I call out to you in the dead of night.
Dawn seems so far away.
Enlightenment is shrouded in shadow.
A moment of solitary despair.
A moonbeam of ecstasy
and words appear.
The hoot and screech of owls pivot the changing light.
Even a poet feels the weight of sleep heavy on her eyes, when it was poetry that roused her from her bed.
To rejoice as a poet, you must learn to mourn with bluebells and violets, roost with rooks and crows in tall trees, where a nightingale might sing yet.
Sherry: This is so beautiful, Kim. I especially love a poet needing to learn to mourn with bluebells.
Kim: Thank you for considering my poem, ‘Poetry as a Cry
in the Dark’ as one of your Poems of the Week. I am, of course, more than happy
for you to feature it.
It’s difficult to write a paragraph about it as it
was back in April, right in the middle of NaPoWriMo, when we were all writing
one or more poems a day! I wrote it in response to a prompt from Anmol on Day
16 of Poems in April at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads. Anmol asked us to
write a poem entitled ‘Poetry as…’, perhaps in the style of Ferlinghetti, who
had just turned 100, and he gave us Ferlinghetti’s poem ‘Poetry as Insurgent
Art (I am signalling you through the flames)’ as inspiration. I liked the form
of that poem so much that I decided to try to emulate it, while writing about
my own experience of poetry, which often keeps me up at night or wakes me up in
the middle of the night or the wee small hours of the morning.
Sherry: You achieved your goal wonderfully, Kim. Thank you for sharing it. Linda's poem will follow it perfectly.
So you’ve been through the roaring fire
Leaving you maimed, a soul of charred ashes
But rising from this molten funeral pyre
Comes a new woman with scars on scars.
You must know though flawed, you are beautiful
for you shimmer with the light of fractured stars
and you’ve heard the haunting mystical song
of the grey mockingbird in pink light of dawn
His singing sets your broken heart free to soar–
Euphoria your guide, higher and brighter
while you dance with glee in a majestic bluebonnet sky.
Leaving you maimed, a soul of charred ashes
But rising from this molten funeral pyre
Comes a new woman with scars on scars.
You must know though flawed, you are beautiful
for you shimmer with the light of fractured stars
and you’ve heard the haunting mystical song
of the grey mockingbird in pink light of dawn
His singing sets your broken heart free to soar–
Euphoria your guide, higher and brighter
while you dance with glee in a majestic bluebonnet sky.
Sherry: This is so beautiful, Linda. I love the power and beauty of a woman who has walked through the fire, and can still dance. Love "You shimmer with the light of fractured stars."
Linda: After over two years of writing poetry on a
daily basis, I have learned that the truest poems come from the heart. I wrote
this poem on a day when I was missing my mom and missing my birthplace -
Texas.
In 1994, I suffered a terrible personal tragedy. Shortly
thereafter, I had the opportunity to move to Philadelphia for a job promotion.
Once I moved away, I never lived in Texas again for it still holds bittersweet
memories.
I live in Arizona now and I love the desert, but
there are times when Texas whispers to my heart, 'Come home'. This was one of
those lonely days.
The Mockingbird is the state bird and the Bluebonnet
the state flower. The Mockingbird's song is one of the most beautiful. And if
you've never seen a Bluebonnet field in person, it is the most amazing shade of
blue.
I think Colleen's poem is going to finish off this feature very beautifully. Let's take a look.
The sun plunges low
Jets trail like tribal arrows
Vultures circle like warriors
and startled doves cry
The moon meets the horizon
like a sacred hoop rising
Like a white buffalo omen
Dreamcatcher of hope
Jets trail like tribal arrows
Vultures circle like warriors
and startled doves cry
The moon meets the horizon
like a sacred hoop rising
Like a white buffalo omen
Dreamcatcher of hope
Colleen Redman photo
Sherry: Your imagery is spectacular in this poem, Colleen. Wow.
Colleen: I live on the scenic Blue Ridge Parkway and
frequently drive to a nearby overlook to watch sunsets and moonrises. As
I waited for the April moon to rise over the mountain, a group of deer came
into the field to feed. It was quiet and I was struck by the beauty of it all,
but I was also unsettled due to current events and the unpredictability of our
current administration. The “jets trail like tribal arrows” and the
warrior vultures startling doves reflects my sense of being in danger and on
guard.
As the moon began to peek up, I first began to think of it as a great
white buffalo, a sacred symbol of hope to the Lakota tribe. I began to
think of the moon with amazement and as one of the great hoops of life that
would hold us all together. Maybe it was a dreamcatcher that could catch the
bad dreams we are having now. I knew it was a good medicine wheel of the
natural world that we especially needed now. I felt restored in the
experience and a poem was born.
Sherry: This is
so beautiful, Colleen, both the poem, and your thoughts about it. I have always
been fascinated by the legend of Buffalo Calf Woman, who will arrive with a
white buffalo calf, as a hopeful sign. I see many white animals appearing in various
locations now. Signs, I believe, in these unsettled times, a warning that we need to move quickly, and are in urgent need for good medicine to heal this ailing world. Thank you so much for writing this poem, and for sharing it here. It is
not to be missed.
Thank you, Kim, Linda and Colleen, for gracing us with such beauty today. Do come back, friends, and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!
