Put this corduroy cat out,
give her only fish-eyed dirt –
it is moister than green grass,
less porcelain to devour.
Bleed the soft morning air
See eternity throb
Listen, dance, surround joy
Go! Do young night growl –
delicious, ferocious, wet heart.
(Playing around with Magnetic Poetry online. Want to play along? See what you can make with the words above. Only caveat – you have to use all the words. Photo from personal collection.)
Day, no more than a sliver, casts a subtle glow on the path. A small bird tap-tapping on windowpane has awakened me, invited me out. I follow it now, as it flits from tree to bush along the way. We come to a stream, whose waters swirl in a nearby eddy then rush over the rocks, merrily singing Earth’s praises. Seventy-eight acres of untouched land surround me. Birch, oak, and willow among the giants that offer shelter. I have come on retreat. A chance to regroup and recharge.
This bird is not the first to rouse me in the early hours; it had been happening for days leading up to this journey. I take it as an omen: be awake, pay attention.
I feel the presence immediately. I am not alone at the water’s edge this crisp, cool spring morning. Although I cannot see her, I know her at once – an essence I have not felt since I was child. Mother Earth. I begin to cry.
“Why did you abandon me?” The words tumble, unexpectedly.
How long has it been since I’d felt her reassurance, the protective shield of her patient strength? I remember how as a child, locked out of home, she walked with me, whispered to me through the subtleties of the wind, and taught me the rhythms of life.
“It was you who abandoned me.” The knowing hits me, like a punch to the stomach. It is so true. I turned my back on her, adopted the ways of civilization – embracing education and busyness as a means to happiness, forgetting the promise of inner peace she offers.
‘Can you forgive me? ‘ I cry. The sorrow of our separation now hitting me in waves of grief – a torrent of shame and blame, and guilt. How I have lost touch with so much in the years since she and I passed the days in innocence.
“There is nothing to forgive. I am always here, whenever you need me.”
The thing is, I tell myself, as day’s light obliterates dawn’s encounter; allergies keep me indoors, and as a mother of three, I spend my days chauffeuring. What time do I have for Nature, for daydreaming?
I will not find her again, for many years, when sickness closes the door on accepted life practices and forces me into isolation, desolation. It doesn’t happen all at once, but gradually, over time, starting with a little bird’s tap-tapping on my windowpane, inviting me to look outside. Inside.
(Written for Willow Poetry’s challenge: What Do You See? Image supplied as part of the challenge.)
Fat flakes of snow
fall on my face, my lens,
disrupt focus –
each icy formation
a gentle kiss.
Oh, Winter,
you crafty old man,
winning me over
with the purity of white,
and cold, wet, caresses.
(Sarah S is hosting in the dVerse pub tonight with the prompt: touch. Photo taken today on our street.)
(Featured image is watercolour interpretation of the photo above.)
Finely cut crystal –
silver and gold –
sparkle and entice.
A table fit for royalty.
Savoury aromas evoke visions
of sumptuous gravy,
delectable roast,
crisp-cooked vegetables,
and decadent desserts.
She’d stop to admire her handiwork,
but the children, hungry
and bored with the waiting,
tug at her hem.
Waiting.
It is her greatest strength.
Prepare, prepare,
then wait.
They’ll arrive shortly, noisily
full of their days,
fail to remark on the preparations
They’ll sit
be served
praise the deliciousness
gobble up seconds
push back their chairs
wander off
for a kip
or a smoke
and she’ll linger
picking at congealed gravy- covered mashed
unconsciously dabbing at a red wine stain
and marvel at how she accomplished it all
without bitching
without protesting
a trouper till the end
What’s that you say?
She’s sounding a bit like the martyr?
Oh no, you’ve found her out.
Superwoman has a dark side.
(This was originally penned a few years back, and I resubmitting it here, edited, for Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday. Photo is courtesy of Deb Whittam as part of her prompt.)
Statuesque as a Great Blue Heron,
she wades silently, patiently,
her long-necked beauty,
and generous wingspan,
testament to a tender soul.
She dreams of a mate
who can unfold her,
carry her to new heights.
Rustling in a nearby bush,
she encounters a partridge –
shorter than her, and
rotund, his countenance grey.
She is drawn to the candour
of his misery, how vilely
he has been misplaced –
his wife and nest robbed by
another, more showy beast.
Pity masks itself as kinship
and as love does, she dons
blinders, ignores the fact that
he prefers ground dwelling,
tells herself she will adapt
to his packs, learn his ways
Once dreamt of a mate
who could unfold her,
carry her to new heights.
Her shoulders slump, and
she draws her neck in now,
wings forgetting how to soar –
she is diminishing in the
confines of a single field
while her Partridge mate,
remains a partridge –
only fatter.
(Written for dVerse pub, hosted by Björn tonight, who challenges us to use metaphor. I might have got carried away…oh, well, excuse me while I flock off.)
Wrap me a slice
of utopia – parcel
it carefully, maybe
double-wrapped.
Just glide it across
the counter, let me
tuck it in my coat,
glide out of here –
can barely repress
my excitement,
this thrill, must hurry
on home now –
find a quiet corner,
unwrap and inhale.
(Written for dVerse’s poetics with the focus on utopia. A nod also to Fandango’s prompt, repress, Ragtag Community’s, parcel , and Daily Addictions, glide.)
A wink?
Seriously?
Am I meant to smile
in conspiratorial culpability,
was that a Colgate
bright teeth,
complete with chime
wink, or…
a big bad wolf,
I’m coming to get you
later wink, or…
hand-in-cookie-jar,
you didn’t see this –
in which case,
I wink.
(Written for dVerse‘s quadrille night – a poem in 44 words – with the prompt, wink; and for Ragtag Community’s, chime.)
Natural beauty
stops the heart, disrupts breathing
instills reverence.
(Photograph taken in Arizona at the Bryce Thompson Arboretum State Park last Spring. Modified with Befunky.com. Submitted here for Manic Mondays 3 way prompt: reverence.)
One Woman's Quest 