Tag: silence

Awake

Poetry
Awake
There’s a silence
in the morning–
feels like waiting
for day to begin–
for the sunlight
in your smile when
you wake to see me.
—–
AUDIO FILE:
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Out of Ink

Poetry

image

Some days
even though words
are all around me
–on page after page
in book after book
on shelf after shelf
–on the back of every
shampoo bottle
in the shower
–in every envelope
of every piece
of junk mail
in the mailbox
–on every label
of every box and can
in the kitchen.
I still cannot seem
to find the right ones
for a poem.
It’s a good thing
silence and I have
become friends
when I sit still
and listen, she
reminds me — poems
take coaxing — words
can be shy — maybe
tomorrow

—–

AUDIO FILE:

Haggard (a decima espinela poem)

Poetry

blackraven

My body bates at all that moves
as though I might bind to a peace
I’m sore and tired. I need release.
I hope with sleep my mood improves.
For now this ache all sense removes.
My thoughts seem just a pantomime.
I cannot force these words to rhyme.
The ink won’t flow or find the page;
My words lie trapped, in iron cage.
I feel my wing-beats out of time.
—–
POETIC FORM:
Decima Espinela — 10 line poem, 8 syllables per line, abbaaccddc rhyme pattern.

 

 

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

Poetry

compass

 

No, I don’t want to talk about it yet. I 
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)”.

—–
POEM A DAY NOVEMBER 2015 – PROMPT:
For today’s prompt, write a leftovers poem.
—–
AUDIO FILE:

Light and Darkness

Poetry
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)
—–
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

Sleep is for the Birds — After Rod Stewart, Maggie May (a golden shovel poem)

Poetry

one sleeps one awake

I wonder when it is that you wake —
and ponder what it is that keeps you up.
I am Rod Stewart’s Maggie,
lying — asleep, beside you. I 
will while away nights — I think
— until I stir and meet your eyes. I 
think you’re used to this — you’ve got 
a rapport with 4:00 a.m. Something 
I wish I knew, and don’t envy you — to 
eat the night as I drink death’s sleep. You say 
you’ll sleep when you’re dead. I’d like to 
think I’d like the solitude. I could share with 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)”.

 —–

POEM A DAY NOVEMBER 2015 – PROMPT:

For today’s prompt, it’s time for another Two-for-Tuesday prompt.

Here are your options:
  1. Take the phrase “Ode to a (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.
  2. Take the phrase “(blank) is for the Birds,” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.
 —–

AUDIO FILE:

Haunting — After Adele, Hello (a golden shovel poem)

Poetry

sitting_in_the_dark_by_passiontocreate-d552fca

In between heartbeats, you may hear me — hello.
When you feel my breath in autumn air, from 
the crack beneath the door, you’ll know — the 
touch on your shoulder. Maybe there’s some other 
explanation, still you just can’t shake it. Side
against the crazy ones. Swear I don’t exist. I 
will still sit and watch you sleeping. You must 
feel my lips in the bend of your elbows — I have 
kissed you there a thousand times. I have called 
your name to the walls, felt you flinch. Proof in a 
breathless moment (It’s been at least a thousand 
since you said goodbye.) I’ll be back as many times.
———-
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 haunted poem.

Ritual — After In This Moment, Whore (a golden shovel poem)

Poetry

sittinggirlautumnforesttreewoman-2337945d50f187242ac8078efa4c8468_h

It’s a habit — a thing, something so 
much nature — it’s part of me. How 
is it that an act this simple — I can 
feel in the bend of my knees, my hips this 
folding, unfolding, opening up? Could it be 
that it’s your surrender too, that you’re 
meeting me, right here? Are you praying 
what I’m praying, in the quiet next to 
breathing? Do you feel — or is it just me? 

———-

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 ritual poem.
AUDIO FILE: