12 July 2009

Poetry for Sunday


I haven't written much poetry in the past ten years, although contemporary poetry was the subject of my master's thesis long long ago. But it's a wonderful habit to have, writing poetry. It focuses and disciplines the mind, and it allows the poet to crystallize a philosophy or thought into images that can be transferred to the reader. A poem says so much more than it says.

I was inspired to get back to this healthy habit by reading Dave King's blog Pics and Poems. If you would like more poetry after you finish here, today Dave has posted these beautiful lines:

Unreal, I thought, him being dead,
with all that life, those plans still unfulfilled.

And more.

I would like to know what you think of the following poem. I drafted it only this morning, and I usually write in layers, going back and over the words to find exactly the ones that most convey my meaning. So this may not be the final incarnation.

(I can't make the poem look the way I want it to. I'm going to have to ask my computer geek mentor Lydia to help me with that.)

Old Love


I may need a stout rod

for the journey but

I can walk it on my own

because of the scent of your skin

because your eyes are the same

sea glass shade as your laugh

because you are here.


I expect certain considerations

a touch on the back

a brief clasping of hands

a kiss that has nothing to do

with a peck. An opening:

your mind into mine, an emptying:

your baggage, the polished suitcase

in which you carry your heart.


And then we fill each other gently

with secrets torn apart and shared

like bread. Spread like a net to keep us

each from falling into wilderness.

Know that I choose

exactly this.


You may expect me

to be more of a trellis

than a blade. More of

a rich dark vein and less—

not at all—of a potion mined

in the crevice where conceit

intersects with air. Forget the old

except for the parts that contain us.

I will keep in my heart for you

a small portrait, a mirror that shows

you standing in your finest pose.

We are too old for games of chance.


Some seeds don’t open

until fire and heat have brazed

the useless outer layers.


May the remainder of your weekend be poetic.

Don't forget that my friend Lydia is taking reservations for her next webinar. In the webinar I took, I learned so much about how to refine the design of my blog and how to use various analytics. And it was a lot of fun too. I blogged about it here.

6 comments:

Evil Twin's Wife said...

Beautiful! Very well written.

SugarCain said...

Thanks for taking pity on me, chickie. Apparently poetry is not the bag of most of my regular readers. I love it that you have one of my favorite poems in your sidebar. I have to read it nearly every time I read your blog.

Sweet Pea said...

I do love poetry! I'm just a lazy blog reader on the weekends. Your poem was brilliant and lovely. I also read the poem you mentioned on Evil Twin's blog which I'd never read before. Equally lovely--the blog and the poem. I have a book of collected poetry somewhere at home. Now I'm inspired to look for it tonight and start enjoying it again.
Thanks for always keeping things interesting and don't stop sharing the poetry.

Lydia said...

I love it so much. Is this a woman who understands falling in love? I think so.

The color of the laugh has squeezed my heart permanently.

XOXOXOXO

L.

The Green Stone Woman said...

It's simply smashing. I have no other words for it. It blows me away. You are good!

Mel M. M. McCarthy said...

Your poem takes my breath. I felt like I had written it and wished I had all at the same time. I was an English major and used to write poetry obsessively; I had forgoten its power. I'll be scribbling again, now. Thank You!