Debra Basham

Living and Loving

Tag: poetry

  • A Cloudy Day

    The past few days have unfolded very differently from my plans. I had expected to share fish-fry with Linda and Larry and Linda and Fred and play Hand-and-Foot on Friday evening, and to make vegetable beef soup with my mother’s cornbread for dinner on Saturday with Janis and Larry. I planned a visit with Delcy Kuhlman on Monday morning (to see the new retreat space already sporting a bed). The bed is on loan. She says the veneer has slivered off the headboard, revealing the image of an angel. Jane Foster was scheduled to come for lunch on Wednesday.

    Each of those wonderfully wanted experiences were crossed off my calendar when we received a text from Lora at 8:21 am Friday, “Asking for your prayers. John and I have tested positive for COVID.” John and John had gone out for coffee on Thursday morning and in the evening John and I had been with John for about 40 minutes.

    Normally there are 12-20 people at the Thursday jam. When no one else showed up for the jam, we went home.

    On Wednesday the CDC updated Covid exposure protocol. Ten days of precaution: first five – isolation or being with others only with a proper medically-approved mask, even if no symptoms test on day 6, and if negative, continue to mask until day 10. Thursday was our Day Zero.

    Day 1, Friday, August 12, 2022:
    Well before noon, I was painting paneling in the great room.


    Perhaps the job was begun a bit too impulsively since I was using only the paint left over from the previous kitchen cabinet project, without any primer. That paneling was soaking up paint like a lawn after a six-week drought when the rains come…

    I had the wherewithal to stop.

    Friday evening, after a conference call with Larry Britton, I knew I needed to put on gloves and a mask, and make a trip to Sherwin Williams before continuing. I needed supplies.

    I’ve begun reading The Rent Collector, by Camron Wright, in which the main character, Sang Ly, learns to read with the hope of creating a way out of their current living conditions: they live in and survive by picking through garbage in Cambodia’s largest municipal dump.

    Day 2, Saturday, August 13, 2022:
    Saturday morning at 8 o’clock I called Sherwin Williams to say I did not have Covid, but would be coming into the store in gloves and a mask because I had been exposed. “Laney” said that was okay. She did keep her distance, and as she carried the two gallons to my car she told me in two weeks she was going on her first vacation in two years. I told her I understood completely and that was why I could not come in without calling first.

    The name of paint color is Cultured Pearl. According to Wikipedia, cultured pearls are formed within a cultured pearl sac with human intervention in the interior of productive living molluscs in a variety of conditions depending upon the mollusc and the goals.[1] Just as the same as natural pearls, cultured pearls can be cultivated in seawater or freshwater bodies. Nowadays, over 95% of the pearls available on the market would be cultured pearls.

    By dinner time, two walls were painted and everything in the area cleaned and furniture put properly placed!

    Day 3, Sunday, August 14, 2022:

    “That is a wonderful lesson, Sang Ly. Remember it.”

    “What was it again?” I ask, not certain to what she is referring.

    She repeats it for me. “In literature, everything means something.”

    We open the pages and read.

    ~ The Rent Collector, by Camron Wright

    It is cloudy today. My knees and hips are sore from all of the squatting. This is a low job…. I am not sure if I will take the day off or persevere.

    I had anticipated Friday, August 12, 2022. Sixty years earlier, when I was twelve years old, my dad and I were in a serious auto accident — an accident in which I had an out-of-body near death experience (NDE) that has shaped my view of the world. I had expected to write, to ride my bike, to give space to be on a very inner journey. I certainly had not anticipated painting paneling.

    A poem gives rise on the page in my journal.

      A Cloudy Day

      Daily light replaces darkness
      and light begats light
      Where nothing reflected
      now everything does

      Oh, for sure
      you can see perfections
      formerly hidden
      now quite obvious
      but soooooo worth it

      Seeing all in the light
      even the flaws
      are lovely
      each adds an element
      of uniqueness, telling a tale

      Today the sun is hidden
      clouds rule the sky
      But still the sun shines
      and the light is, only
      waiting to reveal its gloriousness

      The sun still shines
      even on a cloudy day

      ~ Debra Basham, August 14, 2022

    P.S. Word came last evening from Gary Zukav, author of The Seat of the Soul, that his beloved, Linda Francis, transitioned on August 6. Linda Beushausen Gunter and I had the honor of spending a day with them some years back. Please keep them in your thoughts and prayers.

