i like riding the underground when i don’t have anywhere
i particularly need to be
and i can relax and look at everyone else
and write the stories of their dreams
for some of them hold shopping bags
and some look at their phones
once i saw a woman cuddling with her husband
as they talked about their newfound home
and i once read over the shoulder of someone
texting with her best friend
talking about her trip back to London
and how she wishes she could stay in France
oh yes i know i’m a bit too nosy
but aren’t we all to some extent?
we are interested all in one another
which doesn’t stop me getting annoyed when
the young man muscles past me to get off
but then i laugh as i recall how i do the same
and all the times i’ve almost missed my stop
for i just like writing stories in my head
little snippets of each person’s day
i wonder if anyone is writing stories about me
a girl with a red winter hat
and oversized hoodie that goes to her knees
Tag: poem
Doxology
She lays the table with precision
a fine china plate here and there
and there and there
and above the glasses
then the napkins
and in appropriate places the silverware
for soon will whirl in the guests rosy cheeked
and proceed to drop with delight their winter coats
and they admire the table and offer rapturous praises
as they give warm hugs to everyone else in the room
and then they ask what smells so good
roast chicken and buttery mashed potatoes
sage and bacon dressing
and carrots and onions of course
properly rings out the all important question is it time for food
and he answers first let’s gather and pray and toast
and then sing a song together
but when is the chicken coming out of the oven
and he smiles as he takes off his apron
don’t worry dear friends
soon.
Mirrors
she doesn’t ask for my hand
but i give it nonetheless
and she takes it
ruefully
why she wonders
does the world cry
so many tears
A Little Farther
the wilds of the inner city
streets call me
to the farther reaches
of the sky
see the painted columns
holding up the rivers
of the windblown
asphalt kissed
heights
and on the bank of the bayou
a tree that once knew green
catches her lonely eye
Lingering Time
Leaning across the chessboard
that even she can’t see
moving pieces shrouded
by the remnants of their
humanity
the board is in shadows
and the queen topples
in silence
i wonder who moves
the other side
Snooze
This is definitely one of those sleepy mornings, I have decided. Firstly I’m behind schedule – definitely slept a bit longer than I would have liked! – then I roll up to Starbucks and see Jake there…who is also very much behind his own schedule…then I talk to Emily & Deniz at the counter and they tell me they barely opened on time since one of them(who shall remain nameless…but his name starts with D) slept in and didn’t get to Starbucks until 15 min before open. So yeah, it’s one of those days apparently!! I am about to take my first sip of coffee all morning and it shall be glorious. Since I didn’t have much time this morning, decided not to even heat up my coffee so no – I am currently decaffeinated. I am grateful that I was granted a bare few minutes to read though – Psalm 101 & 102. Encouraging to read the Word of the Lord this morning, that I cannot deny. Now…figured I’d post a poem I’ve been working on. It’s a bit rare for me to post one that I’ve worked on for multiple days – a slow burn of a creative process on this one, to be sure. Honestly, I’m still not really happy with it, but…I may very well never be? So going to post it now, maybe I’ll tweak it later, who knows. Also posting because I did get someone else’s somewhat positive feedback. Meagan read it and enjoyed…but she also freely confessed that she doesn’t know poetry well…still though, I much appreciated her even reading it!! I asked what emotional response it provoked and her response was, “numbness and then longing that comes from a pensive evening walk.” You know what? I’ll take that. But let me stop my rambling discourse…and post this mess of a poem. Thanks for reading, friends.
What to do and what to say
Hear now grim creation’s lay
Dripping of doom and triumph both
The sneering triumph too hollow
to make up for the sure doom to follow.
And as the whirring gears
and humming motors
and all the churning, teeming
waves of faceless voices
create a most delightful dissonance,
a break in time and space does rupture
and in that moment
for a moment
the screens go black,
and red blinking lights go dim
and all the glories
of half told stories
tumble to the dust.
for I soft gasp in sorrow
as I stand atop the silent cliff,
starkly still,
and cold I shiver
but outward and upward and onward I look
and shaking I see
the singing sea
and the
star strewn skies
shock my shattered soul.
Flesh and blood and skin and bones,
now creation waits and groans
and with in-drawn breath and
widened, frightened eyes
softly, oh so softly
cries.
Dawn
Her blonde hair spills messily
down over her face
as her pen flies furiously
across the page,
red ink flowing strong
red ink flowing true
as her thoughts and her dreams
and her heart sings aloud
oh I ponder and I wonder
what now shall I write
for surely my love’s
nothing if not true
in this most star kissed night
so what shall I give you?
and the candle burns tall
over the mantel
and her leather notebook smells
of hopes sparking alive
and the fullness of night
caresses her face.
