It's been over a year since I started writing poetry again, and it's all spread out now so I thought I'd put it all into one place so it's easier to find on the blog. I'll link back to the original posts in case you want more background information on the stories behind some of them. They're in chronological order. Hope you enjoy : )
Beginning Again-
It's been such a long while
since I gave my self to you,
took you in the tips of fingers
slippery with nervous sweat,
and sat naked, waiting.
Drenched only in ink,
stamping this world with impermanence,
I might dissolve, I might wash away,
but I might not, patient pen.
Away, Home or, A Way Home-
Bear me gently from this place,
Carry me away on the harmony of your transcendent wing.
I will keep its pulsing rhythm,
And find my way back here again.
Take the kiss of my sweet song,
Wrap me up in our melody-the one we wrote.
I will part from you for now,
And find my way back home again
Lost in the deep thick of a forest, green,
I, weary from wandering, stopped to take rest.
Beneath rain-kissed branches,
laden with fairy fruit, dripping with steam,
I sighed for sleep and fell, at once, into a dream.
A voice came ech'ing o'er the chilly air,
singing a spell to wake me from sleep.
The emerald trees began to murmer,
their strange music whistling through the breeze in my hair.
A far off maiden was whispering my name in a meadow,
I knew not where.
I broke through the thicket to find her,
my armor flashing in the moonlight, pale.
At last there came a clearing in the woodland, wild,
And a muteness befell me, so lost was my will.
Before me danced giants, trampling the green mantle bare.
Clad in aprons of flapping hide,
like ancient stones of milk-white marble,
men or beasts they leapt through fire,
in time with tongues of dragon-breathed flame.
And in their midst a girl was standing,
A garland of petals through her golden hair tied.
My brow was damp with melted dew,
my brave skin torn by bramble and rock,
when she saw me hiding and bid me come.
I took up my sword, but at once set it down
And went running, instead, to her eyes' piercing hue.
And the earth seemed to rumble
when seeing me they laughed
in tones afore unheard by any man.
We danced in the deep as if old, long lost friends
while streams were hissing and sloshing froth.
Their hands were stained, but not with blood-
with juice of berries, warmed in hot sun.
But thieving light came and morning broke.
The milk-white marble was turned to stone
And in place of my giants four mountains stood.
And she, in an instant, vanish'd from sight,
from the distant wood where we danced away night
But in her place a trinket I found-
an amaranth swaying, still casting a spell.
Now here I sit beneath four mountains, tall,
guarding this flower 'til next night shall fall...
Invoking Giants-
I wake and yet feel still asleep
'til off I drift into a dream
where giants tear down heavy trees,
through dancing flames forge golden beams.
I beg them, "Stop! and quiet, be-
drink up this brook, this cursed stream.
When it is dry then I may reach
the far off one who calls to me."
24 Hours
of new born ice on aged rock,
melting, ever,
farther from mystic beginning
into vital flooding-life.
24 Hours of falling,
a cold blanket,
on every inch of stony street,
'til I wrapped up in the warmth of you
and fast became slush-you should have warned me- and was shoveled away.
A little girl watching a tree caught my eye.
She thought the leaves were giggling
in the wind whipping by.
"That ticklish one there," she smiled and sighed,
"is going to fall from all its wriggling!"
The air was chilled with wintertide
when her once-green leaf turned yellow and died
But I thought, "she's right...it's happily wiggling"
A story so sweet of life passing by.
The Night Thief
It was night when it came,
woke me with a pebble
tossed soft against a pane
so the glass wouldn't shatter,
but rang piercing treble,
'til torn from a dream
I heard it whisper my name.
I tried to sleep
for fear of the air
but the shadow could seep
so I stood at the sill
to be taken somewhere,
stretched my hand to the thief,
and felt myself leap.
I expected to fall
and found, instead,
our feet flew up walls,
grazing chimney and tree.
Far away from my bed,
seeming ever more small,
I breathed in it all.
I doubted my sight
beneath blue-black cape
while he plucked from the night
into crinoline bags
what was not ours to take-
glittering stars, brilliant white,
tucked away in secret, extinguishing light.
By chance, then, he saw
in my face something sad,
cupped his hand to my jaw,
took me quickly away
to his people, wing-clad,
and houses of straw,
each collecting a star while I watched in awe.
Night after night I wait at the sill
while hours pass,
wondering if he will
come back to find
my wonder lasts,
to see me, still,
bags in hand, ready to fill.
A forehead is NOT a sexy thing.
So why can't I stop thinking, then,
about yours when I think about you?
I must really love, it. I must really love...
Oh, I hope someone,
someday will like my
forehead, too.
"You should be asleep."
If I could I would answer:
I'm awake
because I'm wondering,
whenever it is I finish wandering,
will yours be the hand holding mine?
And would it worry you to know
that I wish it always? Or,
that what I want most in all of this world
is to drink wine
and laugh at something funny,
wherever, for ever,
with you.
This morning I got up early,
stretched, yawned,
poured a cup of coffee,
thought of you,
looked out my window
without a view, shivered a little
while the air turned colder. Then,
something changed-
a reminder it's not yet spring.
Blue became white, and
I watched the rain
turn into snow.
Unsent-
I found myself writing a letter today
when the paper slipped and cut my hand,
but just before I sipped it dry
I let the blood-drops dripping stay.
They kissed each page with crimson stain,
telling secrets my mouth can not.