      My Dear Spiritual Partner,

      Linda Francis, my Beloved, my spiritual partner, my life partner, my co-creator in everything, my co-author, my inspiration and model, completed her journey through the Earth school on August 6. Her soul returned home to nonphysical reality. When a soul decides to return home, nothing can stop it. I saw this happen before my eyes. Linda was at my side in our kitchen when the stroke came. Within hours an experienced surgeon had attempted three times to remove the clot in her brain, yet it could not be removed.

      I am still reeling. Each time I turn to say something to Linda and realize that she is not here to answer me, and each time I rush home with groceries to be with her again and remember that she will not be there when I arrive, and countless experiences like these are each a source of great pain for me and also an opportunity to create authentic power. Each hurts a lot before I recognize it for what it is – a frightened part of my personality – and move my attention away from “what ifs” and “if onlys” to what is actually happening in the moment, and toward an opportunity to love, to support, to contribute.

      This is not over for me, and it is probably not over for you. I and our precious support team will send you some practical thoughts and suggestions over the next few weeks so you can practice transforming your experiences into opportunities to create authentic power. You will receive your first emails next week. I invite you to experiment with them and to let me know at garyzukav@seatofthesoul.com what happens.

      I hope you are healthy and joyful and appreciating the power and beauty of each moment.

      Linda joins me in sending you love.

      Love,
      Gary

  • Thank You, Teacher

    “Wisdom tells me I am nothing.
    Love tells me I am everything.
    And between the two my life flows.”

    ~ Nisargadatta Maharaj

    I am still in a lot of process, triggered again and again by the teachings and the practice on the 8-day Emerald Ilse retreat, a process fueled by an intention to wake up to wisdom. The process, and the practice, is not done for a personal self, it is housed in the concept that there is no personal “I” and all is done in service to all beings. The goal is literally to wake up the collective consciousness called humanity.

    My poetry writers group (Southern Circle) has been such a staggering catalyst for practice. After a strong triggering while I was still in Florida, (See: 3 Faces of Happiness) I have not been in attendance due to preparing to return home, traveling home, arriving and settling in, and then attending the retreat. Last evening when a text came through asking who was able to attend Southern Circle Poetry Group this morning, I chose not to respond.

    This morning I did more process — inner asking about whether or not I am to attend.


    You know there is no running away from anything.

    Wherever you go, there you are….

    “What is true about my attending Southern Circle?” II – The Inner Voice

      There are times in our lives when too many voices seem to be pulling us in this way and that. Our very confusion in such situations is a reminder to seek silence and centering within. Only then are we able to hear our truth.

    “What is true about my not attending Southern Circle?” King of Water – Healing

      Be aware of your wound. Don’t help it to grow, let it be healed; and it will be healed only when you move to the roots. The less the head, the more the wound will heal; with no head there is no wound. Live a headless life.

    As I was preparing to draw the two cards from the Osho Zen Tarot deck, I heard that I was also to draw one single card from the Angelic Messenger deck. This message would be true regardless of attending or not.

    A Rejuvenation Card, number 35 “Change” was the card was from Angelic Messenger Cards: A Divination System for Self-Discovery.

      Whatever comes to you can be a significant opportunity for spiritual growth, whether it was intended as that or not. Your larger life goal is to grow in grace and to find union with the divine Presence through love.

    After reading all three of these cards, I used the “library angel” process of just randomly opening a book and seeing what guidance or message is being divinely sent to you. The Daily Word randomly opened to May 21 (one month from today). FYI- I do not have the March/April edition because those do not get forwarded while we are in Florida.

      Sometimes I may become so immersed in dispiriting practices and behaviors that I become blind to the blessings and beauty in front of me. When I engage the world with love instead of fear, I more easily behold the Christ within myself and all others.

    At the retreat, we received Darshan with “The Mother” (See: Remembering Wholeness/Darshan With the Mother). Each individual receives a message of divine wisdom. The message that came for me was an expansion of the previous message to a dear friend, Dorothyann.

    Dorothyann:

    So much light and love pouring out of your radiant heart. You are getting much better at not getting caught in the story of “not good enough.” It still comes, of course it still comes.

    This week when that story arises, would you just bow to it and say, “I do not accept that, no thank you. Shhhhh….”

    Don’t try to drown it out, just, “No thank you.”

    Right here along with the one who still has some belief about not good enough, where is the radiant one? Can you touch that radiant, open-hearted aspect of yourself — and know this is the true self.

    I love you and I am helping you.

    Debra:

    I love you. Here I am going to have an opportunity to spare a few words because you heard what I said to Dorothyann.

