Her, Him, Me

Darkness Poem

(Irene McKinney)

Have you had enough darkness yet?
No, I haven't had enough darkness.
Have you had enough fire?
Maybe.

Enough wind and rain?
Enough black ink?
Ask me again, later.

Have you had enough sugar?
Definitely.
Enough salt? No.

I haven't had enough salt.
Are you finished with wringing your hands?
Definitely.

Finished with spiders and silks 
And creatures of glamour?
Probably not.

Winsome looks?
Completely.
Pity? Never.

I feel pity right now
For everyone who got broken,
Including me. Pity feels

Like a sore and swollen heart
Leaking blood and tears
So hot they sting.

Imagine that. Stay there.
Have you had enough wind?
No. Enough earth? No.

Enough water? No, not nearly enough.
Enough dirt to walk on?

No. Never, never.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Good-Night

(Robert Louis Stevenson)

Then the bright lamp is carried in, 
The sunless hours again begin; 
O'er all without, in field and lane, 
The haunted night returns again. 

Now we behold the embers flee 
About the firelit hearth; and see 
Our faces painted as we pass, 

Like pictures, on the window glass. 

Must we to bed indeed? Well then, 
Let us arise and go like men, 
And face with an undaunted tread 
The long black passage up to bed. 

Farewell, O brother, sister, sire! 
O pleasant party round the fire! 
The songs you sing, the tales you tell, 
Till far to-morrow, fare you well! 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wee but Still

(Me)

Sometimes you have nothing to say but you speak anyway. I empty everything out. Thank you, coffee, green smoothie, my fountain pen. 

Stanzas from Irene and Robert Louis blow me up inside. A poet I am not, but a poem, maybe. That must be why the beauty of their words plucks strings inside of me. Music. 

I need to walk toward the sun. Politely ask it to fill my barren spaces, to make things grow and live inside me. Plant them beside and within the melody please.

(Sometimes the words won’t come. Or they will but are few. I offer what I have. Remind myself this is not perfection. It is a process, a journey.)