On Water

Somewhere in a distant time
I recall the heavy pressed air of loneliness.
This day by itself consoles the worn shadows
of that dark place. Cold rivers flow constantly
sculpting their way along the weakened banks,
each year cutting further into the land
as roots cling in silent desperation.
Fallen debris is captured,
tangled in a frothy mix
of the dead and dying.
Today the waters move unhindered
cleverly concealing life's sediments below.

Night

How long the night,
how deeply seated
in quiet,
the pounding
in my chest
so loud,
restlessly we turn
waiting,
my heart and I
for night
to spill away
into day.

He Is

My love weeps in sleeping
and is a pale moon that travels
within the confines of honor.

He lives, not between the banks
of billowing white clouds
that steal my vision
but between the crevices of rock
that form the pitfalls of my journey
haunting my dreams nightly.

He is a wandering soul
that forever roams
the silence of my hoping.

Watching You Go

Shadows sweep across your vast emptiness

like a thick fog easing over a quiet valley,

the cool night air still damp with regret

as a rising sun awaits its turn

to burn another day to dark

while I from the mountain top

stop to find my footing there

at the very edge of your despair

where longings linger in droplets of dew

that slide freely down the tall grass

past knowing and light

into the soft rich earth I watch you go

below the mystery and magic,

deep beneath the memory of me.

Fall

hum

Fluid Thoughts

I wake to slight stirrings
that well within the soft contours of hope.
Stretching I reach in to feel the warm liquid
of loves healing touch.

I sit upon the edges of deep rivers,
my feet soothed by the flowing waters
brushing over my skin, rising my senses,
heightening my desires.

With eyes closed, love binds me secure
and I find myself pressed on all sides.
Embedded deeply, my vision moves
easing me into its cool clarity.

Destiny's currents gather me in arms
as I release my weakened hold
floating in a surreal ecstatic joy
melding into rhythmic movements.

In the dream, behind teared eyes
I am carried along rooted banks
that weep as I pass slowly by.
Guided gently around, I bend.

I dare not open my eyes to see
nor speak out beond a whisper.
Love ripples across the surface
turning me over in fluid thought.

Ers Copyright ©2003

When the Heart Bleeds

When The Hearts Bleeds
By Eve Docherty
© all rights reserved 2004

1

On Water

Streams

Somewhere, in a distant time, I recall the heavy pressed air
of loneliness. This day, by itself, consoles the worn shadows of that dark place. Cold rivers flow constantly, sculpting their way along weakened banks each year cutting deeper into landscapes as roots cling in silent desperation. Fallen debris
is captured, tangled in a frothy mixture of the dead and dying. Today the waters move unhindered, cleverly concealing life's sediments below.

***

For as long as I can remember water has drawn me to it. From childhood to this day I have always found myself in close proximity to some form of it. I have been enriched by its clarity and urged onward by its movement through a serene nature.

In front of my small home, nuzzled sweetly into the landscape a small pond glimmers its lazy southern charm. So many times I have stood on my porch and watched the mist rise and burn away. Here I've heard the laughter of children mingled with my own, seen smiles that are etched in my memory forever, and found hope, peace and joy.

A short walk through the dense forest of hemlock, Rhododendron and Mountain Laurel will lead you to the Cartecay River, which weaves along the base of Stover Mountain. Once there the only sounds are that of the water tumbling and rippling along its way south to the Ellijay River which then becomes the Coosewatee. No matter where I go in the course of my day I am never very far away from the waters healing touch.

Water has been the well from which many of my poems were drawn. I imagine myself standing over the well, peering down into the deep, black waiting for my voice to come back. When it does, I take up my pen.

And so begins my small journey. It is my hope that you will find within these small offerings, parts of yourself that identify and connect with small parts of mine. It is about traversing the rough topography of life and finding in the end that there are far worse things than tired, aching feet and absolutely nothing better than the journey itself. It is the souls only recourse as it bends and twists about life's comings and goings, conforming always to its truest nature.