I've selected two poems from each of the five sections of my book Present Peace for you to preview. At the end of each section is a button "Keep Reading" that links to the next section. Thanks for visiting my blog and I hope you enjoy the preview. Feel free to leave me feedback in the comments or email [email protected]. I would love to hear from you.

Dear Reader,

Welcome and thank you for joining me on this poetic journey through fear, doubt, anger, and grief to find a landscape more joyful than we imagine, an open door of inspiration for our dreams, and a well of love for ourselves.

Present Peace is a poetry collection that I wrote while going through a spiritual awakening and very transitional period in my life because I quit my job to focus on my kids. This experience cracked me open to realizing the work I needed to do to become the person I wanted to be for myself and my children. I no longer had a title or a purpose outside of my family. I was lost in a fog, but I knew the fog would lift. It did! Then I rediscovered my love for poetry. 

Poetry helped me process my pain, heal from old trauma, and allow space for my desires to be heard. It also helped me connect to the present moment, where I found so much joy and serenity. This profound awakening I share, hoping you will see the beauty around you now, so you may sense the peace and joy that I have internalized by watching leaves fall. May it gently open you up to your own aspirations and guide you back to yourself as it has done for me. This collection shares my love of creation, explores my fears, embraces my loss, and steps into my vulnerability. I share this collection with love and compassion as you step into my world through your eyes. 

Sincerely,

Cynthia Schaefer

Present Peace

Dear Lord, do not change 
me. Transcend my needy 
ways. Wash over the 
thoughts I harbor. 
Take away the problems 
I create today, 
not by changing 
or intervening, 
but by reminding me 
of present peace.

Let love flow through me.
Let your gentle joy tickle 
thoughts away. For I 
thought that thinking 
would save me, 
but freedom from thoughts 
is the only way.

Hold me in your glory.
Wrap my heart in your love.
Let the present fill my cup.


Thunder Rolls on Quiet Minds

Thunder rolls, cracking across 
the sky. I heed your grumbles 
and go under roof. Fascinated 
with you, I’m here outside 
to witness. I hear your deep, 
loud, vibrant power. Your 
sound reminds me of the metal 
sheets people expand and 
contract to feebly mimic you. 
But the real thing is ominous, 
the gray, dark, cloud-covered 
sky, foreboding. I like to think 
you make us pause and hide 
from you like a dog who is 
afraid of storms. The light-
ning spark follows you as you 
continue your rumble, 
illuminating the sky 
for a moment. You seem old 
and grumpy like a grandpa.

I’m not afraid of your menacing 
sounds or the flashes that 
follow you. The wind relaxes. 
Your roars subdue. Wonderful, 
the sounds of nature--
mystifying and unpredictable 
where you will leave your 
mark. The awe of this light 
display inspires this writer’s 
heart. 

I dream of doing great 
things, but the reality is all 
so touching. Basking in my 
everyday life is more healing 
than escaping to unrealized 
experiences. The life unseen 
is the life unlived, hungered for 
but unsatiated. 
Thinking, dreaming, doing 
cannot be more important 
than stillness, observation, 
and quiet reverence 
for the world around us.

Disappointment

You, dread of expectations
that falters on my head, 
how sour you taste in 
my mouth. The corners 
of my lips turn down. 
An effort was overdone, 
and now disappointment 
spits out frustration and 
sadness of a desire left 
unquenched. Though I 
wonder at pining’s distortion 
because nothing can foster 
joy like internal consciousness. 
Yet, caught up in lost things 
and experiences, we delve deep 
into anger.


Fury

Entangled in my fury, 
my well of anger is deep.
I fear that I will not come out 
of its pit—endless, dark, and 
wide. The anger moves to grief.
My life is a mess of covered nets
in the landfill of my mind.

I refuse this rage to the point 
that acknowledgment feels 
false. I know it’s there. 
The pump’s turned on, 
its pressure pushing the anger 
out of me. It spills out in faucets
I wish I could turn off, 
but it leaks. Smother it.  
But from the depths, it seeps
into my life in ways I do not 
wish like a faucet left on, the 
water fills my being and 
sputters onto the floor.
Sometimes there’s an overflow 
channel, where I stop mid-
scream and take a breath. 
When I’m unaware I’ve 
brimmed over onto everyone, 
then I must repair. Sop it up 
on my hands and knees as 
much as I can to take it back. 
Though there’s no guarantee 
some won’t ooze into the walls. 
Molding our relationships. 
Damage not so easy to fix
with a pile of sheets. Sorry 
is not always a solution, 
but a good start. Sorry is better 
than pretending the water’s 
meant to flood the floor.

