Poems by Kat Schrier Stewart
I see in my garden a reflection of life as it was from the beginning.
My Gardener created a perfect garden.
He prepared the soil; he provided all the things to make his garden
bring forth life.
His loving hands planted me as a beautiful flower.
He smiled as he thought about the beauty and the joy I would bring
him in spring.
But life in the garden is not perfect.
Seeds he did not choose to plant have established themselves amongst
the beauty of his garden.
My Gardener worked hard to remove the weeds.
But the roots of some ran deep.
They began to entangle my own roots, causing me to wither and I began
My Gardener looked at his garden.
He knew I was not worthy of death by the things of this world.
So he uprooted me, and with his own hands, he untangled the roots
of the weeds.
And then he gently replanted me.
At first, I felt the shock.
But he worked hard to help me establish myself.
He gave me encouragement to spread my roots.
I felt free to grow in the warm glow of the sun.
Because of my Gardener's hands, I live.
I am thankful for the Gardener.
As these thoughts come to me, I am reminded of a truth.
Life Began In A Garden.
Of Coming Together
Lured by the eyes.
Captured by the kiss.
Surrounded by scent.
Engulfed by strength.
Intrigued by feel.
Heightened by sound.
Drawn by the eyes.
Seduced by the senses.
Taken by the heat.
He is man.
He is magnificent.
He is mine.
It was dawn.
He lived surrounded by the beauty of his garden.
He had all he needed for life and for happiness.
But he didn't have her.
At night he slept, entrenched in loneliness.
Longing for a touch he didn’t know he missed.
Yearning for that which would make his garden complete.
He awoke to the feel of her hands on his face.
He heard her voice, like music - whispering his name.
He knew that what had been created for him,
Was now within his reach.
He took her, the gift he had been given.
And he loved her.
She was his Purity; he her Beloved.
He shared with her, the wonder of his garden.
She gave back to him, the starlight in her eyes.
As one to another, they caressed their souls with truth and devotion.
Together they grew.
They lived their lives.
They knew love.
I'm A Modern Woman
I'm a modern woman, I have it all!
I'm telling you, my life's a ball!
I have the keys to my own house.
(I think downstairs I saw a mouse)
I have two kids, they're my pride and joys.
(I need some earplugs to block this noise!)
I keep up on fashion, I know the latest rage.
(I still look good, "for my age")
My social life, it's so great!
(Why just last year, I had a date!)
I always share my deepest feelings.
(Why are there handprints on my ceilings?)
I love to garden, and plant my seeds.
(I wish I had more flowers than weeds)
At my place of business, I'm well respected.
(Shoot, my hard drive is infected!)
I work real hard every day.
(Oh darn, there's still three bills to pay!)
I’m still great buds, with my ex
(I swear I didn’t cast that hex!)
The man I love he won’t break my heart!
(He had how many women? OUCH that smarts!)
My nights are hot and always steamin'
(Oops, I think I must be dreamin')
See! I told you life was just a ball!
But still I'm happy, despite it all!
She lives the life.
Protected by the shelter she has built in her mind.
Encased within fortified walls.
She claims she is free.
The days pass by and she lives,
Though she is not alive.
As the evenings come she secures the gates.
Closing out the threat of strangers.
She takes comfort in the security of her fortress.
He comes to her, not as an invading force,
But as a soft breeze, a whisper in the wind.
He caresses her with the truth of his words.
And brings forth from her the beauty that is locked away.
She gives to him the keys to her inner sanctuary.
He unlocks the door.
She dares to step into the magic of his light.
He introduces her to the beauty of the meadow.
She is in awe of the fragrance of the roses.
Together they dance to the music of the wind.
The sun is shining bright in the sky.
She turns to see her fortress crumble.
And she is truly free.
Biographical sketch: I live in the Pacific NW with my two
teenaged sons. By day, I am a mild mannered Executive Assistant, at
night I am poet and mom extraordinare. I recently celebrated the 12th
anniversary of my 30th birthday.
Kat Schrier Stewart recommends:
No Title by No author
Reason: I truly cannot say I have a favorite poet, or
book, there are too many wonderful poets in the world!
Recommendations for writers:
Poetry, to me is an expression of a combination of thoughts and
emotions. I cannot write about something unless I feel inspired to
do so. Don't force it.