Today, for a fleeting moment I held in my hands
a crystal sliver of my childhood’s innocence,
and looking through it once more
I felt the same love and the same awe,
I smiled, hugged and shook hands,
I loved and laughed,
and in wonderment looked
at the leaf’s veins,
the butterfly’s powdery wings,
the comforting kindness of my mother’s eyes.
I was steeped in love’s emanations,
I loved and was loved,
I cared and shared in that prism of time.
In solitude and in quiet places
have I sought you and myself,
watching the kites flying in circles,
counting the mynahs in the fields,
watching guppies swim in creeks,
tadpoles and frogs in placid ponds,
the rippling reflections of fleeting clouds,
anchored yet, flowing away in rushing streams,
watched the first leaves peek at the sky,
and in time grow into a shrub,
bear flowers and fruits and seeds,
and be home to animals, birds, and bees.
A pristine sheet of paper lies before me,
just like art class,
sharpened color pencils in a tin box,
rows are colored the same as pencils,
“so, your pencils can be organized,” Dad said.
Out of habit, I draw an open door,
then a house, and windows, a roof, a tree,
then there’s Dad, Mom, Bubby and me,
and some birds drawn with a winged V,
and the orange sun with rays like spokes,
the door, did I know it would be my portal?
back into my innocence, to visit on nights,
when I sit to write and when ideas hide,
to enter my home through time’s portal,
and hug Mom and tell her
“Mum! it’s hard, without ideas,
I have so much, yet nothing to say.”
There I find that crystal sliver of time,
the magic of my childhood’s innocence,
then words and images of people and places,
come flowing, like unsequenced slide shows.
I am the eagle of your skies,
uplifted by your breath in me
have I soared up to lofty heights,
the crags I have called my home
for it here I learn of you,
here I have the unfettered view
of your glory, the awe of your creation,
I see the dance of life on the mountains
and in the valleys, I hear Joy sing songs,
it is here the brook murmurs constantly
“Praise be God! Praised be God!”
Ad infinitum, Ad Gloriam Dei.
Charlie Bottle's passion is poetry. He has lived on three continents, speaks five languages and loves different cultures, people, music and food. He believes that "Poetry uses the economy of words to express the essence of our humanity." It is this magical use of brevity to express the profound that drew him to poetry. While his professional and personal life has pulled him in different directions, He continues in his discipleship of the craft and writes whenever the muse moves him. While English is his second language it is the language in which he lives, breathes, thinks and writes poetry.