Life With Horace

poetry & essays


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tiptoe to a full on run

it is my turn to jump
into the hero’s journey
face first two miles up
but with no roar
of penetrated air
drawing every sense
as I fall free, knowing
this a dream to ease
my heart’s reset.
I rip the cord,
look back,
there is no prickly
pilot chute
of skulking anger,
only honest tears flung up
to join the clouds
my testament to
innocence and joy,
the early days of
rose tinged hope.
a silken arc of honesty
slows me to a gentle float
compelling truth,
namely, that this jump
will save my soul.
earth comes up fast
and I begin to walk
on timid toes,
then gaining speed
I leap and raise my fist
exulting, thankful
to have known great love,
running on to meet
my warrior fate

__________________________
a nod to my inner tough chick


2 Comments

licentia poetica

you both were spinsters (then)
and from our blinkered perch
closer to life’s alpha
we thought we saw two ancients,
despite a force of nature (solid) stance
and razor (gentle) gaze,
conviction flavoring the
snail paced minds eye tours
through plays and poems
or, god help us, Hardy
our take on you parodic,
not ready to imagine or predict
the depths of passion
you would later find
beyond our classroom door,
in brilliant marriage to
a (younger) Bishop friend
become a lover,
or cloud dancing mid life pilot
pioneering aerobatic ace,
biplane red and yellow blur
carving skies in perfect loops
tweeds and twinsets flung away
steeping gently
only in our teatime memories
your lessons had such legs
and far from trudging through
dull furrowed fields in metered step,
we learned to track and slither catlike
round each word, to seize
intent, and voice, and pace,
in short a brilliant Poets Ed
put to the test at last
with gratitude

_________________________________
For Joan Ford Rutt (Fordy) and Frances MacRae (Muck), who did all those things and more.