Skip to main content

Wisteria Vines

Sometimes I have to remember
How gently the wisteria trees
Sway in a sunshower.

How the gossamers built with patience
Must sometimes be built again,
And again, and again without complaint.

I have to listen for the laughter
The one you'd almost miss if you were
Too worried about the symmetry of the seams

On the dress your mother sewed
And you re-sowed. “Be at ease.”
That lithe voice whispered, smiling.

I imagine there on the front porch
A child with golden hair and
Sapphire eyes, planting a huge basium

On the family pup’s nose, and they both
Turn shyly and grin at my future.
“Mommy, let's play,” she says, and I know it's everything. Everything

I ever wanted. To play. To delight
In words dancing on pages and
Make the dirt at my feet into ballrooms.

“It's not a tempest, my dear, only
A little rain, swaying the wisteria
Blooms.” My mother again holds my hand.

The hand that would one day
Write about what howls in the depths
Of silence, penning softly.

I taste the brackish thoughts,
Salty on my tongue, of the Sea,
The Sea that takes all.

And then I imagine those
Precious gem eyes, interpenetrating mine
With an interference of calm.

I feel light, almost pneumatic.
Nevermore will I worry about perfect lines.
This life, I live like the vines.

Play, and sway, and grow again.

--

Mad Words List 4.17.18:

Howl
Gossamer
Lithe
Sunshower
Nevermore
Serendipity
Brackish
Interference
Seams
Suffice
Symmetry
Basium
Gold
Interpenetration
Pneumatic
Wisteria
Tempest

--

Writing, and life itself, is all about the choices we make. My first attempt at writing this poem with this word list was going to be a very harsh poem. I focused on the words "interpenetration" and "howl" and "brackish" at first. It was going to be called "Mind Rape" and I promise it sounds exactly like it sounds and you don't want to read it.

I did not want to write a harsh poem today though. So I wrote something softer. A reminder of gentleness and being yourself. Of casting off perfection and expectations. Of appreciating who you are, who has helped make you who you are, and who will in the future. Today's poem is a tribute to the connection between the past, the present, and the future, to play and imagination, and it's about our choices and perspectives and how they help us to grow.

Happy #MadPoetryTuesday! Enjoy reading. :-)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Protagonist

She was more of an idea Than a person, yet Her arms reached through The wrinkled pages As I was planning Her defenestration. “Don't,” she said, holding My hand steady. Her typical loquaciousness Gone in a moment - being At the rim does that. Her desperate idea-fingers Grasping, trying to stop The Dusk. I brooded over her Resistance. This story Would be knee-deep In hardship, in never-before-felt Pain. How could I put her In the middle of this Vast dystopian wastebasket And hope she clamors Out? Perhaps I could give her A companion, a slobber-filled Canine or a not-so-kindred Spirit? I could fill her days With synchronicity, with a This-leads-to-that purpose, to fight through The drawl and the drudge, The beginning. In this oneiric world, More nightmarish than The last, she would find Herself at the cusp of Her Self. First demure, red lips Parting only for candy-laced words, And then later, only To respect a humble god or command Her hunger-ridden army To live. Yes, I see the smoke ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Yins and Yangs

Just this minute, the white-tailed Magpies are finding themselves In the verdant glades of the Rockies, As the aspens, fresh green, quake in the wind. They know nothing of Jon Snow, Or the window on the second floor Where I look out, remembering, Longing for apricity, the sun on my face. But the gloam is settling in, And the magpies will soon be seeking Windows of their own To look out of. And I think the shadows on my page Are cast like dark rainbows - made of light And things in the way. Awe-inspiring shapes I couldn't see in the dark. Is it best to be inside or Outside? Or can I be moved To appreciate this Pedulumic cycle - To be tossed, fro and to, Between creation and decay, Between sunrise and Sunset? Do you feel the loam in your hands, How rich it is when you dig deeper? Do you admire how perfectly The lilac blossom, with its powerful redolence, Seeks your attention as if to say, "Stay outside for a while." As my colleague yamm...
Post a Comment
Read more