Linking with Shay's Word Garden Word List --Joy School
Come join us!
I am a poet and a mystery,
Each day myself as in a glass I see:
Creator and created fused in one,
Sun that makes night and night that drinks the sun.
~John Gould Fletcher
Certain poems are sharp like an iceberg
floating on an
evaporated sea,
whispering sounds of the ocean from a conch shell
with a message as loud as a scream.
They take us somewhere far yet close as home
with the soft touch
of a special lover,
then tell us how to fix our deepest ache,
like a devoted
mother.
They conjure up my brother’s hardest punch
or my father’s long-lost voice.
Some poems carry the whole weight of lifetimes,
yet the lightness of a single choice.
A poem can transfix or move us,
it can narrow, or expand the views we hold;
give us spring’s spray of flowers
in the midst of
winter’s dismal cold.
They stir the cauldron of memory,
like a witch crafting a certain spell,
leading us to forgotten secrets
that we never planned to tell.
Then they open us like a wrapped-up gift
with a remembrance made brand new,
again, witnessing the birth of grandchildren
and the graveside service that came too soon.
I keep an empty vase in the kitchen
that once held the flowers for your grave.
Poetry has the power to place it back in my hands
holding the newness of grief, I knew that day.
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