“Watcher’s Plea”


Stand guard, O Sentinel,
til this here comes to pass,
though wither may the flowers
and wither may the grass.

Stay rooted, O Sentinel,
upon this hallowed ground,
though light may lose its luster
and song may lose its sound.

Hold fast, O Sentinel,
unto the silver thread,
though joy fall into slumber
and hope go lie in bed.

Be strong, O Sentinel,
until ye hear the gong
that brings light to the darkness
and justice to the wronged.

Written July 2011, Emma Dumitra.
Image from footage.shutterstock.com of Westerkerk, Netherlands. 




With weary precision this traveller paints
the lines from the past to the present.
What was once so fresh and strong in mind
is now made dull and unpleasant.

The strength required to keep a pure heart
has brought greater men to their knees.
This traveller breaks; from the dangerous weight
of self-sufficiency is not freed.

Inevitably, the time to surrender
will bring a new vigor sometime,
for the standard is strong yet, the flag flies yet true;
until then, let but hope be his crime.

Written December 2012, Emma Dumitra
Image from http://www.robodesign.ro. 

“The Present Day”


The precious maybes in my peripheral, they linger,
but when I twitch they ever blink away.
Made mad by my own future, I must retreat,
be cradled by each day as it comes.
‘Tis no defeat to hold the present day in high esteem.
‘Tis no defeat to listen to the people
as they dream.

The precious maybes’ hopeful wings throw shadows
o’er my waking world.
All is only as it should be when my vision,
not impaired by dreams that may or may not be,
from the corners of my round eyes sees
the past to be beheld,
the future to be near,
but the present to be here.

Written January 2013, Emma Dumitra.
Image from agricultureproud.com. 



If there was a firefly to linger
as the sparks fade into stars
perhaps I would not

think of hope as a flighty
and iridescent stranger.
But I lie,

for that is my curse — to hope
despite the fading vistas of
my dreams, and the rain

which erases the directions
that I drew on the sidewalk.
The pep-talk’s in poetry —

and the blue of the forget-me-not
still hopes — though forgotten.
And I, if God himself lost sight of me,

perhaps I would yet believe
in miracles, whatever they are,
and that sparks are fireflies — are stars.

Written April 2013, Emma Dumitra.
Image from science.howstuffworks.com.

Guest Poem: “Sucking Lemons”

Today’s poem was written by my sister Miriam. I’ll be sharing some
of her talent here every now and then because it’s lovely stuff. If you thought I was good at poetry — well, think again.


Beautiful day
Turned into night
That froze us and gathered us
A bit further down
But remember warmth
And so we all sat
Sat together in rows

Sucking lemons
Bittersweet sighs
And water in my eyes
When I try to talk
But when do they hear
The rage in my voice
And hope subdued

Acid tongue
Based on the fact
That conversation lies
A little to the left
But forget the right
It’s wronged too fast
And moves too slow

Beautiful night
Turn into day
And wake and embrace me
With white-hot fingers
But forget frost
That words are stinging
And move the lonely

Counting space
Slithering time
The beat in the talk
Isn’t quite right again
But why don’t they change
The air that they breathe
And harmful words

Seen by sorrow
And I trusted
To hold my right hand
Without gripping tight
But then there’s the word
I always forget
And won’t remember

Written by Miriam Dumitra.
Image from http://www.thisiscolossal.com by Christopher Jobson.

“Last Day of Summer”

summer sky

It’s the last day of summer
and the sky is eternal.
This, the last day of freedom
so it seems,
so it seems.
Tonight, all are nocturnal.
Tonight, who of us will sleep?
For tomorrow will come
and I’ll laugh and I’ll sing,
for tomorrow will come
and who knows what great blessings
the great tomorrow will bring?

Written September 2011, Emma Dumitra.
Photo credit Nicole Rook.

“Milestone in the Silence”


Milestone in the silence,
pensive steps,
we carry on.
No one sees the transformation
that I feel
within my bones.

Milestone in the silence;
all is change,
all is the same.
No one dances at the diff’rence
in the quiet
breathing game.

Milestone in the silence;
hear the whisper,
here we go.
This is why I have existed
until now
to live in hope.

Written May 2011, Emma Dumitra.
Image from www.mere-wilts-heritage.info.