Six Mercies

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an introvert,
not the type…..and yet, 
she is the fuel,

–lord have mercy–

be easy woman, 
don’t force your lover
to guess.

–lord have mercy–

 children  –
they list your failures
double or nothing.

–lord have mercy–

 heart song
a baby triggers spasms
 of forgiveness.

–lord have mercy–

no assaulting strangers,
they are everywhere –
find them where they live.

–lord have mercy–

 so old
her body…. her cage
she begs for peace.

— lord have mercy–

****

For Sunday Whirl -#150
For Poets United – pantry

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A Double Whirl – With Esther


girls didn’t leave home until the wedding in those days,
still,  Esther was bound for the city
watching the darkness gather outside the window,
her body relaxing as the train sped along,
the droning of the wheels lulling her,
she grasped the last bit of light ringing the horizon,
plucking an invisible flow of memories
streaming across her awareness, one by one,
she made a list – a gutsy plan,
not at all her usual routine.
 she saw it as her only way out,
 wondering, would her father see it her way ?

****

 when she entered the hospital
walking under the old fashioned door frame,
Esther felt safe,
  courting bravery until it became second nature,
her only wages were the tricks she gleaned
and the support she sought while she learned her art,
never mind failure, she threw all-night parties cramming
chemistry, anatomy, physiology, biology, psychology
and all those other ‘ologies into her mind
and her heart,
 bitten by this  virus,
and smitten by a
 strange desire to comfort.
much later, she wrapped herself in white
and fell in with a band of Nightingales.

****

©Wabi Sabi 2014

More Esther poems here and here

Sunday Whirl – # 147, #148

Poets United – Pantry

In The Time Before Dawn

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In the time before dawn
the sky is another  country,
all purple and windy, 
with a strand of pink haze
 wrapped around the horizon,
embracing the morning star,
 snuffing out her beauty
like a candle tilting in the bruised wind;

the gulls write their story
across the snow clouds,
their crying captures a word- juggler
in time’s lonely aspect
sustaining her in the warp and weft of the storm.

The poet planned an epic tale,
woven out of the fugue state of winter
sent by the devils of the night,
but her meager notes mention
only that the sky is still another country,
all  purple and windy,
even after dawn.

****

©2014 Wabi Sabi

For Sunday Whirl -# 145

For Poets United – pantry

Winter Question

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How is it possible that,
 on a morning when the clouds,
curling back upon themselves,
and  giving up only momentary corridors of bare sky,
on a morning when those maddeningly small tokens of blue
taunt and tease a rain-weary,  fog-weary heart,
how, I ask again,
is it that the sighing wind,
 bending toward the naked oak tree,
can carry a burst of bird song
through the myriad layers
of a morose winter morning,
piercing the frozen edges of  a january nap
prodding and poking me out of  my
january nest?

By what miracle does a Carolina wren,
the tiniest of wintering birds,
on the gloomiest of winter days,
sing in the only voice
the universe gave it,
an April voice,
conjuring up a stunning moment of spring,
and bestowing a blessing
on the rain besotted morning,
 anointing my eyes and ears
with the chrism of its winter anthem,
just in time to save my dispirited soul
from the depths of winter silence?

****

©2014 Wabi Sabi

Wren at the Feeder ©2014 WS

Wren at the Feeder ©2014 WS

Carolina Wren ©2014 WS

Carolina Wren ©2014 WS

Inspired by Alice Keys ‘ Morning Song

For Sunday Whirl -#144
For Recuerda Mi Corazon – postcards from paradise
For Poets United – poetry pantry

Her Whispering

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Her whispering,
meant to poison,  

will find a way to be heard,
with her infinite capacity to distort
the precise moment of my weakness,
pounding it with her fists full of words
and innuendos
 into an altogether new creation
emitting a pulse of lies
with a sly rhythm I cannot bear
to witness again.

The invisible reality
 is buried in the woods
some distance from her childhood home
and I must kneel in the soft loam
 digging with my bare hands
until I hit the hard
edges of my own truth.

****

©2013 Wabi Sabi

For Sunday Whirl # 133

For Poets United ‘poetry pantry’

A Yearning

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~~~~~

still roaming the inky darkness
of an immeasurable,unknowable landscape,

a soul sheeted in ice, searches cobbled sidewalks,
rock-strewn country roads and remote pebbled shores
for a safe passageway

like a moth bending closer, closer
body, soul, essence lured to the fire
that warms and melts frozen heart sounds
these flames consume the remnants
of the restless child,
massaging the clay of resistance
softening and molding it
eroding a foolish need to escape the stillness

it seems a simple task
and yet……..
when is the heart ever ready
to embrace the kiln of eternity,
that wild yearning to awaken
to the holy breath of god?

~~~~~

©2013 Wabi Sabi

For  The Sunday Whirl – # 132

For Poets United  -Poets Pantry

 

Indian Summer

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 eons ago,
when they were  younglings
they noticed one another,
blinking hard at their good luck
they were swept away
ripe and rolling,
 seeing the hand of god
cleverly filling their basket
with stars and seashells.

in time, a nest
feathered with fledglings
weathers hail and firestone,
 the walls never whispered
 their flesh and bone secrets,
now the years are rudely slipping away
and all they can do is warm their hands
with the gentle flame of november
igniting indian summer –

fleet and furious.

****

 
©2013 Wabi Sabi
 
Sunday Whirl
Poets United
 

 

 


 

Because of You

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because of you

a vibrant trail of wildflowers

becomes my vision

 

 

because of you

a single sassy star above

burns my soul

 

 

because of you

violets, reds, yellows and blues

slather my eyes

 

 

because of you

vivacious daughters

surround me

 

 

because of you

the master comes closer

to my essence

 

 

because of you

always, a sumptuous spread

beckons me

 

 

 because of you

I don’t know the meaning

of manipulative…..or vacuous

 

 

because of you

though my life be long and hard

it will seem much too short

****

©2013 Wabi Sabi

Whirl Words:

vivacious, vibrant, vacuous, manipulative, vision, single,

sumptuous, slather, spread, short, sassy, violet, (master)

Notes on the process :

I felt like writing a love poem, perhaps because I had just read Pablo Neruda’s poem entitled ‘ Love,’ from which I borrowed the words ‘because of you,’ or perhaps for some other reason!  (It could be the wine)

I wrote this in three line verses,  perhaps because I can’t shift out of haiku mode.  Perhaps I will revisit this poem in the future and make it more like Neruda’s, or not!

Haiku Whirl

124

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oil painting –

the seated man pauses

for the ages

~~~~

wet sidewalk-

reflecting  city lights

inky sky

~~~~

planting a tree- the hole too close to the house

 ~~~~

fire pit-

feathery sparks

chasing mosquitos

~~~~

sucking

scarlet bee balm –

summer drink

~~~~ 

bamboo shoots sway

keeping time

with the shadows

~~~~

an old woman

doubting every step

lost in the woods

****

Seated Man by Picasso

(The Seated Man  – inspiration for the first poem, this was painted by Picasso late in his life, when he was confined to a wheelchair)

For Sunday Whirl #124

For Carpe Diem ” Imagination #6 Picasso’s ‘The Seated Man’ “