A while back I submitted poetry to Jo and Christines' publishing venture, and I appeared with one poem in the spring issue. I submitted six. This is one of the other five, one that I am partial to because it highlights one of the ways that I don't seem to fit this world very well.
I don't do well with repetitive work. It turns meaningless and painful very quickly for me. I am so blessed that I was given a way to make a living that has very little repetitiveness in it. I go through things for the first time or just a few times, all the time. In fact before I was about twenty years along in this gig, I more or less was terrified under discipline much of the time because I had never seen stuff before so often. Now I am at least reasonably familiar with most of what I do, no longer have to logic it out under such a rigid discipline. Certain aspects of computer access have really helped. God bless the internet. This first poem touches on repetition.
Clarity Of Mind
I get the broom out,
Looks rather worn, used before,
Which makes me snuffle
About the state of things.
Something in me is sure stuff
Done should stay done, if only
For awhile, but no-
Here is the floor of my mind
All dusty again.
******************************
And here is one of my love poems. I suppose that will be obvious. I am just a shameless romantic. I really want to believe that love is all there is. Here is a line from a prayer that I offer up at least a few times a week...May I perceive the love I know exists and disregard the rest. I try to live this way.
Slaying The Dragon
How would I know you
When you remove your red robe
And I see the sky?
Who could you be then,
After the act is over
And I am stripped down?
What would happen then,
After I confess my lack
Before your deep eyes?
All these questions slay
The dragon in my open
Wounds, my blood, my song.
Hurry
1 week ago
(O)
ReplyDeleteMy mind is a little dusty right now :) Better get my broom out again.
ReplyDeleteLove em, as usual.
I am feeling a lot better, thanks for caring.
Holy Cow, a Crow who cares. I am used to crows of course, and a neighbor used to feed them. I feed finches. Welcome.
ReplyDeleteMichelle, Sweep every day if you can :) I am happy to see you write that you are getting better.
Somehow the two poems got mixed up in my head together...and I have never been all that skilled with a broom;-)
ReplyDeleteSweeping again
I thought I had done this before
open windows open doors
the wooden floor warped
with time. Forgotten
bits of paper and fabric
under the table
how many words have I lost
in the ashes?
Sweeping again
footprints damp from the pond
footprints from the garden
footprints of you
I really thought I had
done this already...
That I was done
with this broom
this place
the light bulb bare
above the table
shining too brightly in the night
the windows reflecting
only this
me alone and sweeping
I could have sworn
I had finished this
long ago.
"stuff done should stay done" -- oh, how I wish...
ReplyDeletehmmm... in my reading of Freud, all of your poetry is some unconscious euphemism for or symbolic representation of sexual intercourse.
ReplyDeletei'm going to keep reading them until i figure out how that is......
Faith, a beauty! Thanks for leaving it here. I am sorry you can't sweep the shards of me away...:)
ReplyDeleteKaren, do you mean I am not the only one that feels that irritation? There might be others?
Ghost, is that your way of asking if I meant sex in the second poem? I did. This was not at all subconscious just metaphorical. :)