Leftover Thoughts on Being Lost – After Kasey Chambers, Lost and Found (a golden shovel poem)

compass

 

No, I don’t want to talk about it yet.
don’t know which of these words I could 
say to make sense — some thoughts can give 
a girl such nightmares, and scatter away 
all the good from the coffee and sun of this 
morning. I do know this — my sensitive heart 
is shifting, in these hours of weariness. I’ll leave 
it to itself – to refold the map and choose the path it 
wants to take. My feet will find their way. So, in 
case you’re thinking you should worry — the 
truth is, there’s no reason. I know I’m not lost 
for long. I’ll find my compass in this confusion, and 
let it point me north — keep going until I’m found.
———-

POETIC FORM:

golden shovel – Take a line (or lines) from a poem you like. Use each word as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Credit the original poet, ie. “-after (poet)”.

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POEM A DAY NOVEMBER 2015 – PROMPT:
For today’s prompt, write a leftovers poem.
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AUDIO FILE:
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True Red — After Flyleaf, All Around Me (a golden shovel poem)

lipstick
I have the writer’s luxury of words (my 
body is a thesaurus) and my tongue 
drips with vocabulary like a child dances 
— with complete abandon. No hiding behind 
the expectations in my imagination. My 
poet’s fingers paint love upon these lips 
before I speak. I promise will ever search for 
the perfect shade, and always be kissing you.
———-

POETIC FORM:

golden shovel – Take a line (or lines) from a poem you like. Use each word as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Credit the original poet, ie. “-after (poet)”.

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POEM A DAY NOVEMBER 2015 – PROMPT:

For today’s prompt, write a luxury poem.
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Wildfire — After Christina Perri, Human (a golden shovel poem)

wildfire

The fire is in the chasing, and I’m 
burning to break free. There’s only
one remedy for being this human.
 
The road less traveled is calling and 
the sun is fading, curling at the corners.
long to run through the trees, to bleed 
the sorrow from my bones, to gasp when 
my lungs can’t swallow enough sunlight.
want to run until I find your feet, and fall 
like the last leaf, let the wind carry me down —
 
The fire is in the chasing, and I’m
burning to break free. There’s only 
one remedy for being this human.
 
 
———-

POETIC FORM:

golden shovel – Take a line (or lines) from a poem you like. Use each word as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Credit the original poet, ie. “-after (poet)”.

 

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POEM A DAY NOVEMBER 2015 – PROMPT:

For today’s prompt, write an echo poem.
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Ravenous — After Sarah McLachlan, Fear (a golden shovel poem)

It’s summer here in my little corner of the world, and I’m on vacation. I’m headed to an island, with my paints and my pens and my Bear! So over the next several days, I’ll be reposting favorites:

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black wolf 3

The way your blue eyes pierce my flesh, they 
take my breath — whisper like winter. They say 
that I am mystery and gut-wrenching temptation.
I am amazed by this, and by your strength of will 
to unleash the beast inside you –  but not destroy.
Yes, you tear into my body and soul, and yes, our 
cries echo in the dark. All the forest hears our love.
I think you are magic — the incantation that bids the 
blood in my veins race, my body ache for you — never
fully sated. I’m fed and empty, this need not ending.
In your yearning eyes, I find my insatiable hunger.
———-

POETIC FORM:

golden shovel – Take a line (or lines) from a poem you like. Use each word as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Credit the original poet, ie. “-after (poet)”.

—–

 

POEM A DAY NOVEMBER 2015 – PROMPT:

For today’s prompt, it’s the final “Two for Tuesday” prompt:
  1. Write a love poem.
  2. Write an anti-love poem.
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Sleeping — After Adele, Remedy (a golden shovel poem)

spooning

I’ve held you more closely when 
the night stole your sleep, and the 
thoughts in your head brought pain.
I’ve seen the way your fear cuts 
your breath, and dread leaves you 
staring long into the darkness, deep.
I’ve been the broken one, tired and 
scared — and you have been the 
rock, that sheltered me in the night.
This love we are building keeps 
us stronger, together — you 
and me. We are made safe from
fear that finds us peacefully sleeping.
———-

POETIC FORM:

golden shovel – Take a line (or lines) from a poem you like. Use each word as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Credit the original poet, ie. “-after (poet)”.

 

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POEM A DAY NOVEMBER 2015 – PROMPT:

For today’s prompt, write an apology poem.

 

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AUDIO FILE:

 

 

Waiting for Daylight — After Of Verona, Dark in My Imagination (a golden shovel poem)

writedark (2)

It’s four o’clock in the morning, and it’s 
blank-page quiet in the wet-ink dark.
My pen on the page is every breath in 
the stillness. Insomnia gives me my
own golden ticket to pure imagination.
———-

POETIC FORM:

golden shovel – Take a line (or lines) from a poem you like. Use each word as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Credit the original poet, ie. “-after (poet)”.

