When I write something good, I hate to post it here because I think, Ooh, maybe I can submit it. But I think right now while we are all a little anxious, we could all use a little poetry in our lives. I hope this all means something for each one of you.
Photo by Matthias Müllner on Unsplash
I read an Instagram post about how we all need a little extra grace these days. If that isn’t the truth! And if you know anything about ravens, they are solitary creatures. I think writers gravitate towards ravens. Poe, well, he was best known for them. But I love them. All of their aspects and they chatter out this wooden marimba sound when they are in trees. It sounds like they are playing instruments. I love hearing it. I channeled a bit of Cinderella, and Lucy from It’s Christmas, Charlie Brown, and all kinds of thoughts. Short, but sweet.
Moving Forward in Grace
Now in the key of raven,
Sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet–
No no! That isn’t it at all.
While spring is in the lawnside violets
Granite snow and ice hunker down up on highest peaks
Topsy-turvy is how we all feel right now.
Let’s all give each other some extra grace
Pulled out of a pocket, see, shiny as a raven’s treasure
All in the key of raven now,
We tinker, we give, we’ve become solitary birds
We fly solo back to our roots
Don’t forget to shed those black feathers when the sun comes out!
And the old pine sits there in a setting sun
Maybe we can all move forward with a bit of grace
Some for you, some for me, go crazy and grab a handful of starbright wishes
You can’t have a monopoly on too much kindness.
This is something from puttering around with all kinds of thoughts in the last week and a half. From meeting this guy that I just now can’t get to know for a bit…. Thank you Covid-19, I hate you right now. To big 1980s hair and makeup and smelling my grandparents cabin in an instant déjà vu moment. The lava soap on the counter, Irish Spring soap in a metal shower. And well, wishing for a little more than I have right now. Ah, spring is in the air. Here I go again.
2AM Is For
Smell Lava soap , a linger of a déjà vu of a memory
Stepping into the side door of the cabin’s
to the upstairs and all else room
Concrete sinks, and propane and the old wood and canned food pantry
When 2 AM rolls around and the Irish Spring bubbles spiral
down the metal shower drain
spreadsheets have been left behind, sitting open on a screen
Orderly columns and rows, lists for this, itemized for that—
For standing naked in a mirror, curls bouncing on your shoulders
a nineteen eighties fashion girl, big makeup, big hair
Maybe he’s watching a film
Maybe you’re hoping for more than might be there
But you wear your hair down a little more, a little longer
Maybe he’s drinking that drink you wish you were sharing
And you dress a little more carefully
2 AM isn’t for the mundane, it’s for the magic
Past the witching hour,
When all the poets are awake
When night air slips in through screens
Taste the ice on the tongue, mountain’s metal coldness a cold cloak
To your Gypsy’s hide, it’s been tanned smoothed down soft and skin fresh
Aquamarine earrings swing back and forth
Put on a little Pharrell and dance around naked
Your unbridled you, that part of yourself you hide all day
Moonlight could be your sunlight
You are the alive in these waking hours
a longing for something to happen
when colors and magic spells flow
out of your fingers and the air shakes and shimmers around you
Spin out, spin around, dress in silks and feathers,
2 AM is the time to roost and let the whispers in
let the shimmering bubbles slide down the drain
2 AM is for…