Two poems by Deborah Walker

The Wind

After our return from long
hours at the hospital where
we prayed you would survive,
the July night’s hot, dry wind
wailed and rattled the sunroom door while
we tried unsuccessfully to sleep.
I imagined it was your soul
begging to be let into
the house you had called home,
and it was only then
I cried.

*

Gleniff Horseshoe

The carved cliff faces of the ancient glacial bowl
like the green gathered skirts of a race of giants,
guard the silence of the valley below,
broken only by sounds of tiny brooks and waterfalls,
plunging vertically with self-satisfied gurgles and
splashes of glee,
and the sweet trilling of birds,
happy in the isolation,
singing their joy.

To walk the Gleniff Horseshoe, all six miles of it,
in contemplative quietness of voice and mind,
completely alone, yet not so alone,
is to know the certainty of a higher power and
the truth of the unseen, to feel one with all that is, as
ancient knowing
settles on your wounded heart,
and the wisdom of the old ones
brings you their peace.

 


Deborah Walker has been writing poetry since her childhood in Texas. Her earliest poem, adorned with a red check from the teacher and a flag sticker, is lovingly kept, along with all the others, in an old leather portfolio. After studying psychology, interdisciplinary studies with a specialization in science, and library and information science, Deborah worked as a librarian and teacher, making writing the focus of all classroom subjects. She doubled down on that focus after the death of her oldest son, who was also a poet, by encouraging her students to believe in themselves as writers of both stories and poems. Establishing and sponsoring the Poetry Club at her schools was a joyful experience filled with laughter, tears, and wonder at what the children wrote. She continues to write in Texas, though would one day love to live in Ireland which is very close to her heart.


Photograph is Gleniff Horseshoe, taken by Deborah Walker.


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