    “Shhhhh…. Thank you, Teacher, but no thank you. I am not taking that into me.”

    Remember who you are. Remember your light and loving heart. That’s all you need to know.

    I love you and I am helping you.

  • Poetry – Brandon Leake’s Got Talent!

    Anyone who lives art knows that psychoanalysis has
    no monopoly on the power to heal.

    Art and poetry have always been altering our ways
    of sensing and feeling
    — that is to say,
    altering the human body.

    ~Norman O. Brown

    Reality TV, like everything else in this human incarnation, has its ups and down, strengths and weaknesses, benefits and costs. This year’s America’s Got Talent cost me a lot of tears.

    As a poet myself, I am no stranger to the experience of having words make me cry. And this year’s AGT winner, poet Brandon Leake, touched the world with words like “Pookie” and “generational healing” and “no more time left for fear” and “you are so much stronger than you think” and “as soon as Covid hit, everything changed.”

    Here is a link to a significant 14 minutes and 11 seconds: ALL of Brandon Leake’s Performances on Season 15 of AGT! on Youtube.

    Brandon Leake said it best, “As soon as Covid hit, everything changed.”

    Last evening I shared a meal at a table with someone other than John for the first time since March 15, 2020. Interestingly, I knew before I got the call inviting us that I would be doing that. Even so, it was not an easy decision when I learned that four households would be gathered!

    I sent a text message to my friend:

      Honest answer: Are you expecting/asking guests to arrive in masks for pre-dinner conversation; remove masks for eating (6 feet or more distance); and to put masks back on for any after-dinner conversation?

    She responded:

      Absolutely. And they all follow these guidelines all the time, the best I can know.

    I wrote back:

      We will see you there.

    I cried when I read her next message:

      I love you and appreciate your process in getting to this decision. ❤️🙏😷

    You see, this was not just four households selected willy-nilly because we are going stir-crazy. These were two of our dearest friends hosting two other families who had been touched by recent loss. We share deep connections through church and loss and Covid.

    Seated to my right is a mother and her beautiful adult daughter, who is currently living with her mom. Their husband and father died late May of a post-Covid complication: stroke. They were unable to be with him as he was moved from facility to facility, until the very last hours of his life in this body. After he passed, they were unable to gather with friends and family to celebrate his life.

    Across from John and me were our hosts. Her mother passed just weeks ago… and they, too, have been unable to gather with friends and family for a formal Celebration of Life.

    The fourth household is a woman seated alone. She just lost her husband to Alzheimer’s disease, after having kept him at home as long as humanly possible, evidenced by the fact that he lived only a very short time once moved to a facility. Everyone at his visitation and funeral were required to wear masks and social distance.

    The serving table stretched about 12 feet with concrete landscaping blocks strategically placed to hold down autumn-colored table cloths. Placed around the perimeter are seven TV trays; each adorned with a brightly colored place setting. Cloth napkins compliment the loving atmosphere. I hear the words from the communion liturgy inside my head telling me this table has been prepared for you.

    The warm autumn wind was blowing as “Eau de Cologne” of garlic wafted from the house.

    After a feast fit for royalty, it was already dark as we slowly rose from the table. It was awkward to not help clear the table, go into the house to help load the dishwasher and wash the pots and pans. We were obviously all grateful for what we were able to share but also profoundly aware how very difficult it was to say goodbye without hugs. The desire rose up in my chest and left a lump in my throat.

    Today I see this message from another friend, along with the photo:

      Here’s my two flightless friends — Rowdy, who can’t fly but ran five miles at 4 a.m. and this monarch who hatched on Monday with imperfect wings. So he hangs out in my office on fresh flowers during the week and here at home on weekends. I feed him sugar water 1-2x day. Rowdy is getting used to sharing his home with a monarch companion.


    Just as Rowdy is getting used to sharing his home with a strange companion, we are getting used to sharing our lives with this pandemic….

  • Fifty-Fourth Birthday

    Sacred Stories

    She was working on a very deep poem — inspired by her goddaughter’s birthday — with her four poet colleagues/friends on Zoom. She did not share the poem simply because hers was a personal piece not requiring critique, and others had pieces that did. She agreed to send it after the meeting, just for sharing.

    That evening, after substantial insight, she also sent an edited version to the group with a bit of background, adding, “Oddly, the original version had 282 words, the final 228!”

    “How old is your goddaughter?” asked one.

    “Fifty-four.”

    “The difference between 282 and 228 is 54,” her friend wrote back.