 —–

POEM A DAY NOVEMBER 2015 – PROMPT:

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Waiting for (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.
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AUDIO FILE:

Light and Darkness

candle 2
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.
(excerpted from “Winter-Time” by Robert Louis Stevenson)
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Were it not for shadows, there would be no beauty.
(Junichiro Tanizaki)
—–
Learn to reverence night and to put away the vulgar fear of it, for, with the banishment of night from the experience of man, there vanishes as well a religious emotion, a poetic mood, which gives depth to the adventure of humanity. By day, space is one with the earth and with man — it is his sun that is shining, his clouds that are floating past; at night, space is his no more. When the great earth, abandoning day, rolls up the deeps of the heavens and the universe, a new door opens for the human spirit, and there are few so clownish that some awareness of the mystery of being does not touch them as they gaze. For a moment of night we have a glimpse of ourselves and of our world islanded in its stream of stars — pilgrims of mortality, voyaging between horizons across eternal seas of space and time. Fugitive though the instant be, the spirit of man is, during it, ennobled by a genuine moment of emotional dignity, and poetry makes its own both the human spirit and experience.
(exerpted from chapter eight of “The Outermost House”, by Henry Beston)
—–
Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
(excerpted from The Sound of Silence, by Paul Simon)
candle
Today is the day I will celebrate Yule, and my Winter Solstice. I have been thinking a great deal about the longer nights, the insomnia, the shadowy days, and the lack of the sun. Truth be told, I miss her light, her warmth, and on those days this month when she has shone her face and warmed me, I have made an extra effort to get outside and soak her in.  I am eager to turn that corner of the longest night and head back toward the light, to chase through the woods at sunset as she sets fire to the tops of the trees, and warms my skin! But I’d be remiss if I left it at that. Because I am also the girl who loves the darkness, and welcomes the night, even the insomnia. I find it is a gift, to steal an hour or three of shadowy silence for spilling ink and writing poetry, is one of the great pleasures in my life.
candle yin yang
Darkness intrigues me, calls to me, begs to be celebrated. I have felt this way since very early on in my adult journey into a new experience, a new identity and spirituality that was fully my own. I remember long ago reading a post on a blog by Poppy St. Vincent, about being a woman who in the spirit of Lilith, chases her own darkness… “Maybe sometimes she has children now but she has a life away from them as well. Maybe she loves but does not obey without question. Maybe she walks her own path, thinks her own thoughts; she has the distinct smell of trouble about her. Maybe she is so restless at night because she has such dreams of desire that they will not let her rest.” …it resonated with me so deeply, that I long ago wrote about it, and that call to leave the warmth of hearth and home for a while, and chase my own darkness down the shadowed paths under moonlight. It truly changed the way I identify myself.  I have learned to embrace the darkness in me, and yes, to revel in it. I am both Raven and Moon. My blood runs inky, and I seek out the nights, the shadows, the forest paths where I run with my Wolf. We explore that darkness together, and yes, these things add depth, poetry, adventure and a spiritual richness, a “religious emotion” as Beston says. I am deeply fed by this act of embracing the night, and the darkness that is an intrinsic part of who I am, and how I’m made.
candle snuff
I have been meditating today on this longest night, and on ways to celebrate it in my own way. I will, of course, attend a small Yule celebration, and with friends and like-minded acquaintances, I will join in the ritual, light candles, make music, and welcome the light in that circle. Today alone, as I have no other day this year, I wear about my neck a chain from which is suspended a small silver charm shaped like the sun — presented to me and to all in attendance at my first Yule ritual. It seems an appropriate reminder of the light that shines in even the most troubling times, and I need that perspective. My year has had its share of heartache, and even today, I am going through a sort of darkness that I do not relish, do not chase. I am comforted knowing that it will not always be so dark as it is now in that sense. I recall for myself in these ways the truth that light is coming.
candles
Still, my desire is to embrace that light while also honoring the darkness… like a chunk of snowflake obsidian I carry in my pocket some days, light and dark in the same small space, both creating beauty. I will carry that stone with me tonight, and I will spend some time in the wee hours, reveling in the absence of light. I will turn off my electronics, my light bulbs, blow out my candles. I will breathe and be grateful for the shadows in my life that define beauty, and provide contrast to the brightness. I will relish the stillness, the sound of silence, the quiet of four in the morning — and after a while, I will light a solitary candle, and I will write. I will do what I was made to do, what is in my blood, and bones and DNA. I’ll spill ebony ink onto my pages, to remind me that darkness too, is truly my old friend.
Candle out

Winter Solstice

Winter-Solstice-Sweden-

These long nights etch frost
across our window panes.
We are the slow, tired reply,
heavy with winter’s sleep.

