Thank You… I Think

How ironic
That you don’t like it
When I stand up for myself:
You’re the one
Whose weapon words
Gave me real-time training
In the art of self defence.
Had I not learned
To deflect your contempt
And resist your hateful words,
I would not be here today.

You prompted my resistance,
Inspired my defiance,
And forced my indifference
To anything else you have to say.

So thank you, I think,
For helping me become someone others like
Infinitely more than you do.

Thank You… I Think
#poem #Poetuit
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February 17, 2021 1

Mending.

I have sewn these seams a hundred times:
Letting out,
Taking in,

Adjusting for change,
Suturing wounds
And mending the tears
Through which too many have left,
Exposing for a moment
That which I wish to keep hidden:
Tender flesh, secret places,
A soul worn and tattered;
Safely concealed
Beneath the careful tailoring
And confident colour
Of that which I display to the world.

Today,
In the quietness of my sanctuary,
I gather my fraying finery
Close to my breast,
Protective of its frailty,
I weep,
Overwhelmed by the agony
Of an injury so profound
It may never be repaired.

And then,
Because I have no choice,
I begin to stitch,
Yet again.

November 17, 2020 3

Mourning Song

*Photo artwork by Joanne Van Leerdam. June 24, 2020.*

Tears fall,
Can’t stop them,
Can’t hide them.
You’re gone,
Can’t bring you
Back again.
Why am I always the one who is feeling
The pain of the wrenching and tearing of leaving?
Why must this pain be so raw deep inside of me?
My heart
Misses you
Desperately.
Please say
That you won’t
Forget me.
I can’t imagine my life without you in it,
Bereft of the light and the joy of your loveliness,
Every room filled with the echoes of memories.
Never
To be the
Same again.
Tears fall,
Into the
Loneliness.
You’re
Gone.

Mourning Song.
#poetry #grief #Emotions #poetrylovers #personal #ReadAWrite
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This poem is included in my collection titled ‘Leaf’.

June 30, 2020 1

Superficial

*I wrote this poem two years ago. It’s still far too relevant*,

Too bright, too individual, too funky,
Too wild, too unafraid, too chunky,
Too short, too loud, too bold, too dyed—
When will you ever look inside?
It’s so easy to label something as sin
Ignoring the gems concealed within—
Love, passion, talent, loyalty, art.
Yet you say God looks at each person’s heart
For faith, service, and integrity:
Why can’t you look that way at me?

PS:
I saw you looking at my ears
And all my pretty piercings there;
Your distaste was almost palpable
And I still don’t eally care

February 22, 2020 1

Final Notice.

Listen,
Now that you’ve made it clear
That I don’t matter to you,
I need you to return my things:

The time you were always asking for,
Countless borrowed hands,
The respect you mistook for deference,
The love you took for granted,
My confidence,
My dignity,
And everything else you took
When I wasn’t looking.

November 29, 2018 0

Beloved.

This poem is perfect to share for Valentine’s Day- and every other day!

You, my love, are beautiful:
Although form and face may change,
The light of your soul
Burns with inexorable passion,
Tempered with undying love:
In that, my darling, you are
Unequalled by any other.
You are without blemish
Not for any god-like failure to err,
But that in my eyes there is no flaw
That could cause me to love you less.
My beloved, you alone
Are the desire of my heart,
My now, my forever, my destiny.

Dearest heart, do not believe
The world or your own insecurities:
They lie.
Instead, I beg of you, believe me,
For I understand your worth
In a way that you may never do.

Shares are welcomed and appreciated.

February 14, 2018 2

1.37am

I’m crying when I should be sleeping

And I’m not even sure of what’s wrong,

But sadness whispers it’s cruelest lies

When I’m alone in the dark for too long.

The blackness is filled with aching

And misery heavier than air,

Velvet blankets of darkness enfold me

As I drown in the waves of despair.

I wish that my mind would stop churning,

Let my body and soul find some peace;

But the pain and the fear keep returning,

Denying me any release.

If the coldest, darkest hour,

Is the one that comes just before dawn,

This darkness must give up its power

When the first hint of morning is born.

Oh please, let the first light come quickly

And replenish my heart with its fire

Let the daylight drive out the darkness

And bring me the peace I desire.

Leaf 2nd Ed Title Only copy
©2016 Joanne Van Leerdam

This poem is one of 43 that appear in the collection titled Leaf.

September 27, 2017 0

The Artist

Pictures splash furiously onto each page,

Images shaped with both light and shade,

Memories and thoughts, things she wished she had said,

Emotions and fears that had never been shared.

Some pages were dark, some filled with desire,

Yet others glowed with heaven’s own fire;

Some scenes that exposed the true hearts of men,

Were blotched by tears she had shed over them.

Some pictures were smudged, some faded with time,

Others vivid with colour, rhythm and rhyme.

Some portraits brought pleasure, some caused her pain

That she had hoped she might never feel again.

And the truth looked directly back into her eyes,

Its gaze unashamed, its candour undisguised,

For what she had thought had been fiction’s domain

Was staring at her and speaking her name.

The shock of enlightenment jolted her soul –

Each page revealed truths that had never been told;

Every fiction created as part of her art

Had been drawn from the depths of her world-weary heart.

The Artist is one of my favourite poems from ‘Leaf’.

I was inspired to write it by my friend Nicky, who is an incredibly gifted

Leaf 2nd Ed Title Only copy artist. On looking at one of her paintings, I commented that I wished I could do what she did.
She said, “You do. You just do it with words.”

Leaf is available in your favourite digital bookstore or in paperback.

September 19, 2017 1

Late Fall.

Given that ‘New Horizons’ just won first place for Short Story in the Summer Indie Book Awards, I thought I would share a story from that book this week.

I hope you enjoy it!

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

So he left, not worried at all.

And she stayed, as she always had.

She had always wished he would touch her face gently, or hold her hand, and say he’d be back as soon as he could be. She longed to hear him tell her that there was nowhere else he would rather be than with her. She wanted him to hold her close when the nights were long and lonely. She craved for him to love her the way he had promised to, all those years ago.

But her hopes had faded with her memories of their happiness. For all she remembered of those times, it could have been someone else in the faded pictures in the album that she knew by heart, but could no longer bear to open.

A wedding dress. A baby’s first steps. A smiling couple in front of a small house in the suburbs. A schoolboy. A graduation. Another wedding dress.

The only thing that mattered anymore was the baby, and he was long gone, a grown man living on the other side of the country, pursuing his own hopes and dreams.

Probably for the best, she thought. No point in him knowing what my life has become. Just let him be happy.

What she wanted now was to be somewhere – someone – else. It almost didn’t matter where, or who. Those things are not so important to someone who has almost entirely forgotten who she used to be.

She gazed at the leaves falling in the yard, flurries of colour falling to the ground, skittering playfully in the breeze.

So free. So beautiful. I wonder how they know when it’s time to fall.

Then she realised: they just do. It just happens.

She turned away from the window and went to the closet. She took out a suitcase and began to fill it with her things. She was preparing to leap from her tree and fly to another place.

She was afraid of falling; she was afraid of the wind.

But she was more afraid of staying where she was and ceasing to exist at all.

‘Late Fall’ appears in New Horizons.
Find out more at www.jvlpoet.com/books

September 13, 2017 0

One Less Star.

Tonight
Through the tears
That sprang from your pain
And fell from my eyes,
I looked into the sky
Where there was one less star shining,
And I wept for the world
Where life carries on
Just that bit darker
Than before
You left.

This poem and fifty others are now published in a new collection: The Passing Of The Night.

July 4, 2017 4