“What can I bring to prayer?” “Little soul, do you remember?” It’s “Sad isn’t it (not a bit)”
“What was it like to listen to the angels?” Or see “The writing in the air of swallowtails”, “And all the beautiful things that lead our thoughts and give us reason”
“Modern times are too cautious.” Our “God’s toes are buried deep in the earth”. “Ignorance will carry me through to the last days”,
“And Reason’s self shall bow the knee”.
— Lines from the following poems – “Faith” by Michael Schmidt “Wood. Salt. Tin.” by Jane Hishfield “What Lights Up…?” by Keki Daruwalla “An Altogether Different Language” by Anne Porter “Swallowtails” by Allan Peterson “A Time” by Allison Hedge Coke “The White Campion” by Donald Revell “The Present” by Jim Harrison “Psalm to Be Read with Closed Eyes” by D. Nurkse “The Indian Burying Ground” by Philip Freneau
Morning starts with the raucous music of birds, like a choir with too many sopranos. I rouse myself from sheets tangled as if I survived a shipwreck during the night and stumble awkwardly down stairs that seem to descend into the center of the Earth. Only the whistle of the tea kettle, like a siren call to a sailor, keeps me on course to the kitchen and your smiling face – a beacon into the safe harbor of your arms.
Don’t believe it …….. when they tell you there is no gentle man in the moon or shining stars are just spheres of gas. For they are fools with hearts that cannot see the magic and souls that do not hear the songs.
Love is nothing like the movies – sometimes it looks like laundry and dirty dishes. Real love happens in the school drop- off line and hides in the bleachers of soccer matches and band festivals, simple ordinary times when a parent’s love fills all the empty places.
She was a walled flower with two left-over feet No rhythm flowed or surged through her limp veins Not beat to match her lonely heart moved her hips But when the moon was full she shed her shoes and tangoed alone in the lambent glow of night
Hug a lonely tree Listen to its heartbeat Weep for the fallen leaves Gather them in bushels Spread them on a blanket Whisper to them of love Press them against your heart Hang them in a window so they can feel the sun Tell them they are beautiful Write them into a poem
The prompt over at napowrimo.net today is to write a “prompt poem”