    “What made you ask how old she is?”

    “I figured since you had included the number of words in both versions, it must be significant.”

    She quickly looked up the numerology meaning. (54 reduces to 9.)

    Number 9 is the number of Universal love, eternity, faith, Universal Spiritual Laws, the concept of karma, spiritual enlightenment, spiritual awakening, service to humanity, humanitarianism and the humanitarian, lightworking and lightworkers, leading by positive example, philanthropy and the philanthropist, charity.

    Very significant, indeed!

  • Human Feet

    My mind is so busy. I pull myself away from the Tapping Summit to join my Friday morning writing group, and the group seems so focused on the mundane I want to leave. I want to be inside where it is safe.

    Finally, Mary reads an incredible poem: “For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in its Human Feet” by Joy Harjo

    I hope you will read this poem. You will relate. We all have human feet.

    I begin to write:

    Loss and Gain

    Searching for safety and security we wander aimlessly through the lostness of our own minds, opening door-after-door only to look into a mirror. Caught in the haze of a maze, thinking the same thoughts year after year without so much as questioning where they are leading us.

    A few tell-tale feathers lay on the ground outside the window

    A ghost-like image where they wiped the dust upon impact

    Beak, wing, and silence now where the THUD had been

    Heart breaking loneliness hits my mind the same way the bird hit the window: suddenly and without malice of forethought. An old friend, this feeling of not being wanted, loved, or safe. I open another door. Perhaps this time something else will be there.

    Eyes grow dull

    Search for a stress-free environment begins

    Danger results from well-meaning help

    Snakes shed their skin to allow for further growth. The process is natural and happens throughout their lives, but it is not an easy process. Being human is not an easy process either, and I, too, search for a stress-free environment in which to shed.

    Nigger

    Negro

    African America

    Black

    Words reveal our progress

    Slogans from mindfulness t-shirts I have seen come to mind: Meditation is not what you think, You Have the Right to Remain Silent, Don’t Believe Everything You Think.

    Perhaps hopeful, trusting, and calm will be the result of my new skin.

    P.S. The Deep Spring Dharma Path Study Group with Barbara Brodsky is finishing our two-year commitment. We are finding the light within Sacred Darkness. Whatever the conditions in your life right now, you in your human feet are never alone.

  • It is Time!

    “When you can bring your own energy forth to truly hear others in a compassionate way
    and can create compassionate dialogue,
    then you give them a model to bring forth to others who have a more opposite view.

    It is this steady expansion of the loving heart we all share that is the greatest hope towards peace.

    But even if peace does not come at this time,
    still that loving heart is expanding.
    When it expands far enough, there will be peace.

    Yes, there may be a lot of death and destruction before.
    But hatred will never lead to peace.
    Fear will never lead to peace.

    Fear of fear will never lead to peace, and hatred of hatred will never lead to peace.
    Trust your capacity for love.”
    ~ Aaron,
    Deep Spring Center
    Thought for Today

    Our plans were to attend a colleague’s “laughter yoga” presentation but the three of us arrived at the venue only to discover the presentation had been cancelled due to a death in the family. I live very nearby, so soon we settled around the kitchen island, sipping tea in such a sisterly fashion.

    Your guess is as good as mine how the conversation settled around her seemingly life-long dissatisfaction with her birth sister. The stated question was about her desire to block her sister’s text messages. We tossed, we tangled, we slogged through decades of sibling turmoil before going our separate ways.

    It felt restless, almost tragic. In my heart it was so much more…

    I opened email to read:

    June 19, 2018
    Tenderness Tinged by Sadness

    Fear does not allow fundamental tenderness to enter into us. When tenderness tinged by sadness touches our heart, we know that we are in contact with reality. We feel it. That contact is genuine, fresh, and quite raw.

    Excerpted from:

    “Overcoming Doubt,” in Smile at Fear: Awakening the True Heart of Bravery
    by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche,
    page 58

    That was it! Where was tenderness? Where was the true heart of bravery needed to love someone who is behaving in an unloving manner?

    I opened my next email:

    On this day of your life I believe God wants you to know …

    … that if you become ruffled with every comment that
    you consider a ‘slight,’ you will never find peace.

    Nor will you find it by always separating yourself from
    those who ruffle you. You can only end so many
    friendships before you find yourself very much alone.
    You can keep making new friends, of course, but
    sooner or later they will ruffle you — and then what?

