What song plays;
When love asks
Where shall we dance?
Dana and Mary….Congratulations on your engagement from your cousin here in Arkansas. :)
There is no rest dreams;
His devoted servant
Haunts me in darkness.
I run and run and do not escape.
The earth swallows me
And spits me down into the belly of the demon
Where his laughter rings;
Where there is no end to suffering.
One simple kind word,
One tiny scrap of recognition
Would save me
Yet, he refuses.
Oh, what horror what terrible, horrible horror
That he wishes me here.
The giver of her womb
Hope of salvation
From aloneness in distant valleys.
At slumber does he
Give prayers of thanks
Or will forever find
Of our joining.
Here’s your book,
I’m giving it back.
I lack the time required to read
The pages….through……to the end.
Every word created wonder.
Obligation is of no importance
You never felt the same.
So, here’s your book.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged arkansas poets, artistic expression, boken romance, creative writing, divorce, female poets, history, North Carolina Poets, poems, poetry, poets named anna, relationships, Winston-Salem Poets
Oh, to do something, anything
But, sit here doing nothing, emptying hours.
Watching the lives of strangers and dogs
The dogs of unknown people;
Forever remain the same?
Nothing changes neither work nor life nor the sky
Which is weary with the water it carries
Like me it cannot rain.
Neither the passage of time nor the wrath of the sky diminishes them.
Even the raging passion of the ocean’s rhythm retreats from their strength,
only to return
Devoted guardians they unlock the shade of twilight and welcome their sister,
her in placid pools.
She is nourished and life begins.
Having recently survived the dreaded kidney stone…I was inspired to write the following silly little verse:
There was a rock
It grew in me
It wasn’t my choice to set it free
It decided to move and used my pee
For days on end I took pain pills
My pee the color of daffodils
I was losing touch with reality
Turned into a medical calamity
In a strainer it fell
Yuck, what a smell
Now it lives in a jar and not inside me
I hope it is cold and feels all alone
If it had played nice
It would still have a home
Worth does not show itself
In sums or words carefully placed
Upon a page
It lurks in dark spaces
Under the stove or behind a door
Covered in the gummy filth
Of forgotten dreams
So sing lowly chambermaids with blackened nails
Dance with the chimney sweeps and their soot stained pails
As you pray for those who cannot see
The golden hue of heaven
Which shines down on thee
Nothing nothing nothing but this blinking blinking blinking
No inking from my thinking
The poet left the room.