I swing my legs from the swaying dock
Forgotten every one of my dwindling flock
I lay in fields of golden, wet, honey wheat
Drink down dew from low, golden clouds I meet
I run in those hidden dark, green trees
Places I learned to be what I please
Ravines littered with softly-fallen sins
Redeemed by desire, baptized by might-have-beens
Hay dangles through cracks and creaky joists
I break pains and panes with the ghosts of your voice
Pains of the past
Panes of glass
I fly kites with the ribs of those rotting, white windows
Catch hope with faith and sinewy minnows
Display truth and let it cool on open-sashed sills
Smoke the winnows and billows of dogged wills
Clear to the rafters of this old barn
And to the ragged fence posts on Used-to-be Farm
I love you.
I went wading through
Some poems last night
Knee-deep in poetry
Is a bit of all right
I stood for a while
In the middle of creation
Sat, lapping up rap
Deep in meditation
I’m not averse to being immersed in verse
Ruminating in rhymes is a blessed curse
Seussifying incessantly isn’t so much worse
Words submerge in this subversive’s universe
Snag my net
Throw me my pen
Hold your breath
I’ll begin again and then
The waves of expression flow o’er me
I flail in their overwhelm
It’s not a boat you float upon
Tethered to the weathered, flying helm
You dive down, risk the drown
Wrestle in swells, quill ’til it quells
Gasp for breath on the shore beyond death
Thankful for absent bells’ knells
Poetry’s not something to navigate
You have to swim with the fishes
You have to get wet, not just whet, but ret
Then wring out the sweat-filled wishes
Don’t be afraid of the creatures that crawl
Among and along imagination
It’s only thoughts and ideas after all
Not an underwater psychotic’s vacation
Sputter your products onto the shifting sand
Swirl them around with your trembling hand
When you have the shaky strength to stand
You’ll grasp and understand this languid liquid land
I will linger in this language until the end of time
Reeling in this important feeling
Sharing with the rest of the world
My brain’s ability for healing
Dad did this.
The world did this.
I did this.
Healing. Teaching. Helping.
Holding. Waiting. Loving.
God did this.
Words are straining
Light is waning
Pulse is fading
Back from when
Where I’ve been
Now I fly
On rhythm’s high
Do or die
Through the ceiling
From numb to feeling
Nerves are healing
Eyes on fire
Love’s a wire
World’s a liar
Oh, aged, fluttering Friend,
Your short, lovely life is about to end.
Perched upon my window sill,
Your lethargy reveals you are ill.
You linger and you long,
Not quite finished with your song.
When your life is almost over,
Why aren’t you dancing above the clover?
Instead, you visit me for one last glance.
My window–your funeral. Our last chance.
When humans are old and losing the world,
We sit and stare at Universe unfurled.
But you, my friend, stare back at me,
Waiting for Heaven to finally be free.
Did you have children? Did you find grace?
Did you ever find your very own space?
Thank you for spending your last minutes here.
I embrace your brave absence of fear.
Float on up. Flying is done.
Your winged race? Too-soon run.
Based on a story my husband just shared from work last night. I made the dragonfly in Photoshop from scanned ink textures and filter effects.
I’m in love with your words.
They seduce me with sounds like:
I’m in love with your face.
It draws me with lines like:
I’m in love with your hands.
They play me with strength like:
I’m in love with your heart-and-mind.
It’s a mystery to unlock like: