Letting Go: Releasing Our Art Into The World

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 4 Comments

Letting Go

Go poem,
Words, go
Whether it be early or late
Or timed with perfection
You were born in a heart of passion
Raised up to be released
Born of the seed of God gift
Never formed for staying put.

Go art,
Poems, go
Go make your home in a heart
That weeps for encouragement
Cries for beauty, is starved for it
Longs for healing in a wounded place
Land and light and harbor in
The refuge of another’s sight.

Go lines
Art, go
Go and make your way through dark and lonely
Streets and hopeless hearts
Spark a flame, fuel it, fan it
Heat the cold and frozen places
Be a word that thaws
The soul, the frigid place within another’s heart.

Art,
be what you were called to be.
and be it away from me.

Fly on the wings of dove, in peace
And great horned owl, so wise
Hitch a ride on strong brown pelican
Strap yourself to wings of  great blue heron.

Go in peace
to the place
You
Were meant
To call your new

Home.

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Joining friend Jennifer Lee today

GO Untitled

The Poetry Of Exploration

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 8 Comments

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I nearly weep at the remembering
How beauty hung in every ray of radiant
Brilliance breaking through the trees
Laden heavy on old oak branch
Upon branch
Centuries old with story and weight
Draped like pashmina, draped and dripping
Gray moss makes her a bearded lady
And her neighbor an elegant old sage
Makes me linger longer with every wandering
Step

Can beauty make you weary and worn
Carrying heavy the memory of fragments
Gathered and stored in a soul
Longing
A soul
Hungry
For what the day held.

Circling round and round
Like a mad dog in search of his tail
Rabid in need of earth’s poetic soul
Yet
Slowly
I round each corner
Expectant
Knowing
That I had  seen
But a fragment of what He gives

I am Columbus, Vasco Da Gama, Magellan
I am poet explorer
Capturer of lines of lovely
Gatherer, noticer, bounty-hunter
In search of something
Nameless, faceless
Wonder

Memorizing the berry red, the shadows’ dance
The limb and leaf
Ripples race like dominoes across the creek
Netting and crab-pot, rigging and roadways
Grit and glory, socks sagging
Pinned to the clothesline
Wet with story

And in the end I wonder
As I wander

This was never meant
For
Me alone
No

To hoard and have
To savor and store
Somewhere in the wonderment
And uncovering
I am more of Whitman
And Frost
Wordsworth
Though weak and frail
Feeble
The comparisons, faulty
At best

But yet
I am called
To spill through ink on a page
In the fragile lines of a poem
The poetry
I found

Along my way
Clear my voice
Whisper to a few
In this awkward way
.
Bend in and hear
Me say
I have sipped the cup of beauty
Now I raise the cup, full

Place your lips
Cracked and parched
Upon the waiting rim.
And taste the poetry of God.

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Joining my friend Laura today. Monday’s are simply marvelous there.  And joining Angie for a fun first-time link at her place.

January

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

 

Drips grey like a leaky fountain pen
Spills battleship, concrete, slate and
Every shade in between
Blanketing the tops of trees, no leaves
Vulnerable, branches bear, shaking at the root
In the frigid air
Suspended in a cavernous sky
Frozen
Like a
Monochromatic monstrosity
The canvas wide and bleak
She sees
Sees past the bullying mid-winter blues
Yes, January
Keeps a secret
Hides it in the vortex of a
Cross- continental
Arctic blast.
Longing and desire
Grow in
Fallow fields
Laid to rest and wait
Patient in her knowing that the future is redeemable
There is hope
Oh what restless souls we are
Missing the beauty buried in the
Aching earth
Cold and lonely for new growth
But January says
Hold on
I am the doorway through which you step
Gateway
From cold and void
To feasts and merriment
Hold on fast in dormant days
And know the season
Of rejoicing lies this way.
Oh January
Help us see
The beauty that is in the days
So cold and gray, seeming barren
Nestled in a quiet snowy wait
Point us to the future where
Color spills out new birth like grace
On the other side of
A world
Colored but for a moment
In endless shades of grey.

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Joining friends Sandra and Deidra

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The Bicycle

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 1 Comment

The Bicycle

A ride waited, pregnant
It would tell me when it was time
To labor
Pedal up and down
Run over a million sycamore balls
Like dollhouse sized
Speed bumps

The ride would woo me
Invite me, tell me when it was time
To roll through town
Just in time to see the children scream
In sheer delight

And we are one today
One age, one child
One girl, one woman
Metal melds the years between

I passed the lumpy dog, lazy hound
Looking like a lost coat piled up in the yard
I announced that I’d lost mine and they grinned
Everyone’s a child today
Or plum tuckered out
From play

The sky called for a break
The blues and grays
Announced
We had time
To run outside and play
The town seemed to have a fire-drill
Everyone spilled out at once
After the cold, the threat of rain

And I have my bicycle
On which I can forget that I am
Not the child
Who’ll be called for dinner in awhile
Tucked in post-prayers
And seven requests for water
After the bed-bugs and boogey men
Are scared away.
And I love’s you’s are said
And I love you to Jupiter and back

No I am woman
With handle bars in hand
And a seat at home
Warm still
From meeting with a friend
Who’s cancer is in her breast
And uncertainty is lodged in her chest
But hope clings, spills from her lips.

I can sit up on my seat

Closer to the heavens
And pray, intercede
With the whirl of wind in my ears
Making noises like the empty conch at the sea
Making tears as
The wind splashes on my ears and in my face

I hid the fact that I wanted to stay and play
My bicycle and I

We are all children
Sitting perched upon our bicycles
Pedaling as hard as we can
Just trying to

Make our way back home.

In time for meatloaf, again
And
To find our lost dog in the yard.

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