows my pulse
The protection of being enfolded in a loved one’s arms
Brings elongated breaths that wrap me in tenderness reminding me of my resilience
Once again I am invited back into the world’s ruckus.
My son's growing body -
Nestling into me
On the way-too-small chair
As he sleeps, mouth open -
Is a balm
Massaging into my wounds
Of not-good-enough,
Maybe-if-i-just-tried-harder
Doubts on this mother's day.
Soothe the sting of burning sun
With a cool and sticky aloe balm
Rub the cracked lips and skin
With a soothing buttery balm
Then what of a pierced soul?
Wrap in love, and balmy hug.
Beautiful! Brings up so many heartache memories - my feline companion of 20 years died last year in April. On one of his last earthly days he and I sat in the garden together and he sniffed the blooming violets intensely. It was a little violet patch in a corner next to a rock he loved to sunbathe on. This year spring arrived and the violets have spread all over my garden, reminding me with their gently flowers of the love and kindness he spread wherever his paws touched the earth. There is such an abundance of violets now in my garden that I was able to make a batch of syrup with the flowers and share with my neighbors who loved my cat companion just as much as I did.
Childhood Balm
First sign of cough
or congestion,
Mom tucked me into bed,
retrieved the blue bottle
of Vicks Vaporub from medicine cabinet.
Lovingly, gently, caressed dabs
across my chest, folded a cotton diaper
over the ointment to increase
its healing heat.
In my bathroom drawer
resides a blue bottle of Vicks --
its fragrance -- balm
Sufficient unto the day
is the balm thereof.
Can I trust
that this is true?
And take the time to
open the jar
and apply . . .
I gave myself the idea of starting a little "balm book" to note down the balm I find in my day - I have a tiny handmade journal that was gifted by a friend that I felt was too special to use. Today's balm would be ironing the linen tablecloths after the party listening to Youtube hand pan.
I once shared springtime with women as close as family
Now lost to our own lack of shared time
White wine in the afternoon
Lingering amongst the growing things:
Children, plants, dogs
***
Did the soul need different medicine in those days?
Was my tongue held between my teeth
Or loosened with the grape blessed sting?
***
Once I had a taste for such pleasures:
Simple, clouded, only a certain kind of true
***
Did those women teach me
Bee balm, milkweed, the kind of violet that grows wild?
They did
And some plants still bloom
***
But a new spring stretches before me
Contorts around us and our (un)forgotten shared history
And I sit alone, in new company
A tall glass of water, a blank page, one daughter, and a pen