One for sorrow – 2 October 2016
He’ll always be my one for sorrow
My magpie, corvid, skulking black crow
In my mind I try to run
To hide, to move, to scream, to overcome
Instead I find this block immobile
It holds me back; a constant trial
One day my demon will be put to bed
But for now this magpie lives in my head.
–
Just getting words on paper. Not a good poem, but a needed one.
Out of Reach – 13 July 2015
Stars melt into the sea –
I stare, paralyzed.
With fear? Or wonder?
My hand reaches back
And grasps a dying branch.
The long-dead tree,
still putting on a façade of life,
At first feels stable.
Comfortable.
But the branch breaks in my hand.
Paralyzed.
No more going back.
But the sky aflame with molten stars
Keeps me from moving forward –
Down to where fire and water meet.
Oh, how I long to brush the colors
with even just my fingertips.
Instead I sit on the gray, crumbling rocks.
Dead, brown tree at my back.
Infinity just out of reach.
The Key
Constantly trapped
between the multitude and the desire,
the hope to be the spark,
the fire –
The great catalyst of an age.
But still one with the flow,
an ink drop on a page
blacked out by scribblings,
jottings,
drawings –
Everything that was,
is,
may yet be.
Paralyzed by apprehenison –
An obsidonal tension
that my everything is nothing
and my something’s just that.
My every contribution
to the world of self-expression
may only be a splotch,
a blot,
a drop –
but at least my something is just that.
Something.
Anything.
My spark in the fire.
My scribble on the page.
The key to my cage.
London
I haven’t written poetry in a year or so, but I figured now was as good a time as any to pick it back up. Starting small and rather cliche, but it’s something!
A town that runs along a river
Jogging, driving, strolling, cycling
People outrun the languid flow
A race with one competitor
Doomed to lose.
River Dreams
This is what I like to imagine is Rivkah’s first foray into the poetic world. She probably wrote it around the time she learning how words sounded out loud and what they meant.
‘
Splishy, splashy water runs
River, river where do you go?
Splishy fishy travels with
River, river why do you run?
Splishy wishy dreams run too
River, river take me with you.
Mother Eternal
This is another poem from this set that I rather enjoy. It was fun to write because I got to tie in some of my favorite tree lore with Rivkah’s (my DnD character) feelings and desires.
‘
Find comfort in the beech trees arms
She loves you, little one
Climb high upon her noble brow
She beckons you, little one
Be crowned with leaves of joy and grace
They’re just for you, little one
Rest in her shade and safety
She will protect you, little one
Though you grow older she stays the same
She will watch you, little one
Never fear her, always love her
Heed my words, little one
Complications
The days when we drew breath so soft and sweet
Have long gone in the dark and complications
The simplicity, the serenity were once around us
Now they are lost in the midst of complexity
Where is the seamless ease?
The silent pools?
The light?
Done.
What is done cannot be undone.
Only forgiven.
Deceptive Beauty
What a beautiful thing it is to lie,
A well crafted web of intricacies,
A magnificent and misleading façade,
And what of the liar?
A painter of falsehoods,
A sculptor of hyperbole,
Who but a genius could weave such a story?
A splendid deception,
A perfect untruth,
And who, you may ask, is telling you this?
An injured party?
A liar in denial?
If not them, than who?
The master of pretending,
The lover of tall tales,
The grand illusionist herself.
At your service.
***I have had a problem as a compulsive liar in the past, and I still slip up sometimes. This poem is my confession, as well as an expression of my feelings about lying.
Match Girl
Little girl
Playing with fire
Spreading it all around her
All she knows
Is that it keeps her safe
And warm
But when it is gone
She shivers in the cold
Dreaming of the fire
Wishing it would return
Wishing it would spread
Little match girl
Lost in the cold.
***The only thing I wanted from my grandmother when she passed away was a doll. The little match girl sat in her living room for years, and now she is in my bedroom as a reminder. I named her Etterene…after my grandmother.
Puddles and Cobblestones
Traveling down a cobblestone road,
I’ve seen it before
Crumbling with green in the cracks
Ahead there is a shining tower
That beckons the lost and longing.
I stumble, and see the tower
Reflected in a shallow puddle.
Mirrored in the water
The tower no longer shines
But blends with the water and sky.
I will leave this road
That is taking me no where
I will leave the puddles and cobblestones
Only be sure that I will return
Inevitably.
***I wrote this after I had a very strange dream in which I was in a crumbling city full of reflective puddles. It was inspiring for sure, but still quite creepy.
Poetic Explorations 