Anger, I know you have a place 
in my life. I know I must adjust 
my dripping valves to let you 
come out efficiently. It’s hard to 
find the awareness of anger,
between the trickle and the 
flood. Tears of sad frustration 
fall on my cheek, lie still there,
and then creep slowly down.
I wish I could uncover you in a 
way that does not let me down.
​

Buy Present Peace in see present-peace-preview-ah-much-better.html (eBook) or on Amazon (ebook or paperback).

Drum on, Change

Change is the percussion 
of our lives. Its steady beat 
is predictable in the same 
way a river flows, carving 
a new bed for itself from 
the silt. While comforting, 
frightening, the beat moves on. 
Dancing, marching in chains, 
or ignored altogether, it drums 
on. Listen to the beat, feel it 
inside you. Change is ever-
lasting enjoy its curves and 
spins. Gyrate to your own 
rhythm. Bump your hips up 
against it like a familiar friend 
hearing your favorite song. 
Grab your inner tube and jump
into the river of change in your 
life.


Another Beautiful Day!

The air is calming as I rest 
on my wicker sofa. I pause 
watching and listening 
to the sounds and sights 
of my backyard. The beauty 
of the morning—frogs 
croaking, birds chirping, 
the air conditioner humming--
all take residence in my ear.
Oh, how I love the sounds 
of the forest and the life within 
it beyond my property line. 
The glory of a new day’s light 
glimmers on the mossy green 
lawn, somewhat unkempt, 
a little bit wild where the weed-
eater has not been. Around 
the trunks of live and fallen 
trees, thick patches stand, 
ever-reaching toward the sky.

Steps in the Arena of Vulnerability
Inspired by Brené Brown’s Daring Greatly and Theodore Roosevelt’s “Man in Arena”

The light of lies we tell ourselves.
​The prison doors 
we shut in our own faces. 
The lives we deny ourselves, 
afraid of fear, second chances. 
We risk ourselves to face a 
crowd chanting “boo”!
Subjecting our dreams to 
the light of reality.

I understand now that the darer 
of dreams is fear that must be 
overcome, unfed by cowardice.
Living small, away from others’
eyes and harsh words 
in Spectatorsville, where 
dreams—if dreamt at all--
are never realized, only talked 
about as if they were some old 
pastime too far gone. Like 
publishing my first poetry 
collection, it seems too 
uncomfortable, too vulnerable 
to trust myself, receive the help 
I need, and know the difference. 
To read my own words marked 
up and changed by another’s 
keystrokes. Then decide what 
stays, goes, and evolves.
Maintaining who I was when 
I wrote the poems, while 
adhering to my current values. 
This process confronts me with 
my perfectionism. My limiting 
beliefs that say I am not good 
enough, nobody buys poetry,
my poems are not adequate, 
and I didn’t get the best aid.

Yet here I am. Sitting on some 
lofty goal, not daring to get up 
to remove its creases from being 
crushed,
hidden,
forgotten.
No! Now is the time to rise 
up, dust off, and grab hold.
Get out of the stands, and 
dare myself to enter 
my circle of dreams.


Quiet Morning Revival

Here I am unabashed 
in a lyrical song of a time 
long gone. A heart swells 
beneath my chest
beat, beat, beat.
Let it pour out onto me, 
the freedom of life well 
spent in the simple quiet of 
sleeping babes, no wrong turn, 
no perfect end. The only quiet 
I engage. Wash me with energy 
for a good day. Let me lie down 
in your soft sheets and warm 
embrace. Let not the stolen time 
be taken in the night.
Rise, morning, rise.

To buy the eBook version of Present Peace click the button to below or go to Amazon. The paperback format of Present Peace is now available for purchase on Amazon.

In honor of National Poetry Month, I have joined NaPoWriMo, a poetry writing challenge to write a poem a day, see www.napowrimo.net/about/ for more information. I will be posting poetry on my blog each week. Starting with a selection of 11 poems from debut collection Present Peace to post on my blog as a preview for my book that you can buy here or on Amazon.