INDIGENOUS SUMMER
There is a time last September,
When the sun
And wild grass tassels
Absorb and mix with light,
When Nature's alchemy 
Makes gold.
It is then when,
The air is warm,
And the creek flows cold,
That I descend the hill
Toward my childhood.
Into the woods I go,
Down a steep path
Covered with the autumn's blanket.
At the bottom
I cross a moss-covered log,
Toward the sweet, earthy smells
Of the old creek bed.
I weave through thickets,
Toward radiant streams of light,
That cut through the brush
And hang on to the rising moisture
From the night's frost.
I am searching for the meandering creek,
And its deep bend,
Where there is an old tree fort,
And a swimming hole.
Once there
Without hesitation
I peel off my clothes,
And slide down the bank.
With feet sinking into mud and clay, 
My toes get the first shock 
Of ice water.
Hesitantly, I plunge!

Indigenous Summer Poem By Catherine Valleroy

LAST DAYS AT WORK
I wake up selfish, 
Yesterday's make-up under my eyes. 
We reach for each other, 
Both preoccupied, 
With the day ahead.
Our son, 
Half asleep, 
Somewhere in the background, 
Is about to be carted off.
I reach for my breakfast-
Coffee and Prozac. 
We kiss goodbye.
Excruciating, the time from when I hear your car leave, 
To when my bathrobe hits the cold floor. 
Excruciating, when I see yesterday washing down the drain. Pain flung aside like the shower curtain, 
I dry and suit-up into sausage casing 
Forcing size 6 clothes 
Over a 10 body. 
I elevate, grab more coffee, 
And race out the door. 
Excruciating, the time from the driveway 
To the office already late. 
Excruciating, my manic manner 
And pangs of loneliness. 
I arrive with these secrets,
Hoping for conversation, 
Rather than my piles of work. 
Throughout the day I binge 
On coffee, and water, and business lunches. 
I binge on people, 
And projects, 
And spur-of-the-moment shopping sprees. 
Nothing fills me!
So, I go home selfish, 
To exercise 
And plan tomorrow's outfit-
Existing on the outskirts of my family,
Myself.

Last Days At Work Poem By Catherine Valleroy

MEDITATION 
On my walk 
My senses began to dull until
I saw nor heard anything:
Not the creek, 
Nor its gurgling,
Not my breath, 
Nor my breathing,
Not the vastness 
Of the winter ground, 
Nor my boots 
Crunching through 
Its icy snow,
Not the crows 
In the bare trees 
Above the fields, 
Nor their cawing.
I was discomforted 
By such deafening silence,
White blindness.
I feared having 
A thoughtless mind.
Yet, I found the courage 
To let go, 
To transcend familiar states,
To go beyond the world 
And myself.
And though the world & me 
came back,
I was filled with peace; 
I was filled with hope.
And then I knew 
I had emptied myself enough to find my God.

Meditation Poem By Catherine Valleroy

A BIKINI AT 40
It didn't celebrate the woman,
But when the package arrived from Uncle Leo
On her 40th Birthday
I thought it did.
A pink-striped bikini
With a bottom like hot pants! 
"How glamorous," I thought,
As she ascended the stairs to try it on.
At age 8, I didn't know,
How she stood alone in front of the mirror wondering—
Would we love her if it didn't fit just right?
At age 8, I didn't know,
That when it didn't 
Because her breasts were too small 
from maintaining perfect hips and thighs,
how she retrieved padding from her one-piece.
I remember her grand descent in the bikini,
To the kitchen telephone
Where she called Uncle Leo
Shrieking with excitement,
Promising to wear it to the club,
That humid July day,
Her 40th Birthday.
I remember she hung up the phone,
And said to me in passing,
"I can't swim or sweat, but don't I look great!"
And she raced back up the stairs,
To stand alone again 
In front of the mirror.

Bikini At 40 By Catherine Valleroy

A VALIANT BOY 
A valiant boy 
A beautiful joy 
God gave to me. 
A gallant son 
A dutiful one 
He has grown up to be. 
Yet as time goes on 
He has had to be strong, 
Fate has cast him on an uncertain sea. 
It is hard not to wonder,
If God has put him asunder 
With nothing to protect him, not even me. 
Yet I know in my heart, 
That right from the start 
With difficult things, faith is the key. 
With that in mind 
God is kind, 
Darkness can be followed with glee. 
So, waiting things out 
Is what it is all about, 
Situations change like the leaves of a tree. 
And the boy who now suffers, 
Will continue to have buffers, 
Allowing him moments when he is free.

Valiant Boy 2.0 By Catherine Valleroy

Depression Alone....
Alone.....Alone.....Alone.....Alone.....Alone.....
Alone.....Alone.....Alone.....Alone.....Alone......

Depression  - Poem By Catherine Valleroy

To hold on to things I felt I was losing, 
I entered the bar.
Insecure, 
In my little black dress, 
High heels, 
Big hair,
I sat on a stool, 
Finding comfort, 
With my back to the crowd.
Obsessing about, 
My changing figure, 
Poor posture,
The way foundation was, 
Settling into fine lines,
I felt the wrong eyes on me.
I would respond, 
But not before
Adjusting my bra straps, 
Licking my lips, 
Sucking it in.
As I turned, 
I lifted my thighs 
Ever so slightly:
"DO YOU KNOW HOW BIG THIGHS LOOK SPREAD OUT ON A SEAT?!"
To show off my legs, 
I pointed my toes and slid off.  
I suppose they shook unnoticed.
I glared, 
He looked away, 
You looked up,
Young, 
Dripping of alternatives and compulsions.
We moved toward each other, 
And began dancing.
I tried to say things, 
The music absorbed them.
Our bodies moved closer.  
Your eyes closed,
Mine kept trying to connect.
As the song was ending:
5 minutes of dancing,
45 minutes of unnatural selection,
Hours of preparation
became exhausting.
I excused myself for a moment.
Standing in line for the bathroom 
Things got a little clearer.
Between the full-length mirror, 
And the regulars, 
Insecurities were beginning to take their place.
During a moment of muffled bass notes, 
Behind a graffitied stall door,
I pulled down my control tops, 
And out popped my stomach.
By this time 
I had had it!
And was beginning to get it—
So, I left.

Entertaining Bars & Lovers Poem By Catherine Valleroy

Poetry is in every fiber of my life. I think, pray, meditate, and create poetically. To me, being poetic is the highest form of mindfulness.

Email: catherinevalleroy@hotmail.com
Amazon: Better Look

Entertaining Bars & Lovers Poem By Catherine Valleroy

Catherine Valleroy

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