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Posts Tagged ‘poem’

Unresolved

 

 

 

The hero in me

wants only a happy ending,

but tonight at the concert

every song I loved best

ended in a minor key

that lingered in the air

like a half formed rainbow,

like the scent of soil

after a punishing rain.

 

How do I teach that hero

to love the dissonance,

to settle into the discord

to shed her raincoat

and stand in the mess

and say ahhhhh?

 

 

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Big

 

 

This is, perhaps, the year to learn to be big.

Spruce tree big. Cliffside big. Big as mesa,

as mountain lake. Big as in cosmos, as in love.

Being small has never served me—constricting,

contorting, trying to fit into a room, into shoes,

into a name. Let this be the year to escape all those little

rules with those little shoulds, all those little

cages with their little locks. Time to make of myself

a key, time to lean into immensity. Time to supersize

communion, time to grow beyond self. Time to

open, to unwall, to do as the universe does,

accelerating as it expands, not rushing toward

something else, but changing the scale of space itself.

 

 

 

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the room so bare

where just hours ago

there was light—

 

remembering now

how to celebrate emptiness

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For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.

—T.S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

 

 

So let me speak this year in leaf,

and let me speak in stem.

Give me photosynthetic nouns

and algal interjections.

Let my syntax be made of phloem,

let my phonemes be blades of grass.

May all my conjunctions produce oxygen

may my prepositions be moss.

And let me mostly listen

with ears attuned to soil and root

And when I have words, let them be living,

may only the kindest words bear fruit.

 

 

 

 

 

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One Old Lang Syne

 

 

midnight comes—

a sweet quiet fills the house

wherever you hear it, we share it

 

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Too Close to the Light

 

 

Just for a moment

my hair was on fire

and just for a moment

orange flames

rose from me

and just for a moment

I knew what it was

to be candle—

even now I can see it

beside my face,

how before I was afraid

I thought, how beautiful.

 

 

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One Lucky

 

 

 

sky so blue

forgetting everything

but blue

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Easy today to praise the snow

a sparkling settled on all the world,

and easy to praise the oranges

that arrived bringing sunshine

from far away.

Easy to praise the sky as it clears

and easy to praise the wind

as it blows the storm away.

 

Less easy to praise the moment

between night and dawn

when I would rather be sleeping

than praising.

 

Less easy to praise the song

that insists on replaying

inside my head.

 

Less easy still to praise

the sorrow, though

its roots are in great love.

 

But bless the poem

for offering the chance

to discover praise.

And bless the praise,

for showing up despite

sorrow, despite fear.

 

Praise the longing

to praise, may it ever

insist on itself, like

grasses that poke

through the snow in the field,

like the sunshine

inside the clementine,

like a poem past midnight

that refuses to let me sleep.

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Missing

 

 

Hope is, perhaps, a quantum thing,

a paradox, like Schrödinger’s cat,

simultaneously alive and dead.

 

Today, I wandered the snowy field

and the icy banks and the shadowed wood,

calling the name of my sweet gray cat.

 

If I could find her now, I’d see

she’s either alive or dead.

But in this moment of uncertainty,

 

she’s both alive and dead to me.

I’m tugged by both possibilities as I wade

through tall dry grass. Oh damn that hope,

 

and bless it, too, how just a candle-measure

opposes a whole tower of unfounded certainty,

sends me out into the blizzard

 

calling her name, listening.

 

 

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catching sight

of where she isn’t—

in the dark behind the window

I see only

my own searching

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