Category: Poetic Musings

The Shadow of the Serpent

6/3/2025

Image by James DeMers

Sometimes the muse returns unannounced, and all one can do is follow where it leads. Here’s a story/poem for those who’ve ever walked through shadows with their head held high. May it reach whoever needs it, in whatever way they need it.

The Shadow of the Serpent 🐍

Once upon a time, in a land where wisdom and hard work were held in high regard, there was a garden hidden behind high stone walls. Only the chosen few were allowed in.
She had been one of them — by merit, by intellect, by the strength of her honest labor.
But not everything in the garden was as pure as it seemed.

Among the flowers, a serpent lay hidden:
It slithered silently, approached like a friend,
But only struck when it found her vulnerable.

This serpent had entered the garden long before she had.
At first, it acted like a guide.
Then it began whispering from the branches,
Gradually tightening its grip --
Telling others what to share, when to stay silent, when to fear.

For a time, the young woman couldn’t see the game.
She was honest.
She wasn’t used to enemies who smiled as they poisoned.
But one day, the veil lifted from her eyes.
The garden was no longer hers. The poison had spread too far.

So she chose to leave — to root herself in another soil,
And grow where light could reach her again.
The serpent? It remained behind.
Trapped in the echo of its own venom.
Now and then it twitched its tail, hissed from afar,
Still trying to stir the leaves, to incite the others.

But its voice could no longer pass through her.
She had learned to see it.
To recognize its shadow,
To sense the truth behind its whisperless lies.
She had seen it clearly --
And a shadow once named
Could never again hold power over her.

Hazel E. Guler

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Still Keeping Watch

5/27/2025

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Photo of a Statue of Liberty silhouette adorning a large window, by Hazel E Guler

She emerged through the glass, her crown barely visible at first… but her presence, unmistakable.

Some symbols fade. They glow for a moment, then dissolve into the noise of daily life. Others follow you home. They linger in the background—across time zones and turning points—whispering reminders of what you’ve carried, and what has carried you.

This Lady? She’s the latter.

She has crossed oceans and borders in my mind—not just as a monument, but as a feeling. A kind of guardianship. Not perfect, not untroubled, but steadfast. Rooted in hope, resilience, and the quiet audacity to dream out loud.

Lady Liberty strikes a chord in me. I, too, have crossed oceans and borders—both physical and invisible. Between countries, between dreams, between selves I’ve outgrown. Through seasons of hope, disillusionment, and fierce self-reclamation.

Some days, I feel far from home. Other days, I find pieces of it reflected back at me—in glass, in light, in memory.

Presence isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s just persisting, quietly, against the dark.

Like her, I keep watch. Even in silence. Even when I’m barely visible--
especially then.

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Not for the Faint of Heart

5/4/2025

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Image by Arek Socha from Pixabay

They came with hungry eyes,
but shallow hands.
Took from the surface,
never dared to understand.

They mistook mystery for performance,
depth for drama,
warmth for weakness...
and turned cold before the flame could speak.

You were not too much.
They were too little.
Too rushed to read
the language of your silences.

Too brittle to hold
what was real and unfinished.
You’ve wept in moonlight
and risen in gold,
built a world where truth
is quietly bold.

You don't linger in their shadows.
They linger in yours.
Still, you walk...
anchored in purpose,
tempered by fire,
a human forged,
not waiting,
but open.

And if you are not afraid
of what's unspoken,
of what doesn’t perform
but pulses beneath...
then perhaps,
you’ve been looking for me.

--Hazel E. Guler

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How I Learned To Speak

5/3/2025

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Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

A Cinematic Monologue by Hazel E. Guler

[Interior – A dimly lit room. The camera closes in slowly. The woman stands by the window, dusk painting her face with gentle shadows. She speaks softly, almost to herself.]

You know, there’s a story I never told out loud.
Not because it was a secret…
But because it never quite knew how to end.

He was–no, they were–a name I whispered to the stars once, certain they’d echo back.
But stars don’t echo. They burn. Quiet. Distant. Indifferent.
And still… I built a life inside a flicker.

Some days I convince myself it was all a mirage.
That I misread every warmth, every glance, every word.
But other days–
Other days, I wear the memory like perfume: invisible, persistent,
a scent only I remember.

It’s not love anymore.
Not quite longing either.
It’s something in between–a residue.
Of wanting to be seen. Of being almost seen.

But I'm still here.
Still walking, still writing, still weaving wonder from what was never fully mine.
Because maybe… just maybe…
the story was never about them at all.
Maybe it was always about how I learned to speak,
even when no one stayed to listen.

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To the One She Once Waved To (or A Polka-Dot Beginning)

4/30/2025

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Hazel G as a Little Girl

For the girl in the summer hat, and the dream she carried in her basket.

I recently came across a childhood photo of myself. I was about two years old, in a polka-dot dress, wearing a summer hat, a tiny basket on my arm. I was waving at the camera with such innocent certainty.

My first instinct when I looked at her was to apologize.
To say: I’m sorry–
For everything and everyone I allowed to hurt you.
The heartbreak, the silences, the weight of dreams deferred…

This photo now sits where I can see it often, so I can remember that little girl… her quiet hope, her unshaped dreams, and the way she moved through the world with trust in things unseen.

Like a quiet reminder of who I was before the world tried to shape me otherwise.

As I kept looking at it, I felt something I couldn’t quite name.
So, I wrote a little poem for her.

For the little girl who waved without knowing who might wave back.
For anyone who’s ever walked through the world with a quiet hope, waving hello, and carrying dreams far too big for their hands.

Here’s to those who waved anyway.

The Girl With the Cracker Bread
(for the one she once waved to)

She waves,
a basket on her arm,
hat tipped just-so
to shield her dreams
from the sun.

A package of cracker bread peeks out,
as though she's been shopping
for joy,
for someone to hand it to,
someone who might say,
“What a great idea.”

She doesn’t know yet
about silence,
about waiting rooms in the soul,
or how a glance can become
a ghost that lingers
for decades.

She only knows
how to offer.
How to hope.

Years later,
she’ll write stories about him...
a man made of books and quiet warmth...
about the day he noticed her spark
and how that notice
lit an entire decade.

But for now,
she just waves.
And maybe,
somewhere,
in a version of the world
that’s more merciful than this one,
he waves back.

–Hazel Elif G.

If you’re reading this and perhaps thinking about your own small self... Waving, hoping, not yet knowing... this is for you too.

For every moment you offered your heart into silence, for every glance that stayed too long in your memory.

May you find peace with the ghosts, and may you wave again... not in search of approval, but as a gesture to yourself.

A way to say: I’m still here. And I’m beginning… again.

#InnerChild #CreativeHealing #MemoirInVerse #WavingAnyway

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Unyielding Light

4/15/2025

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Me & my beloved cat: Image created with Canva

I am the spark in the storyteller’s flame,
A voice of wisdom, a seeker of change.
I carve out meaning with purpose and grace,
Guiding with vision, transcending each place.

I stand with courage, I rise, I create,
Weaving my path through passion and fate.
With heart unshaken, and mind burning bright,
I shape my own world: unyielding light.

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Light and Shadow

10/17/2024

HE Guler

I am the echo of stories untold,
A weaver of words, both fierce and bold.
A seeker of meaning, a sculptor of thought,
In the fire of wisdom, my lessons are wrought.

I stand at the crossroads of reason and dream,
Bridging the silence with voices unseen.
I speak with conviction, yet doubt lingers near,
A shadow that whispers, a phantom of fear.

Bound by devotion, yet longing to fly,
A soul seeking freedom beneath a tight sky.
I wrestle with silence, with time, with regret,
A mind that won’t rest, a heart not content.

Empathy shapes me, a double-edged sword,
It pulls at my heartstrings, yet leaves me worn.
I feel what is broken, I hear what is lost,
Yet bearing such burdens, I pay the cost.

And yet, in the chaos, a vision remains--
A future I build through struggles and pains.
For though I may stumble, I never will cease,
To chase after purpose, to craft my own peace.

--Hazel E. Guler

A Selfie Poem

9/1/2024

Hazel E. Guler at the US Botanic Garden

Mysterious, they call me, and in their words, I find
A loneliness that lingers, a solitude defined.
Perhaps it’s what I seek, in my writer’s soul so deep,
An inward gaze, where secrets and stories softly creep.

I observe life in whispers, analyzing its flow,
Intuitively navigating, letting my intuition grow.
I'm not all-knowing; the world’s weight can burden my mind,
In the quiet, in the solitude, my sanctuary I find.

--Hazel Elif Guler

Coming Back

7/23/2024

Sometimes, we find ourselves drawn back to the places where we felt loved, no matter how far we've strayed. Whether it's a physical journey or a mental return, the pull of cherished memories is strong.

"Everyone comes back
where they felt loved.
In the car. By bike.
On your knees.
In a house. In one street.
In a country. In a cemetery.
Everyone comes back
where they felt loved.
Soon. Late. In a long time.
As children. As adults. As old people.
Laughing. Crying out. Scared.
But they all come back
where they felt loved
In a memory. In a thought.
In a hug. In a dream."
--Linda Valentinis

Embrace the moments and places that make you feel loved. 🌊🏞️

#Reflection #Love #Memories #Journey #Home

Life's Journey

6/23/2024

There comes a moment in life when clarity breaks through the noise and confusion, and you finally know what you need to do. For me, this moment was captured beautifully in Mary Oliver's poem "Journey":

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.

This poem resonates with me on a profound level. It speaks to the courage required to embark on a new path, even when surrounded by doubt and uncertainty.

My life journey has been filled with uncertainty, yet each step has brought me closer to my true self. I remained hopeful and determined, and this resilience paid off as I began new professional ventures and rediscovered my passion for writing.

To anyone facing crossroads in life: trust your journey. It may involve making difficult decisions and letting go of what once seemed crucial, but listen to your own voice. Embrace the uncertainty, knowing that each step forward is a step toward saving and nurturing your life. Replanting yourself in new soil can lead to unexpected growth and fulfillment.

Every transition marks a new chapter in your life. Every step, even the uncertain ones, is leading you toward a future filled with potential and growth. Trust in your resilience, remain open to new experiences, and keep moving forward. The path may not always be clear, but with determination and an open heart, you will find your way.

#Uprooted #NewBeginnings #LifeTransitions #MaryOliver #PersonalGrowth

MY BLOG

The Shadow of the Serpent

Still Keeping Watch

Not for the Faint of Heart

How I Learned To Speak

To the One She Once Waved To (or A Polka-Dot Beginning)

Unyielding Light

Light and Shadow

A Selfie Poem

Coming Back

Life's Journey

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