    Perhaps the better course might be to let the ruffle
    go. People rarely mean it when they do that, and a
    touch of gentle tolerance and easy forgiveness every
    day is even better than an apple…

    Love, your Friend …
    Neale Donald Walsch

    Craft Tip #11 (p. 92-98), from The Crafty Poet: A Portable Workshop by Diane Lockward, clevely rewriting “You Are Tired” by e.e. Cummings, I have discovered my own “voice.” Writing this allowed me to finally experience peace around all the pain that family members can inflict upon one another without ever meaning to. I trust you will agree, “It is Time!”

    It is Time!

    It is time
    (We know)
    Possibilities lie beyond this moment now;
    You are ready.
    Let us join hands
    Go to a place where new dreams are born-
    (Listen. Our names are being called!)

    We can go
    (I hope)
    To a place where the forlorn gather
    When the heart yearns for relief;
    Done with things as they are-
    Just that.
    We are done.

    Travel to heaven comes not without peril
    But the path is clearly written within your own chest-
    Just say yes!
    Your feet will find their way, one sure step and then the next
    For it is time
    We will be safe, rest assured.

    Let’s set off now
    Sail the seas of satisfaction to the shores
    Of eternal serenity;
    Hear the sounds of true solace
    No more singing the dirge;
    Music made from the instrument of sheer joy
    Resonating with each precious soul
    Suffering no more (Pray tell!) not we
    We who know it truly is time.

    Debra Basham 6-22-2018

  • Love Will Find a Way

    The future won’t always be fair.

    But we can try.

    We can care.

    We can choose to connect.

    It can be better if we let it.

    ~ Seth Godin

    Many of my days are spent bearing witness to the clarity secure within our souls as our personalities fling destructive BS into our lives. One recent conversation went something like this:

    “You never invite me to Christmas.”

    “I don’t even have Christmas.”

    “I am never included.”

    “You are the one who moved away.”

    Pain, upon pain.

    I claim again the gift of knowing that under any message filled with blame and accusation is a legitimate need even if it is being expressed unskillfully.

    What a relief….

    I love poetry. Something about the way a person shows you a feeling without saying what that feeling is excites the part of you that thrives on curiosity. Too much of the time our logical mind tries to run the show. We plan. We manipulate. We hide.

    In a poem the words are expressions of the heart, being heard by the heart.

    I had not intended the following poem to give away so much of my own heart, but it does.

    The prompt is from The Crafty Poet: A Portable Workshop, by Diane Lockward. Instructions were to choose an odd job. One example was snake milker’s daughter. We were to jot down some relevant language, choosing words that are specific to this job and sound great.

    Medium Mayhem

    Secrets slip into my awareness unheeded

      from somewhere or someone

    Listening hands hear, “Bell’s Palsy.”

    Babies believed long dead

      babble difficult directives

    “Tell her I am not dead.”

    Fifty years she has carried abortion’s guilt

      Searing pain shoots down my leg

    Relevant to ask, “Is this mine?”

    The task is always to realize

      we are energy

    swimming in one sea

    Hearing, seeing, feeling, knowing

      not always easy to distinguish

    fact from fiction

    Fantasy or wishful thinking

      the taunting

    fortunately only on occasion

    Echoes of accusations

      hang over (or come from

    my head

    Ghostly guesses

      and grisly gallows

    shake confidence at core

    What do you do?

      generates no easy answer

    “I talk to dead people.”

    Likely not heard

      at the dinner table

    of the mentally stable

    Truth be told

      I don’t just

    talk to dead people

    They also talk

      to me

    No blasphemy!

    Mystery

      mocking mayhem

    Famous or infamous

    Sinner or saint

      life as a spiritual sensitive

    is understandably quaint

    Debra Basham 4-8-2018 (WC 153)

    Perhaps the Deep Spring Center “Thought for Today” (April 12, 2018) is the perfect closing for this blog post.

    “Do not despair that you have no vision. The vision is right here in your own radiant hearts, your kindness and your commitment to your practice. There is not one of you that does not vision a more harmonious world. Hold that in front of you and know that it is possible and then just ask yourself, ‘What will support this?’ Do not be afraid. Hold your vision ahead of you. There is a saying, ‘The dharma takes care of those who take care of the dharma.’ Love will find a way.”

    (See Message, Subtext, Metamessage in Healing with Language by Joel P. Bowman and Debra Basham.)

  • Reunion

    It was 1:53 AM when he got up to pee. Faint shadows from the streetlight danced lazily on the wall. It had been almost midnight when she got to sleep, but she forced her eyes to open sufficiently and adjust to the darkness. He expected it, and she predictably said, “It is 2 o’clock. We might as well get up and get on the road.”

