Life With Horace

poetry & essays

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A line borrowed

For years every morning I drank
long drafts of the world,
without knowing
that words lay in wait
to flash like sunbeams
unable to dance quietly
until the moment of ambush.

For years I would tuck away
throat caught beauty
in dull green strong boxes,
to sit on bare wood shelves
until I could not wait
another moment of another minute
to feel and see again.

For years words found me,
some refused to leave,
sticky stubborn things,
and now, well now I recognize
them as old friends that held the dam,
until one day they stepped aside
to release the flood
as I surrendered.

Day 25 part 2. The NaPoWriMo prompt was to borrow the first line of a favorite poem, and use it as a jumping off point for a new poem. I chose the first line of Mary OLiver’s Mornings at Blackwater.

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the thrum

chords reach in with certainty
fingering my waiting bones

sometimes as undulating touch,
wispy fog that knows no barriers

gently casual hands on shoulders
arms outstretched announcing their intentions
patient for response.

then there are other passages of notes
roaring by on chariots of glory,

powerful as basso lama horns
thrumming from dharamsala
straight to the chambers of my soul,

until waves of tears
escape to fold me into beauty,

ebbing only slowly,
limpet companions to the day


Fool’s musings

Is it ever too late?
To see what matters most,
for light to lift my mood,
to wish for joy
in spring’s caress,
sing without restraint,
twirl beneath white petals
drinking in their smell,
see a brilliant feathered pink
across the morning sky
to feel a lover’s glance
and see our spirits touch,
to know the pure love
of a child and smile,
to feel a dog’s smooth head
beneath my hand and sigh,
not while I breathe
and can remember
to give thanks

for day 1 of NaPoWriMo 2015, National Poetry Month.