When I was young, my pen
suddenly took on a life of its own,
like Mickey Mouse's mop in Fantastia,
spilling words down the page
that told me: within lived Someone
who knew more than I did.
I listened to her through the years.
Sometimes I put words down like teacups,
absent-mindedly, after the tea has cooled.
Sometimes, a poem travels like songlines,
leading me home to the wild.
There are times when the words perch
on the edge of my consciousness,
like birds on a branch,
easily startled,
poised to fly away.
And sometimes Wild Woman stirs
in her inner cave, uttering truths
that startle me into consciousness.
Humbly, I write them down,
emerging from the poem
awakened, and
transformed.
A re-write of a poem written in 2018, for Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif: Writing Poetry.
Oh! I am longing for just this sort of transformation today, for wise woman to wake and stir within. I love every line of this poem, and especially the allusion to fantasia! We don't need/want the master magician to come by and restore order--not unless it includes transformation.
ReplyDeleteThe last stanza is so powerful.
ReplyDeleteAnd I love Fantasia. :)
Oh Sherry this is beautiful. So nice how poetry has transformed you.
ReplyDeleteLove this!❤️ Especially; "Sometimes, a poem travels like song lines,leading me home to the wild." Such a beautiful poem, Sherry!❤️
ReplyDeleteI love the idea of words perching on the edge of consciousness like a bird on a branch. A wonderful write Sherry. I love this and so glad that you took up the pen at an early age. The world has been blessed for it!
ReplyDeleteThe final stanza made my hair stand on end. Or, more accurately, the final stanza after reading the rest. This poem describes the way I see your poetry. Not how it came to be--that I learned just now--but how it feels. Your poems cuddle, and laugh, and cry, and play with gentle things... and they roar when they need to. And in through all their versions, they never lose the wild woman wisdom and love. And I delight in that every time.
ReplyDeleteThere is nothing quite like writing a poem and being really proud of it. Why else do we write? In your writing I see so much of you emerging as even your passion for what is right shines through.
ReplyDeleteWow, friends. Thank you for your most lovely comments!
ReplyDeleteemerging from the poem
ReplyDeleteawakened, and
transformed... you've said it perfectly!!
"Sometimes I put words down like teacups,
ReplyDeleteabsent-mindedly, after the tea has cooled."
Absolutely luv this image
much love...
'I humbly write them down' beautiful work Dear Sherry you are an amazing poet Thank you
ReplyDeleteGorgeous thoughts! The poetic urge emanates from a wellspring of inner beauty. So, we know Blake heard voices. Dickinson heard hymns...and so on. I love this poem, Sherry.
ReplyDeleteI love the thought of words being perched on the edge of consciousness.
ReplyDeleteThe words liketea cups line is especially lovely, I thought. K
ReplyDeleteWhat a soothing poem, Sherry. Loved it from line 1.
ReplyDelete