Poems That I Wrote

This assemblage is a deeply emotional portrayal of the conflict that arises in opposing belief systems represented by the pounding force of water

against the immoveable granite. The metal frame represents the imprisonment that organized religions experience when the fanatical undercurrents are exposed and the compassionate and tolerant aspects of the belief are hijacked.

“God” is the central power of the main religions in the world. The most recognizable names given to “God” throughout history are “Elohim”, “Allah”, “Jehovah”, “Ra”, “Shiva”, and “Yahweh”. When one is lost in the structure and ritual the only way to see God is to look in the rearview mirror.

Very Old Metal Frame (Central America or the Middle East)

Materials: Mixed Media and Acrylic on Birch Board

251/2”W x 25”H x 41/2”D

2013

#58

While laying on my back

watching the birds in flight                  

I wonder at what ingenious creation all birds are.

What daVinci geometry

was used to help them lift their many shapes and sizes

without excuses     

into the air.

Longing to share the joyfulness of their dance,

I wonder,

is the lesson to cut the tethers that restrain one’s lofty dreams

no matter their size or shape?

Deborra                     

With whom are we in love?

Can you remember the moments without?

When you wake to that soft morning light

with whom do you seek comfort?

Whose voice are you eager to hear?

Does that voice travel through the breeze

 while the leaves flutter in delight?

As the violins tantalize the oboe

 does your body yearn to create a melody?

Love is that blissful reminder

 that all can be right with the world if

 ……….even for a moment.

Deborra

let me wake

before the birds begin their song

so I can hear their silence

let me wake

so I can remember the tremors

of the forgotten

so I can inhale

the dignity of

the lost journey

let me wake 

so I can prepare for the naked

pilgrimage

……….to my beginnings

Deborra

Sitting by the stream listening to it embrace its journey,

 following a leaf to its destination on the prairie I

contemplate the womb of this golden blanket. All nature of history has

traveled through this prairie. The desire to remain traces through

 my bones to the hollow of the lava fields.

Sit quietly and allow the the voices of the grasses transform

your need for change.

Do not hurry to leave.

The towering rock formations of Moonstone Mountain sit silently

 heralding the end to the warmth of summer.

All forms of life beginning their preparation for the white blanket

that will put them to bed. These warm days of Autumn can envelop even

 the most dedicated into the allure of procrastination.

But life will wrest the beauty of this moment

and hand it back as a memory.

Deborra

Underneath the flight of the Great Blue Heron,

I am warned that I have tread into a space of mythical protection. 

Calling out to the sky heralding my arrival. 

I look up

with amazement that a winged creature

of such stature is sharing with me his thoughts,

gliding through his territorial perimeters of ownership.

I should learn his language so I can traverse the boundaries of time.

Deborra Marshall Bohrer

Sing me your song so I

may find my way in the darkness.

Do not abandon my entreaties to hear my anguish

my fear of loss,

It is your song

that pierces the night

and lifts the veil from my tired eyes.

Deborra Marshall Bohrer

Is the world so full of frenetic musings

that we can no longer

hear the wind

see the wind

feel the wind

smell the wind

taste the wind

Know the wind

Will we release our minds from the quitclaims?

… those belonging to quicksand

to race like the wind

with abandon?

Landing in the cavernous pool, bubbles wrapping around intention

gliding the lithe body forward

toward the destination.

The dams, the nets, the hooks, the claws will not hinder my thousand mile journey

taking me

home.

There

I will spawn the earth.

Living forever

deteriorating

 …………… into all beings.

 Deborra

The Great Return

It is incomprehensible to think that the tradition of thousands of Sockeye Salmon returning to their spawning grounds, high in the Idaho mountains, had dwindled to one. Red Fish Lake was named for these great fish, turning red in late August, as they complete their treacherous thousand

mile journey from the Pacific Ocean.

The need to return to their origins is a dramatic tale when you understand the Sockeye. Do we remember our own beginning? Have we lost our genetic compass as we race towards a technocratic future?

The cold is leaving my bones

A stirring is is seeping into my limbs as the water navigates the

verdant humous and downfall.

I laugh to myself thinking another year

I look around at the young shoots that are bursting toward the

sun

Which of those bold beginnings will be here when I have taken my

last breath

What do they want to learn in their haste toward the sky

Do they notice the scars and blackened areas on my torso?

Will they appreciate the deep lines in my face

Will they lean toward me for comfort or turn towards the light

How will they protect the land underneath them

Which ones will give themselves up to the cleansing fires that

forever change the landscape

Do they know that they are there to house the young and the old

to hold the birds in their arms and hide the squirrels stash of nuts

under their roots

How will they feel when the bear scratches their skin looking for

sustenance

I will patiently wait for them to ask

Yes so much to learn

So much to give

Deborra Marshall