BRUNELLA Bee SHERRY
irish PAINTER and POEt
A small sample of my writing. I have written extensively over the past few years
Meditation bathtub
My tub is so simple,
Still I’m grateful.
Incredibly grateful
because this is the place,
most ideas appear.
I do believe, the simple setting, enables the magic to start.
My eyes close,
Ears below the water,
I begin to meditate,
The only sound, my heart.
My brain slows down,
My soul knows when it’s ready.
Then it begins,
Like little gifts,
Words, colours,
compositions rise up from the warmth.
I keep a notebook,
On a chair beside the tub,
I mustn’t let this beautiful creativity
evaporate with the steam,
as it escapes when I open the door.
Never be a colourless flamingo
Peace
Whilst one sips their first cuppa,
The house should be quiet,
Before anyone else stirs,
So quiet you’d think that no one in the entire world had stirred.
Peace.
When a brave woman brings life into this world,
A tranquil environment is imperative,
Everyone around her supplying strength and calm,
Setting the tone for the child’s life,
Peace.
Schools evoking encouragement, and reassurance.
The design and the layout ,
Where creative ideas thrive,
Negativity given no chance to survive.
Sunlight flooding in through large windows,
Both stimulating and soothing young minds,
Peace.
Why do most of us go through life forgetting that which is vital,
Until we reach middle age,
After so many wasted years surrounded by noise.
Peace is fundamental to all of us,
We must have it everyday,
It is utterly priceless,
Please, let there be peace.
I read somewhere,
Flamingos get their vibrant pink from their nutrition and environment.
I saw some once in a zoo,
They looked so pale and forlorn.
They shouldn’t have been there.
They ought to have been in the wild.
Soaking up every ounce of goodness.
I remember thinking people are like colourless flamingos at times,
When they are void of spiritual nourishment.
I thought one must walk away from people and places that drain their inner peace.
It was many years ago I witnessed the sadness of those flamingos in captivity,
I will never forget them.
I like to imagine they flew up and away to freedom,
Back to the warmth and wild,
Slowly every shade of pink and orange,
Filled their fabulous plumage,
I fall asleep sometimes,
Imagining the restoration of their joy.