Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Molly Venter’

When Molly held out her tight leather vest

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on May 21, 2024| 9 Comments »


 
 
with its two-foot-long green fringe
and suggested I could borrow it,
I felt that long familiar clench in my chest
as the word no puckered on my lips.
The clench said, who was I
to borrow clothes from Molly Venter?
It said who was I to wear
flirty and sexy green leather fringe?
It said, can’t you dress yourself?  
I don’t know why I held out my hand,
but as soon as I did, I relaxed.
That whole night, as the long green fringe
swished and swayed all flirty around my thighs
no one else knew I was dressed in kindness.
No one knew I was alive with the blessing
of new friendship. But perhaps they could sense
I was honey-blissed on the inside with the thrill
of wearing Molly Venter’s vest,
so much more than just a sleeveless scrap of fabric—
I was wrapped in the velvet of her voice,
the willow tree of her wisdom,
the raw delight in her guitar
and the freedom that comes when
we receive the gifts of others.
Days later, dressed a slouchy cardigan,
I’m still wearing the generosity I saw in her eyes
as she handed me the vest—
I feel that fringe swish with every step I take.
 

Read Full Post »

Collaboration with Molly Venter

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on October 28, 2021| 6 Comments »

I am a collaboration junkie–and I just LOVE what happened when musician Molly Venter (aka Goodnight Moonshine) took one of my poems and set it to a gorgeous and haunting minor-key melody. And her voice! Listen to the collaboration HERE, and subscribe to the Youtube channel if you like. Also, you can FOLLOW her duo “Goodnight Music” on Spotify, and/or check out her weekly recordings & blog at Patreon.com/mollyventer.com. Molly lives in New Haven, CT, with her husband & musical partner Eben Pariser and their three young children. 

Here’s the original poem, published in Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems (Grayson Books, 2017)

Still Life at Dusk

It happens surprisingly fast,

the way your shadow leaves you.

All day you’ve been linked by

the light, but now that darkness

gathers the world in a great black tide,

your shadow joins

the sea of all other shadows.

If you stand here long enough,

you, too, will forget your lines

and merge with the tall grass and

old trees, with the crows and the

flooding river—all these pieces

of the world that daylight has broken

into objects of singular loneliness.

It happens surprisingly fast, the drawing in

of your shadow, and standing

in the field, you become the field,

and standing in the night, you

are gathered by night. Invisible

birds sing to the memory of light

but then even those separate songs fade,

tiny drops of ink in an infinite spilling.

Read Full Post »