Let’s draw the cloak of longing–
curl into our hollow spaces,
inspire the waning heat of
our own, too-shallow breath.

There’s in us yet, a reaching.
Limbs promising new growth
itch under stubborn bark–
breathless for season’s change.

Sap whispers in our branches.
Murmurs wake us in the night.
Rumors stirring wild imagination,
hope kindles these dry bones.

We’ll soon wake from slumber,
bathe our faces in the morning.
Our weary nights are numbered;
–here comes the blessed light.

Vulnerable Human

 

But I’m only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I’m only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
‘Cause I’m only human

 

-Christina Perri, Human

robot

I define vulnerability as uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure. To be human is to be in vulnerability.

 

You can’t get to courage without walking through vulnerability.

 

Vulnerability is the glue that holds relationships together. It’s the magic sauce.

 

-Brené Brown, PHD, LMSW

 

I am deeply, madly in love with a strong, smart, generous and breathtaking woman. Her wife is a courageous, giving, welcoming, fun and beautiful soul. She is my dear friend. Like many in my circle of polyamorous life partners, and dearly loved metamours, the three of us are learning every day to communicate well, to make room, to celebrate each other and to pour out generous amounts of trust and love as we enjoy the ecstasy and wonder that is this web of support, value and gratitude we are building for ourselves and each other. In the four months since we began, things have been absolutely, incredibly amazing.

We all work really hard to make space for each other, to flex and bend, to support and share, and to communicate, to talk honestly, to trust. We do a damn fine job, I don’t mind saying. We push ourselves, look for opportunities to grow. We are courageous and vulnerable. We’re purposeful about being good at this life, because we love each other, we honor each other, and we want to do right by those who we are so lucky to love.

I love those connections where I can let down my guard, silence my inner-critic, and be genuine. I’m welcomed with open arms. I don’t have to know all of the answers; I can struggle and laugh at myself, and know that my partners and metamours will meet me with love, and celebrate me in all my messy, morning breath, grouchy, Tuesday morning glory! I am deeply moved and fed by the willingness of lovers and their partners to be real with me, to let down their guard, put on their pajamas (or be naked), laugh about their mistakes and share their fears. It’s the very soul of this life I’m living, and I am so grateful to be met with such beauty, courage and strength.

Still, some days, the hurt comes. And that sucks.

Some days, no matter how good our intentions, no matter how carefully we choose to live, no matter how real and honest and open-hearted we are… we fail. We find ourselves in the middle of a tangled and hurtful miscommunication.  We misunderstand, we stumble, we inadvertently bruise someone else’s heart. I inadvertently bruise someone else’s heart. I did it this week, and that sucks.

No, I wasn’t alone, there were things I could have done and things others could have done to prevent the painful situation that arose — if we’d only seen it coming — but that’s not the point. The point is, I am human, and my partners and metamours are human. No matter how well we do this polyamorous life — no matter how carefully we choose our actions, our reactions, we will spill our messy, difficult-to-swallow humanness all over those we love. It just happens.

That’s a tough pill for me to swallow today.

I am only human, and it breaks my heart to know my choices, no matter how pure my intent, caused others pain. I have cried today. I have apologized, I have spoken words of understanding and love, and meant every one… and today still sucks. Because I don’t want this kind of thing to happen, especially because I messed up.

Thankfully, I’m in this with adults — strong, generous, loving humans — who join me in gathering up the pieces, and healing the hurts. We will get through this. We will learn something about ourselves and each other. We will grow. Tomorrow will be easier, better, than today, and we will celebrate. We will face the days ahead with courage, and vulnerability. We will love, and there will be joy again. In fact, there’s a tiny bit of joy even today, knowing that we are gonna be just fine.

We’re gonna let vulnerability be our magic sauce!

 

 

 

Phoenix Reborn — After Electric Light Orchestra, Strange Magic (a golden shovel poem)

phoenix_birth_2

You might not know, I’m watching you 
as you spread your tired wings and fly.
You’ve had it all along, this strength — so 
I’ve been waiting just to see how high 
you’d soar, once you found courage.
knew you’d see it in yourself, you’d get 
the gist. Now I’m watching you with
smile. I can’t help but admire, this strange 
new fire you’ve got in your eyes. It’s magic! 
———-

POETIC FORM:

 

golden shovel – Take a line (or lines) from a poem you like. Use each word as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Credit the original poet, ie. “-after (poet)”.

 —–

POEM A DAY NOVEMBER 2015 – PROMPT:

 

For today’s prompt, write a strange poem.

 

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AUDIO FILE: