The Thing About Poets…

the thing about poets…

we see all colors
yet
we see none

we create lines
yet
we push minds’ boundaries

we see tomorrow
yet
only the truth of today

 

~ Emily C.

8.6.17

***

I was overcome today by the feeling of community in the Instagram poetry world (and WordPress, too), when I paused to appreciate that we support one another regardless of race, ethnicity or gender. Yes, there are some trouble makers and trolls, like everywhere, but on the whole, as poets we see the beauty in everyone’s heart. And some hearts are dark and troubled, some are open and light, but we hold each other with love, regardless.

 

 

 

 

Stone, Alone

I stood there naked
bared to all
a soul without a home

Awash in meandering sunbeams
I bathed
frozen in stone, alone

To take one step would shatter
marbled memories
onto cold hardwood floor

The mind seeks nimble compass
to guide me far
toward your closed door

Yet when I gaze to palm for north
compass aims
arrow back to timid heart

So till the chisel of your love
takes aim 
at fortress in my chest

I stand here naked
bared to all
frozen heart, in stone,

alone

 

 

~ Emily C.

8.5.17

Under Aching Bough of Pine

daisies leaning toward the sun
late on summer’s eve
my toes in grass curling plead
for ever longer days

shadow shapes evolve
into geometric sundials,
to shift in setting light, I might
easily lose track of time

left etched by patterned memories
making tangrams out of thoughts
overhead swirling sky turns
indigo, a bed to dancing stars

restless heart wanders
under aching bough of pine
climbing high to precipice
till moonlight night is mine

looking for where I left you
where you left me to be
searchlight spies land nigh
to find earth dreaming empty

save for daisies — upright now,
closed to evening sight,
I take their cue, seal my petals
alone to dark ground, I slide

will morrow bring new light?
will it see your face?
on barren turf I toss…
till sleep decides this fate

 

~ Emily C.

6.6.17