Apple smiles and sculpted brows.

I never share my poetry, but then again why not? I am sitting here trying to work out story equations in my head. I am not in as poor a mood as this might suggest.

…

How sweet the girls with apple smiles and sculpted brows
who, like me, once trod this valley floor
who, within their trim frocks and neat heels
carried aching feet or backs,
hands held up to shade their blinded eyes.

How solemn the glow that leeches
out of memory and age and time,
how bitter and vindictive nostalgia
when robbed of its luster.
How jaggedly the past is torn away,
how plainly exposed are the days;
bleached out to ugly bare honesty.

Her days, and her days, and hers,
not special-glowing-different from mine but the same.
She wondered, I wonder, did someone else breathe magic?
Will the present ever sing and hum beneath my feet?

Someday my glamorous ghost may haunt this ground,
and bother sad women who long for golden beauty
and pretend to a life she did not own
and tempt them with invented memories
of apple smiles and eyelights.

It is the past, and it is gone, and we are helpless,
grasping like babies in fog
while the beat of our hearts counts down
until we, too, will be still and rest
and perhaps content ourselves with anonymity
or cruelly wish to be remembered.

PS – this was my 500th blog post! Here is #1, in case you are curious.

9 comments April 10th, 2010

Present!

I’m here! I’m slipping in under the wire, but it still counts, right?

In honor of the success of the new Alice in Wonderland movie, I’m going to post my favorite poem, which happens to be written by Lewis Carroll. And we’ll forego the Daily Plah for today since I have exciting nothing to report. Took the dog for a long hike, and he was well behaved for 70% of it. Picked up another worm bare-handed.

Enjoy!

A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky

A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July —

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear —

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream —
Lingering in the golden gleam —
Life, what is it but a dream?

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This poem just slays me.

3 comments March 8th, 2010

Poetry Friday (my first time!)

I’ve never done Poetry Friday, but I thought I’d give it a go, since I’m mini- and low-pro blogging for the next six days.

Can I just say, next time you are wandering the library or bookstore with nothing to read, find yourself a copy of Edgar Lee Masters’ Spoon River Anthology (that Dover Thrift edition is like $1!) and just go home and sit someplace comfy and soak it up. The idea of the book is that it’s the tales of many of the residents of the town of Spoon River, told in verse, as they reflect on their lives and their town.

It’s one of my favorite things. It’s haunting and fascinating and gripping and really makes you think. You should read slowly and savor every poem.

And here’s just one of the many that have stayed with me:

Dorcas Gustine

I was not beloved of the villagers,
But all because I spoke my mind,
And met those who transgressed against me
With plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturing
Nor secret griefs nor grudges.
That act of the Spartan boy is greatly praised,
Who hid the wolf under his cloak,
Letting it devour him, uncomplainingly.
It is braver, I think, to snatch the wolf forth
And fight him openly, even in the street,
Amid dust and howls of pain.
The tongue may be an unruly member?
But silence poisons the soul.
Berate me who will?I am content.

1 comment May 1st, 2009