Swells

 

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Swells

Flounder-like, belly side down
Arms as elbowed paddles
Ten-toed fin, to guide her stern
She points her freckled nose
As dolphin do
Toward horizon’s
Faint thin line
Goal to nowhere
Far, far, away
As if to aim for nothing,
Or toward everything
Invisible to the eye
Every now and then
Covered by the pulsing salty ebb
Pulsing flow
The water’s wet heartbeat
Slower than her own

This aquatic journey
Finds her rolled, in seconds flat
Into a soggy silk cocoon
Tossed, her torso bent, curved
Into a salty spherical swell

The beginning of the giving in
A bit
And riding
With
And not against

The swells
Of good intent

Eyes now skyward
Focused
Even heavenward
She learns
From wave on wave
Those cotton white
Glistening
Mirrored on the sea
Yet dancing freely
Against the sky
No with

Yes, with
This is how she learned
To
Just
Float

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joining the folks at Tweetspeak for the poetry prompt: swell

Turning Corners

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Cancer came
Shadow-lurker
Stalker, thief
Took (euphemism for her thievery)
Hauled away some valuables
Uninsured, gone for good
Precious jewels, antiquities
Time laced in silver threads of
joy
Stories of the disease
Giving too
Hovering
Somewhere
Perhaps,
My eyes will see them
Once again

Around the corners of a rounded globe
Are wars,
beyond mere rumors
Rather, raw, real, raging
Robbing
My ears have heard of hidden
Gifts
Tucked  in the outskirts of the pain
Perhaps
My ears will behold the
Telling,
Once again

Dementia crept in
Beneath the shadows
Into the soul of those I love and loved
Stealing memories by the thousands
Robbing us of stories still not told

But I have held the gifts,
Frail, wrapped in parchment
In my ever-wrinkling hands

Gifts uncovered in the dark
Those revealed by light of day
I’ve held these too,
Too many to tell
Entitled
Redemptive love
Story without end, amen

Waiting captures me
Clothes me
Wraps me in robes of knowing
Assures me to

just

Turn the corner
Once,
Again
Touched by a ghost-like
garment passing by
a holy haunting
Threads of silky hope

Redemption clothes us
On the heels of waiting
Out of  moth-balls
I unwrap
Velvet, violet
Comfort from a garment
The ancient
Robe of holy peace

At last.

 

 

Joining Laura for Playdates at The Wellspring

 

The Bibliography

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The Bibliography 

I.

Archiving a life
by the edge of the sea
We search
For anything
That records all of this
Mirroring life
Buried in salt
Washed by the sea
We walk
Syncopated side steps
Forward
Then back
We track the slithering
Coast
Lined with debris
A field of antiquities
Offered up to me
For the remembering of this
Life
By the salty repository
He and I
Always together
Never far apart
Gathering up our days
In the wrinkled folds of flesh
Fingers unfurled
Hands, palm up
Receivers
Marking them
In shades of Olives

II.

Someone deemed it rare
A paradox
Copious amounts gathered up
In the hands of the
Careful
The cautious
An annotated bibliography
Marked, cataloged
Micro moments
Foot notes
Depression of toe and heel
Telling where we were
But not where we will
Go
Olive in hand
Shadowed by you

Writing in community with the folks at Tweetspeak for their Photo Play Prompt Portrait Of A Shell Sand And The Sea

 

The Healing Fragrance of Thanks

Dear Friends,

I picked the smallest trio of gardenia blossoms from my bush, placed them in a silver vase and sat them on my desk.

Beauty permeated my home. Fragrant beauty.

If you know this flower you know the potency of its fragrance, the unmistakeable trademark of its sweet, sweet smell. They say that our memory of smells stays with us the longest. Perhaps while others fade, slowly for some, quickly for others, the memory of Noxzema, fresh cut grass and Confederate Jasmine linger the longest. Find a place to embed or root deep down in our souls.

But I say, the memory of a generous act may rival the glorious fragrance of my beloved gardenia.

And so it is was when I  planted the seed of a dream. And  the winds of friendship picked it up, carried it off and watered it gingerly. Carefully. Diligently.

Friends who are strangers. Making the sweetness even more delectable.

Thank you. Saying it feels right and proper yes, but healing. In a come-full-circle way, the sending back of gratitude when a kind and generous gift has been received feels like closure. Gathering up the seeds of generosity and sending them back out to land on fertile soil, elsewhere. Out there. In the world.

Thank you friends at Tweetspeak Poetry and TSPoetry Press. Thank you L.L. Barkat and Tania Runyan. Thank you friends, known and unknown. Thank you for gathering the momentum, funds, and steam behind the gift of 180 copies of  “How To Read A Poem,” published by TSPoetry Press and written by Tania Runyan.

When I think of my gardenia which bloom every summer I will always remember your friendship and generosity.

I know we have given a gift which has and will touch the hearts and souls and minds of the class of 2014 of one school in one little zip code town.

There is mystery in the giving. There is trust in the release.

Poetry has a job to do, perhaps. Poetry has an opportunity to release its fragrant offering into the lives of one graduating class.

The gift of poetry and the gift of faith, joined together in this one beautiful act of friendship and generosity.

May you smell the sweet fragrance of my thanks. May my gratitude be known and remembered by each participant in this act of generosity.

Imagine with me the possibilities. Dream with me of the places poetry will go.

wishing you poetry, always,

elizabeth

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