I read my words and wondered why
I write down things I'll never say.
Reflection in a Stream-
One day when I was very small
I walked along a stream
and saw beneath the water there
a face looked up at me.
I saw her eyes and wondered why
so sad they seemed to be
but tears were only ripples, lost,
then drowned in water deep
For Better or Worse-
You're right. I am wild with life.
And I will keep burning, seeping, spilling,
knowing it might make you afraid
to fall so far the ground might even tremble-you
couldn't have that. And it's why you won't have
me. For the part of my life that matters
you have been the silence
screaming louder than my ticking
clock. If you'd only let yourself look you
would have found me looking back
from behind a gossamer veil,
woven with flecks of gold, asking you to follow,
beckoning you to come with the bend
of a finger and a smile that's always been
ownerless, belonging to you. But if you ask me tomorrow,
if you finally see my wild eyes and don't look away for fear
of where they might take you, I'll have to swear it's all
forgotten. There is a too-late
vow I'm taking today,
that you are not my whole wide world.
From this day forward you are only part
of it, for better or for worse.
Sometimes it's perfect being the only one awake
to hear hushed murmuring memories,
playing like music, melodious in honeyed air,
plucking streams of cobweb strings
while I kiss the wind with all that's left
of the breath you didn't take from me yet.
Sometimes when that same sung breeze reaches my cheek,
I stop fighting my feet, and let them take me somewhere,
'til tears drip down my eyelashes like rain,
and I start to feel better,
finding there is something so deliciously sweet
about loving you on a night like this night.
So I’m Told-
I'm told it is best to write what you know,
waving a sparkler in warm summer air,
telling stories to fireflies blinking by.
And while I sometimes wish it was love I could weave
in silver streams of smoke and flickering light,
it turns out, when I spell it in the sky,
that what I know is music.
And if I know love at all
it is only because you give me reason to sing.
Nursery Rhyme
I wrapped up tonight
when the sun went to sleep,
put on a sweater,
pulled out a book.
And I sat in the dark
until starlight peeked in
through the window
to bathe me in just enough light.
It was then, with my fingertips
caked in dust,
I flipped a page
and climbed inside.
All my edges
began to blur,
becoming a picture
in long-dried ink.
If weeks were to pass
and you found this book
lying open on the table,
next to curdled milk,
would you look inside
and find me there,
captive in parchment,
drying up?
Would you save me - I wonder -
could you spare time to try?
If missing your voice
I'd found your eyes lost there,
beside mother's goose,
I would dive in after,
regardless of knowing
we could never get out.
Little One
Drift away, little one,
let me hum you to sleep,
while nightfall is touching your cheek
with warm light.
Dream away, little one,
of any good thing,
and if ever you are lost,
this lullaby, sing.
Windsong
Today I lay imagining
in a grove of weeping trees,
the sound of your voice
whispering my name
cooing in the liquid breeze.
I would that I were the wind
your echo weaving through me,
forsaking the honey,
the milk, and the wine,
if only to, with you, be.
But since I am only imagining
what you left behind
I choose the music
of your heart beating,
in time, through the hush, with mine.
Once Upon A Time
~For Alyza~
Somewhere out there in the world
do you think that there might be
two little girls in pigtails,
like we used to be?
I wonder if they're wearing cowgirl boots-
white ones and bubblegum pink-
running and playing in frilly socks
writing stories in mud puddle ink.
I hope they're making up music
to sing the dandelions to sleep,
while they're weaving each other rings from thread
it turns out they will always keep.
Do you think they've found a secret place yet
along a brook or stream,
where they'll spend hours in the froth
like faeries do in dreams?
I imagine there's one with fire red hair,
the other with sapphire eyes, bright blue,
hand holding hand while hard years pass
as, once upon a time, when I was with you.
Waiting
It might be wasteful to write
of ticking clocks,
or even to notice midnight falling
on fields of forgotten slippers
waiting to be found.
Still, tonight,
when the lights go out,
and the bells start to toll,
a girl will find her arms reaching for heaven,
thanking God for blankets of rain.
Wrapping up 'til her skin is drunk,
she'll sit someplace
perfect - alone -
drowning in torrents of teardrops,
hiding in the downpour
so they can't see her cry.
Somewhere there is an empty slipper
made of glass, expecting to shatter
when the clock strikes twelve.
She knows he'll come save her...
Maybe tomorrow.
Finding Aengus
Looking deep into orange shadows
cast in the glow of dying embers and cooling ash,
anyone, lulled, would be drifting to sleep,
but I must tell you, first,
before I, sinking, seek you
in the delicate hush of my dreams,
that today, when I was with you,
for the first time found a hazel wood,
felt breathlessly alive in its fragrant breeze.
I've ached all my life for this place we passed by,
pitifully wandering while ages of apple blossoms
withered in my sea-salted hair and died.
But today, as if it no longer wanted to hide,
there it was on the road, quelling my thirst
like a kiss long desired.
And perhaps it would matter little
but as I felt my spirit flying off into the wind,
clinging only to the shiver of your eyes fixed on me,
I recognized the heavy branches of my secret forest,
saw its aged sign peeking out behind fruit-laden trees,
and just then came floating in my ravished mind
welcome thoughts of one day waking to the only
thing now left in this world worth seeking:
I would not ask you to be for me the sky,
no matter if we are old or young,
only to simply, when the time is right,
kiss my lips and take my hands,
and as the hazel wood beside me,
forevermore be.