And cross-legged on the bed,
crumpled quilt beneath her
what formerly gave comfort
now lies strewn in ruins
of red text across the flickering
laptop screen
and her heart weeps aloud
oh I ponder and I wonder
what now shall I write
for the groans of my love
are surely not true
in the horrors of night
so what can I give you?
and the candle whispers
visions of fire and smoke
and her writings portend
nothing but glimmerings
of doubt
and the depths of the night
bring tears to her eyes.
She pushes her hair over her ears
with a sigh of despair
as the red ink slowly spills out
from the pen dangled between her fingers
and I ponder and I wonder
what more can I write
if my love isn’t true
in the remnants this night
so what am I to you?
the candle slowly gutters
not much more light left now
the nighttime is full
of dreams and regrets
but she sees a glimmer of light
seeping between the blinds
and I ponder and I wonder
how can I not write
for the love that is true
and the love that I’ve known
for I’ve known true love
and true love has known me
and I crawl across the bed
and twirl the blinds open
wider.
Wishmaster
So finished another book last night. Read:
11. The Dragon Reborn by Robert Jordan. I’m not going to overly detail my thoughts on this book, other than it’s another fantastic Wheel of Time book…full of high drama and delicious fantastical elements. This is the book where Rand is barely ever in it, but he does show up at the end in time to defeat Ishamael and claim the Stone of Tear, prompting both Aiel and Defenders of the Stone alike to shout out in acclamation. And this book also contains the beginnings of Mat being awesome…as well as Perrin meeting Faile. For somer reason, the more I read these books, the more I like reading Perrin & Faile’s story…and this is where Perrin first discovers his falcon and their love story is beautiful, as messy as it later becomes! In this book it ends with her wiping his blood off his face, the blood he shed to save her life. Romantic to the core. Now I apologize – for any of you who have not read this book, it sounds most confusing…and trust me, even reading it can sometimes be confusing. But wonderful all the same.
What else shall I discuss today? I suppose I could mention that myself and John are planning to go see newest Avengers movie – Infinity War – later tonight. It should be epic, as it has approximately 23 superheroes in it. And…I believe that’s not that much of an exxageration. Excited for that!!
Also been for some reason in a Nightwish mood lately…listening to it both at work and in my drives to and from. I forgot how much I love them and just how gorgeous their music is!! And thankfully, I have Laura who I can call and we can go into great detail discussing our fav albums and singers (obviously Tarja is amazing….but I do like both Annette and Floor in their own way, as well!!) Been remembering the times I saw them live(first with Jackie, second with Laura!) and it has renewed my desire to one day soon chronicle my all-time favorite concert experiences, of which surely Nightwish show will be near the top.
Now it is about time for me to take my leave, but firstly (note, I should really probably leave off that last stanza…but can’t help it – love it even though poem would probably be better ending stanza sooner…)…
The morning warm and dark breaks
like the darkened sea upon the shattered shore,
and though I think there is no beauty left to find,
and no more dawn song tripping through my mind,
I turn the key and turn my head and turn and see
her entering,
and the gate swings open, open
and the streetlamps’ light descends upon her
faintly.
Faintly yes
but enough for me
to see
Chocolate curls cascading,
Snow white dress shimmering,
Her eyes liquidly
Dark and full of magic,
and though I approach but softly
her lips quirk up in sheepish smile,
our eyes brush past each other
and touch oh so gently
and lips murmur
courteous nothings
in the wind.
And lo her eyes smile and dip and dance away
and so I bow and take my leave
and so
and so
the dawn song breaks upon my heart once more
as the foamy sea cast its waves
upon that golden shore.
Moor Street
The fog is not quite lifting
though the night has been dancing
far too long
and although the
sky is darkly misting
and the cold breeze makes me
shiver, shiver,
I can smile
and be ok
and pull my wool coat snug around my neck.
For yeah, the fog’s still drifting
and yeah the night’s trance
is coming on a little strong,
but my feet do a little dance upon the pavement
in the streetlamps’ orangish light
and my eyes burn with
truer song
and starlit dreams
even through the bitter night.
the Spanish Style
A wisp of wind ruffles the hair
of a boy sitting upon the bench
guitar held loosely in his hands
as he looks up to the stars on high and
ponders all that has come before
and so he strums a note or two
before letting all fade to silence
except for the music of the stars
and because his face is marred
and his hands so full of scars
he knows that not all is as it should be
but he knows that all is not as it will be
because the music from far away
calls his name and seems to say
Come now, Come now
Little child
Come now and hear
Let go your past
Let go your fear
Let go your pain
and listen dear
Little child
Come now, Come now
and upon the scuffed concrete sidewalk
falls a tear
because the name he is known by
is known by
that One who he knows is
the One who composes
all the music of the stars
all the music of those scars
on the hands and on the feet
of the One whom he
is known by.
