Round and Round We Went

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Round And Round We Went

It looks like lunacy
This repeating of mistakes
And words, in the ditch, in the gutter, stuck in the groove of
Well intended emphasis
Pounding it out and dancing ’round

Peace comes in the dancing in circles like a spinning top only
If you are two in a tulle skirt
In the kitchen, giddy young
Drunk on air and youth

But we know it all and this and that and
A thing or two of circling round like fighters in the ring
Someone always gets bloodied up
Black eyes, the mark of the warrior who fought hard
No need for
White flags or olive branches, doves
Nothing stops us until we are down for the count
We lick out wounds, healing hidden in the tongue
The same one which spoke the wounds

But now the circle has been broken
I released you at last
You flew off straight and strong, headlong into the unknowing, surely you knew
Freedom came in the unfurling of my weary white knuckled boney hands

Now we dance, we are new and two again
Walking in a straight line, side by side

And I stand alone now
Circling the cross
Quiet warrior, retired from the ring

It looks like lunacy
To those who never knew

A quiet warrior, retired from the ring

The Delicate Task (Plus One)

Orange Truck, puddles and clouds

On Your Leaving

If I were to write of your goodbye, it would sound something like this
(I dreamed of loss last night, stammered the haunting memory of the nightmare
Over coffee in the kitchen with your father, I spoke of a baby left behind in the snow)
And so in fact, it is nothing like that, but more of a chilly release of you into the cold
While I am still so warm
(And yet, the dream still haunts me)

In the knowing that you will change
And truly
I always loved you just the way you were

I am numbed by the pain of void
You were you
And I am me, plus you
Sounds so simple, perhaps it always was
You will forgive me I trust, for everything that occurred
Before your leaving came upon me
We were two, close to one
On occasion

I wept
But then you know that, I am sure
You have known me, well
In all the small goodbye’s that have been said
You quietly studied the lines on my face
Tear tracts tell good stories of what lies beneath

Please read between the lines
Knit together were we, not as womb and child
But by a deep love
The thread of which is unbreakable

In the Spring, when you return
Change will have visited me

Because you left
Me loving you
Just as you were
(Because the dream still haunts me)
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall
The snow is heavy on the trees where you are

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Honored to have a poem of mine,The Delicate Task, over at a beautiful new community of words, The Mudroom Blog (click here to go there). I would be honored if you would join me there to read this piece of poetry in its entirety:

The Delicate Task

I watched his hands, a gentle blend of weary

Each line, earned, every callous worn like a medal of honor

The request, brave and earnest

His response breathed through his fingertips, whispers waft and billow

Through the labor of his hands

His yes, a gift of patient, steady love

I look away, the chore asks for silence…..

(click here to continue reading The Delicate Task at The Mudroom)

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Joining Laura today for Playdates At The Wellspring

logo-writer

Why, Poetry?

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Why, Poetry

This is not a poetic lamentation or woe is me diatribe
It is a soul itching, head scratching
Wondering the way wordsmith’s do, about the call to words, ya’ll

It is more or less why, poetry or why poetry
Splitting hairs and splicing sentences around, throwing comma’s about
Like confetti on Fifth Avenue after the parade

And you really do wonder, until you hear the rallying cry for more
Poetry
Hashtag’s come across your screen about the healing
A word was a balm
A sigh of knowing escapes your lips

You want to give a party
Celebrate the genre, kick up your heels and dance
Write the book in poetic prose
Kick the naysayers to the curb
Have you seen the poetry section in Barnes and Noble lately
Point
Counter point
That will rub salt in your, my wound
Think about starting a Kick Starter Campaign

And the world went blooming mad
Spun crazy wild,
And you got really mad
Frozen in fear, but for awhile
You heard people say press on with the passion
Bring on the light
Light up the dark
And all you could do was tap and write and write and tap and pray that beauty was birthed
And that the blasted book that haunts you by day
And by night
And by the way have I told you lately about that dream
You seem to be the first that should know

Why, poetry?
Brilliant choice for everyone but me
Now I am whining about my passion, my love

My poetry
If only for the hastag healing
I will continue to tap away and pray

Oh poetry, you are my cello
And my bass, my blessed curse
My gospel choir and my palette and paints
My novel and my charity
Muse come sit beside me, be the music my fingers long to hear

Poetry, my love
Make me worthy
Of you

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Aged Love

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Aged Love

I do not need to call your name but I do
My being still
My still breathes
Still speak for me
These old bones settle into love
Like the boards nailed in love on our Mersea  last century
Sealing in the lifetimes of aging
Before we were
All day long they sigh, their age an exhale
A comfortable settling, seething with love
As we speak a language, signing with our sighs
Contented passion
Fueled by years of waiting
For
The just us and a quiet room
Filled
To the waterline of Hugo
With a rising tide
Of our new old love
The camelia
Knows but doesn’t say a word