Poetry Archives - Page 2 of 5

JESUS, MY SAVIOUR

By Kimberly Fray / Jul 28, 2023 Jul 28, 2023

Broken, beaten, and bruised,
Alienated, ashamed, and forgotten,
I found myself on my knees,
No beauty, no prettiness,
Crushed by fear too heavy to bear.

Then you reached out your hand,
Your garment, my lifeline,
Thirsty, you quenched me with living waters,
Bruised, you touched me, and I was healed.

Hopeless and heartbroken,
You opened the floodgates,
Washing me clean,
Because of you, Jesus, I am saved.

Faithful God,
God of Mercy,
Jehovah Jireh, my provider.
God of grace, righteousness, joy, and love

You are the centre of my joy,
My life, my anchor, my compass,
Your presence is holy,
I cry out to you in the heavenly language,
I praise you with all that I am,
I give you all that I have.

In my troubled season,
When it seems I’m surrounded,
Jesus, you make a way,
God’s promises prevail, and He sets me free.

The world may enslave me,
But Jesus Christ is my Saviour!

SUBMARINE

By Kimberly Fray / Jul 1, 2023 Jul 1, 2023

I never imagined going down 13 thousand feet into the ocean,
cold and dark all around, trapped in a small space with only four other souls.
Claustrophobia and anxiety heightened.
Yet here I am, I walked right through the gate of the ocean.
Slowly running out of air, knowing each breath, I take is bringing me to my last.
Not knowing what day it is, not knowing what is happening in the world above.
Should I keep fighting? Should I preserve my energy?
Should I pray for a quick death?
Is someone coming? Are they close?
There is total blackness.
Just total blackness.
Life, death, and air are swimming around me; only one is within reach.
The faces of the others staring back at me; who will go first?
Who will be the one to consume the very last bit of oxygen?
Billions of dollars made and spent over a lifetime, only to die alone at the bottom of the ocean.
I think about this on the surface, making me realize that life must be better navigated.
What will they find when they finally reach us?
Our decomposed vessels? An empty submarine? Or nothing at all.
Our story is forever anchored to history’s most extraordinary and tragic sunken ship.

MY SUNDAY JESUS

By Kimberly Fray / Jun 2, 2023 Jun 2, 2023

I visit God on Sundays
and always wear my best
I walk into the church, humble in heart
and pray to repent for my ungodly ways
I meet my Jesus on Sundays
To shout Amen and hallelujah
and say a rushed and quiet goodbye
at the end of the service
I forget or maybe choose not to call on Jesus
the rest of the week
I’m ashamed to say I can be a once a week
check-in, kinda-girl;
and forget my God is always willing
From Sunday to Sunday
and every minute in between
My God doesn’t just visit on Sundays
but patiently waits to be invited
in every single day
And yet, I ignore the call and pretend I’m not home
as if He is an unwanted guest wanting something from me
Forgetting I can get all I need just by talking to Him
I visit God on Sundays
and walk into the church
quiet and reserved
Ashamed to say out loud,
I’ve ignored Him all week long
I sing His praises and say the right words in prayer
but most heavy on my heart
is that I forget my God is always there
From Sunday to Sunday
In the church, in my home,
and always everywhere

TEARS

By Kimberly Fray / May 15, 2023 May 15, 2023

Tears
My tears are not hot and dry
they are not hidden behind my eyes
or stuck in my throat
They are an overwhelming ocean
a riptide of emotion
My tears are powerful and visible
for all to see
They dare not hide
My tears are ever present
Always available
I am never without
My tears are worthy of
accolades and applause
My tears are not forced or fake
They are real and organic
Constantly flowing
ravaging whatever stands in its way
My tears have a life of its own
Ever present and commanding
Causing you to turn your head when
they make their presence known

This poem was originally published by Quillkeepers Press in the Rearing in the Rearview poetry Anthology.

EVENTUALLY

By Kimberly Fray / May 10, 2023 May 10, 2023

It’s going to hurt until it no longer does.
It’s going to tear at you and pull you apart
Until you learn to put yourself together again.
Eventually all this will just become a distant memory.
Eventually the pain will disappear.
Your hands will stop shaking.
You will breathe again.
Eventually
You’ll stop searching and start appreciating.
You’ll stop waiting and wishing.
You’ll stop regretting and start living.
Eventually you’ll stop blaming yourself and start forgiving yourself,
Eventually.
It might not happen today.
But it’ll happen,
Eventually.

fountain pen, notebook, paper-1854169.jpg

DON’T LEAVE THIS WORLD UNTOUCHED

By Kimberly Fray / May 5, 2023 May 5, 2023

I don’t want to lie on my deathbed someday; whether that eventually is thirty or forty years or three weeks from now; and be buried underneath all my regrets.

I need to create.

I need to leave something that will live long after I’ve left this earth.

I question whether anyone will remember me for what I’ve left behind and if it is even important.

I want to spend every day of my life creating and as I sit here writing this, I feel myself becoming emotional; tears run down my cheeks and I know, without a shadow of a doubt that this is truly my calling.

I need to create.

In the same way I need to breath.

I need to create something out of nothing.

I need to fill blank pages with my sorrows, worries, and fears and turn it into something beautiful to share with others.

I need to express my thoughts and dreams and connect with others.

And that is ultimately why I need to create, why I need to write. Why my life needs to be an open book.

I need to build a bridge between my fears and another’s loneliness.

I want to leave breadcrumbs in the form of poetry and stories so that someone else can find their way and their voice.

I need to share my life so that another person can be brave enough to share their story.

It is my calling.

My purpose.

Every day that passes that I do not write, express or create, feels truly wasted. On those days I feel as if I’ve betrayed my calling. I have wasted an entire day not living as I should.

I feel as if I did not live at all.

Even when I’ve tried to avoid it, when I’ve tried to ignore it. When I told myself it wasn’t important, there was always this nagging feeling inside me, tugging at me, pushing me in a certain direction.

And I knew, it was futile trying to turn my back on it; I am an artist. I am a creative.

You may not always understand what I create, you may not always enjoy what I share and you may even mock and laugh at me but that will only encourage me more.

Knowing that I am an artist, reminds me that I must create every day. It is not just a calling but it is also a responsibility.

Writing is an art; the blank page is my canvas, words are my paint and the world and this life is my muse.

What you finally see before you; is my work of art.

My gift to you.

TUESDAY

By Kimberly Fray / Apr 22, 2023 May 1, 2023

It’s another Tuesday
Another week in, another one is on its way out
Another day feeling like the day before
I wear tiredness like an oversized coat;
heavy but somehow keeps the cold out
but the truth is, the cold is not on my skin
It lives in my bones, runs through my veins
I breathe it out
my feet drag, and my eyes burn
sleep is not my friend
It’s another day, much of the same as the days before
They tend to run into one another,
tripping over one another
clumsy and flimsy
Like me
No day is the same
Just as I am not the same
but yet,
It is and I am
It’s another day
Just another Tuesday

A MOTHERLESS CHILD

By Kimberly Fray / Apr 18, 2023 Apr 18, 2023

I used to sit on my mother’s lap

Out on the balcony

Watching cars go by

Talking about nothing and everything

She used to stroke my hair

With her aging hands

Or clean my ears with a bobby pin

I could have sat there for hours

I miss being her child

Her youngest daughter

My sisters would tease me, saying I’m spoilt

And her favourite

I would frown, scrunch my nose at them but

Really,

It brought me pure joy

Now I am a motherless daughter

With a daughter of my own

Needing my mother

more than I ever could have ever known

I miss her

I miss my mother every day

I swallow tears and try to ignore the lump

In my throat

Sitting there like a constant reminder of what I lost

I guess it is true what they say

Grief never leaves you

You don’t outgrow it

You simply grow around it.

THE COMFORT ROOM

By Kimberly Fray / Apr 12, 2023 Apr 12, 2023

Sitting in what they call a comfort room after 8 in the morning

I’m watching the door to the theatre

Watching the clock

The comfort room brings little comfort

It’s cold and a lone window is before me covered in blinds

The wall covered in words such as

Harmonious

Healed

Natural

Marvellous

Free

Safe

Happy

Peaceful

Healing

Aware

Conscious

Healthy

All words meant to bring comfort but the irony

Does not miss me

It’s quiet sitting here

Save for the sounds of the machines somewhere in the hospital

And the wheels on the cold tile floors

I feel far away from him

Not knowing what is happening behind that closed theatre door

It holds my heart

And I am locked out of it

I don’t have the access or the authorisation

I watch the door like a predator stalking its prey

Waiting to pounce the minute I see him being wheeled out that room

To take his hands in mine

Kiss his lips

To see his eyes see mine

The only comfort this empty room brings

Is the chance to be with my own thoughts

To allow my inner turmoil to run free and

Keep me company during this time

I fear looking away from the door

I fear I might miss him and never see him again.

WHAT MADE YOU SO ANGRY?

By Kimberly Fray / Mar 28, 2023 May 1, 2023

Was my skin too dark for you?

Was my hair too coarse for you?

Was my voice too loud for you?

Could you not handle the dip in my hips

or the valleys of my bosom?

Were you angry because you couldn’t dance to the beat

of our African drums or

click to the song we sang so effortlessly?

What was it about us that made you so angry that you decided to

land on our shores and claim what was not yours?

Was it that we could grow food by simply laying our hands on the ground?

Was it that we grew corn and wheat and fed families without any hindrance?

Was it that we took skin and made clothes?

Tell me, what was it?

Was it our diverse nature and beauty that offended you?

Or was it our resilience?

Was it the strength of our mothers and the power of our fathers

which made you fear?

Was it the look of determination in our eyes as we stared you down

which made you quiver and quake and then take a gun and shove it down our throats?

Was it that we were born of the sun and the earth, a people so natural?

Was it that you couldn’t control us that made you decide to kill us?

Tell me, what was it?

Was it that no matter how hard you tried to make us a

speck in the history books, every page is still filled with the

cries of our ancestors and the stories are still being written to this day?

Go on, tell me.

What made you so angry?