Patricia L. Atchison

YA Fiction & Non Fiction Author

Poetry

Sequestered – But Not Hiding

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San Diego Wave, photo by Patricia L. Atchison I understand daily events in my life can’t be organized, planned, nor managed at this time.

Outside forces intervene, a storm over the water, where ripples become white-capped waves crashing against a rocky shore.

Unable to control this storm, I seek shelter and comfort within the confines of a loving home, watching it swirl around me.

Thankful I’m not out in the midst of it, I think of those who are.

They’ve no choice but to bounce about, facing one wave, then the next.

Never knowing when the biggest one will hit and overtake, tipping them out into the vast ocean, fighting for their lives, and the lives others.

I’m not confined, though sequestered, but not hiding.

Merely being, I’m unable to control and manage.

I am doing my part to stay out of the storm and waiting for it to pass over.

Once it dissipates, I can go outside again and bask in the sunshine.

Ready to organize, plan, and manage daily events, carrying on with life’s familiar once more.

(Author’s note: my voice on #Covid_19 and self-isolating.)

Settling the Ghosts of the Past

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Every now and then a poem comes which brings with it healing. This is one I wrote from awhile ago that I wish to share.

~Patricia L. Atchison – A multi-genre author sharing my voice through word choice & musings one sentence at a time. ~

Written by Patricia L. Atchison, Nov 21, 2018

Moon Photo by Patricia L AtchisonWhen we settle a ghost of the past
we place it under the starry night sky.

So that it may wander up into the universe
and become a beacon of light;

A shining star, a map of where we’ve once been.
We can gaze upon it and recognize its glory.

Knowing it had a significant effect on our life.
Recognizing it as a light of change,

its beauty never obstructed
now a sparkling gem, a dot of fascination.

Where there once was darkness in its wake
now comes light reigning above.

A tiara across the skies of black
where we’ve settled a ghost of the past.

The universe shines at night
with stars of past experiences.

Just look at the Milky Way, full of many ghosts
from souls’ settling their past.

The night sky lit with radiance and light,
disappearing when the sun rises anew.

Reminded of again when dusk falls
and illumination against darkness begins.

We gaze upon the starry night sky
settling the ghosts of the past.

Ode to the Abandoned Dog

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I wrote the following poem at a time that I was volunteering at the Cochrane & Area Humane Society. So many dogs come through shelters that for whatever reason are abandoned. The other day my husband and I were having a discussion about how the number of families that have animals has increased so much from when we were children. I remember living in the PMQ’s (Private Military Quarters), Currie Barracks area in Calgary (1970’s). Families would get dogs, but postings came around so often, and with the moves (most likely overseas) the animals would be left tied to the steps. Other families would take in the dogs, or they would become ‘pound puppies’. Recently, the phrase ‘looking for a fur-ever home’ has been coined to help people realize that acquiring a pet in their home is for the duration of it’s life.

Ode to the Abandoned Dog
(Praise to the Shelter Volunteer)

They abandoned me
I know not why
Here I sit on my porch and cry.

The neighbours they just look
And shake their heads
Inside they go to their warm feather beds.

The day turns to night
I shiver and shiver
The moon comes out, but it’s just a sliver.

No need to bay
I’ve got their attention
It’s so cold out my cries reach perfection.

Men approach me
I’ve had enough
I bark and snarl as they grab me by the scruff.

I try to act tough
But as I’m tossed into a dark crate
I push my nose against the small grate.

Lights and strange noises
Pass before my eye
I shrink inside the shadows, afraid I might die.

My body bounces
In this small box
Suddenly the motion stops.

As the door opens
I try to escape
Rough hands stop me before I reach the gate.

I’m shoved into a small space
I struggle and claw
But it’s of no use, I close my jaw.

And then there’s this face…

Her touch is gentle
Her eyes are sad
I wag my tail a little; I don’t want her to be mad.

She pats my face, my ears,
My head
I nudge her hand as she leads me to a soft bed.

In front of me she places a bowl of water
I take a drink
I try not to think…

Of where my family is
And why they left me

Of who this lady is
And why she is so kind to me

Of where I am
And why I am here

For the moment
I feel safe
She’s brought me food now, I take a taste.

It’s good, crunchy
And yummy
I yawn, now I’ve got such a full tummy.

I lie down
And chew the corner of the nice fluffy bed
She sits beside me and holds my head.

My need to play and chase
For now will keep
As I drift off to sleep.

For now, I am still, for in this moment
The arms that hold me
Make me feel loved.

It is enough
I snuggle close
Trying to get the most

Of her warmth and comfort
I wag my tail
It flaps against the rail.

My new home is small and tall and different
From what I’ve known
But I am grateful for the love I’ve been shown.

I nestle deep
Into the bed
And lay down my very weary head.

© By Patricia L. Atchison
September 2012

 

Love Comes

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Love comes with no judgements,
there is no room for loving when judging thoughts occur.

Love comes without preconceived notion,
if you pre-think or predetermine action – there is no room for love.

Love comes when we seek beauty,
no matter what or who we see, if we view from a sense of beauty… Love comes.

Love comes with compassion,
seeking compassion amongst diversity allows love to come.

Love comes accepting others as they are,
we can’t change anyone. If we fight who they are, then we can’t love them.

When judging, we’ve found an excuse to walk away.
If one chooses love with no judgement,
then it is easier to stay together, decades could never be lost.

Love comes with love, but…. If there is no ‘like’ can Love still come?

© by Patricia L. Atchison

The Country Pulse

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The Country Pulse
by Patricia L. Atchison.

There is a pulse to the country
That time only knows.

The heartbeat of rancher, farmer and toiler,
The heartbeat of livestock,
The heartbeat of the earth growing, changing, evolving
Each touching the other.

Man with animal,
Animal to earth and sky
Each sharing a bond of love and respect
That only those who travel the vast prairies, valleys and foothills
Can comprehend.

The love of compatibility,
The love of muscle bearing, chest wrenching hard work,
The love of something so great
It is beyond themselves yet palpable to the heart.
Yes, there is a pulse to the country
For those who live, toil, ranch and farm upon the land
For the livestock which eat and thrive.

If you listen real close
You will hear that heartbeat… of love
Pulsing through the vast prairies, valleys and foothills
Of rancher, farmer and toiler, of livestock
And of the earth sharing her bounty with all who reside, growing changing, evolving
Supporting life… pulsing for those who understand the beat.

Author’s note: I wrote this poem after hearing a Mother describe her total love, affection and understanding of her teen who has a bond with horses, roping and ranching that most town/city folk might not understand. Ranching is a way of life, and until you’ve lived in the country or been close to those who work horses and livestock upon the land, birthing, branding and raising livestock, moving them from pasture to grazing lands, haying, feeding, etc., it is hard to know what life is like for these hard working souls. I lived in the country for over 13 years and I definitely felt a pulse of life as it moved through the different seasons, each one offering up a different set of duties and challenges. This poem is dedicated to all who work the land and with livestock.