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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What Do You Say

what do you say dear

 

 

What Do You Say

When
Her lips belong to a mouth
Pursed, silent
Frozen
Inches from a slightly breaking heart

Connected by sinew, muscle and bone

To one single solitary
Pair of  hands
Reaching for a father,
Aching,
with a broken memory
Arms joined by joints and blood
Stretched in love to a broken mind

As a mother

Her hands reach for a leaving
Child
Growing up
Going off
Grasping for adulthood
Straddling her youth

Bound by love
To one who is weary
Worried, tossed
Turning and churning
Yet still, a comforter in times of

Need
I say more

But there is
That pair of ears
Latched on
To words of a young man
Planning to marry
Love launches from the mouth of a man
Steeped in love
Who was just a boy
Digging in deep, rooting his love

It would all be so perfect

If someone would say
To her

Dear, this life is filled
With beautiful broken
Shards
Of life

What would you say
While

Silently wiping her tears

I would say
I love you

 

 

 

Joining sweet Laura at The Wellspring

Quietude

wpid-20140611_095308-1-1.jpgQuietude

And I imagine underneath
What seems to be a placid sea,
Life churns the silted sands of time
Years and years
In the making
Marking
Grains of brokenness
Teeming now with signs of life
Cycles of  the salty chains
Concentric circles
Connecting
Old and new, life
In the quiet, creatures spin
Watery webs of
Sea life, below a murky grey tinged
Surface, ceiling to their room
Dwelling there in the
Quiet

And I too
Live
Underneath a paradox of quiet
Swirling, churning, cycles of this
New growth
Birthing
Beginnings
Witness to ends and endings
Too
Too
Many to recount
In this space
This
Quiet

Preparing
I design my own
Land-locked home

And words leak out in advance
Of a watery avalanche
Story-telling prepares
To wash ashore

It will come
Perhaps
On the next high tide
Or the high tide after that
Perhaps

But waiting in the quietude
Life teems with
Pregnant thoughts

The words won’t wait forever

Quiet holds its breath
But for a season
Tides wait for no one

Won’t you come ride the swells
With me
Fueled by
Weeks of
Quietude
The dam prepares to burst

++++++++++

Joining Jennifer Dukes Lee for #tellhisstory