    They never think of themselves as leaving their winter paradise. Nor do they think of themselves as going home. They think of themselves as going to see the kids.

    Two days ago a good friend died. He probably didn’t think about himself as leaving or as going home either. I can imagine him thinking of himself as going to see the dogs.

    Traffic was pleasantly light, obviously one of the benefits of their 3 AM departure. More than a few vehicles passed, bicycles obediently following behind. Ontario license plates. Wisconsin license plates. Michigan license plates. A few Florida license plates, but mostly snowbirds driving north.

    A snowbird is a person who moves from the higher latitudes and colder climates of the northern United States and Canada and migrates southward in winter to warmer locales. Snowbirds think they have the best of both worlds…

    While nonsnowbird friends, family members, and colleagues scrape ice from the windshield, shovel snow from the drive, and brace against the cold wind, snowbirds ride bikes, play shuffleboard, watch Eagle chicks grow and fledge, play music, and go out to eat dinner at five o’clock in the afternoon.

    Some snowbirds write poetry.

    From a source of poets and writers poetry prompts “Creative Guidance for Writing Poems and Experimenting with Forms” comes a great exercise:

    If you’re having trouble starting a poem, begin at the end. Take a single collection of poems and make a list of the last two words from each poem. Then write your own poem using only these words. Be vigilant at first utilizing just the vocabulary from the list. After a couple of drafts, stray from the limited words to help bring the poem to its full realization.

    Here are two words from a collection of 9 poems by Mary Oliver:

    could save
    something better
    of things
    a star
    to pray
    your life
    morning light
    the universe
    of dust

    This poem, written on 3/3/2016, is dedicated to Joseph, now reunited with his beloved dog,Tramp.

    Of Dust—Version One

    Your life, of dust; of things?

    Something better?

    To pray…

    Could save the universe; morning light, a star.

    A Star—Version Two

    Longing for something better

    Pray to the universe—celebrate a star—dance in the morning light

    These are some of the things worthy of longing for

    Turning longing into loving could save your life

    From dust we come, and to dust we return. Farewell, Joseph, we celebrate a star! Enjoy your reunion.

  • Pearls from Clams: Cinquain

    Does it make sense to you that when you keep bumping into something in your life, it is about you rather than just about what (or whom) you are bumping in to? That has been happening for me again. I enjoyed using a new poetry form to gain insight and freedom.

    The form of poetry is called the American Cinquain.(See Cinquain.org)

    Adelaide Crapsey (1878-1914) was an American poet best known for establishing the five-line form known as the cinquain.

    She had a deep appreciation for metrics and was an admirer of Japanese tanka and haiku. Her cinquain was developed partly as an American analogue of these forms.

    Her poetry was published posthumously in 1915 in a collection titled Verse.

    She is considered one of the first Imagist poets.

    The insight gained related to a struggle I had had at Holistic Alliance—wanting to please everyone, thereby sacrificing my own integrity and the integrity of the relationships with everyone else. I hope you will enjoy the poetry!

    Regret
    Unbidden, pervasive
    Wrenching, gripping, haunting
    Makes a poor bedtime partner
    Remorse

    Forgiveness
    Sweet, welcome
    Freeing, expanding, relieving
    Opens one’s heart to new beginnings
    Mercy

    Ashes
    Broken promises
    Our dreams dashed
    Can we ever recover
    Willing

    Humor
    Brings healing
    Makes us laugh
    At or with others
    Lightheartedly

    Nature
    Once feared
    Then sadly forgotten
    What will the future
    Hold

    The truth
    My honesty
    Why give anything else
    When all is given to the self
    Live clean

    In one form, your last line should be a synonym of your first line. It should mean exactly the same or nearly the same of that first word.

    Friends
    Such treasures
    Some for life
    Some for a time
    Beloveds

    Passion
    Wild, hot
    Wickedly, wantonly, willingly
    Giving over to my heart’s desire
    Devotion

    Great stuff can come from inner struggle just like pearls from clams…

    Here are more related websites about the form, thanks to Gail, president of Pine Island Writers!

    http://examples.yourdictionary.com/cinquain-examples.html

    http://hrsbstaff.ednet.ns.ca/davidc/6c_files/Poem%20pics/cinquaindescrip.htm

    http://www.readwritethink.org/files/resources/lesson_images/lesson43/RWT016-1.PDF