Sixteen miles from the Arkansas line,
Following the roads through hills and hollows
In the Missouri moonshine,
We are riding tonight on our dreams
And the sound of rivers rushing,
Thru the thick Ozark night.
The stars dance in their own constellations-
Brightwater and Big Sugar Creek
Spin with the Seven Sisters
And Orion as he makes his tracks
Across the thick starry Ozark night.
Mists rise from the deep hollows
Mixing with melody and woodsmoke
As the miles harmonize
Across spring creeks and ancient stone,
We sing of the thick Ozark night
Under the misty Missouri moonshine.
Sixteen miles more, we are flying low and fast.
Ridge running high and bright,
Down to deep hollows low and dark,
Chasing our dreams across the thick Ozark night
Under the rising Missouri moonshine.
Counting back to that first glance, seconds and minutes,
hours and years, the desire and candor of bodies,
when our days became charged with the pace of lives lived.
Years of longing renounce the yearning to another,
no longer young. The clamor of middle years
leaves satisfaction and knowledge in its place,
a quietness whose heft outweighs the struggles.
Wisdom is as wisdom does, patience is its own reward,
love never fails, never. And this is the choice,
made and kept, to choose you now and at each sunrise.
Until the day comes that my hand is not recognizable to you
And my laughter is silenced by your unknowing eyes.
— This always seems to be a poem people come back to from time to time. And Valentine’s Day would seem to be a good time to re-post.
Keys that unlock
long left locks and the wooden button
from my winter coat,
motherhood and children,
and one brown sock,
a friendship untended,
a father, a home,
an umbrella left on the train,
my grandmother’s brooch,
a favorite book, a tree covered lane.
Growing longer each year,
words and regrets,
lists of things lost,
bound vellum sets in
ink stained chains of script
words written between the lines
and around the margins
erased, glued, sewn,
thin and tattered,
so as not to forget.
I leave the long list upon the altar,
and lighting the candle,
the scent of rue and asphodel fill the air.
the questions made me weep
what answers can I give?
for I am
and I love
you of the soil and the dreams
of improbable possibilities
whose heart and hands are always open
without thought of tomorrow
or who will put bread on the table
or take the trash to the bin
or the years growing ever fewer
in our book of days
I am restless and forgiving and never to be
I am wanting and grasping and selfless to a fault
I wake each day
with the confidence of a fearful soul
whose ribs are held together
with baling wire and old twine
from the garden stakes out back
and just enough duct tape
to hold my heart in place
but that heart
it will beat forever
even when only dust
the beat will endure
even when only dust,
*** written in response to these questions posed by Marina Sofia for the dVerse poetics prompt
1) Who are you and whom do you love?
2) What else are you, that no one has seen before?
3) Describe a morning you woke without fear.
4) What lingers when all is said and done?
Our garden is beginning to bloom filled with columbine and bleeding hearts. The little volunteer dogwood and redbud trees are thriving – and we have our first blooms on one of the dogwoods this year – and one of the redbuds had one tiny bloom – it seemed so proud!
And as you can see, we will have a nice outbreak of frogapalooza soon – the pond is filled to the brim with tadpoles!