With thanks to Vanessa Seijo
The sun in the meadow-
The wind in the morning-
A song half finished-
I am in the mood for planting.
I find myself on my knees, digging, digging.
I dig down to find old roots from a distant season;
these are near dessicating,
yet cling as though still living to the hummus
'neath the rim of my first outdoor planter.
I had a dark mood on moving.
I even say it used to upset me beyond endurance,
the uprootedness that often followed.
It would seem my gypsy song does not blend within a garden's season.
I may sow, yet I may not abide-
Such is the nature of timing, and the timing of nature, all in one.
I cling tightly to what little earth there is about me,
barely daring to believe I will be all right
if changes come too soon to be acceptable.
It is a dark time I came through.
I cast my thoughts backward only in prayer
by way of soothing me down into earth's bounty.
The decay of mistaken identity is all around me
as I paw at the sentient soil,
leather work gloves already soaking, clotted.
There is an air of doubt in this garden.
It resembled a hill of small repute,
hardly worth noticing, before I set my heart on it.
I take my makeshift set of garden tools in hand,
selecting from their few handles
a simple dinner knife of solid steel,
and cut open the eager flesh of earth like a surgeon.
I am alone.
I hear the wind calling my name on high-
Like rushing whispers tossed about in scrambling bursts.
The time is nigh.
My heart won't bargain for a safer perch until willing.
I must will the changes, flintily scraping away
at each hidebound thought.
A pause.
A restless thought.
What was it I told myself I wanted?
Peace with joy at breakfast.
Peace with rest at eventide.
Peace with anchored position no man can shake nor break,
no matter how low his mood can be.
Oh, I want freedom most of all!
Freedom to exact justice on the world.
Freedom to see myself into old age without worry.
Freedom to see offspring well set for life.
Freedom to fly, be at peace, be my own true self.
I sandwich a few handfuls of darker loam
between the tiny hill-like mounds,
steadying my sunflower sprouts
from the wind's eager whispering force.
I kneel, I plant once more, six seedlings barely formed.
Will it avail me that I plant?
Am I too willing to remember this place as a haven,
despite another's wicked will?
I sigh, and the wind catches me by one ear.
"You've never flown before," I hear it tell me.
"You've always had someone to tether you to their ideal."
I sigh once more.
A tear struggles up from the bottom of one shoe into the air.
"Time for Flying Lesson Number One."
I shake loose clods from my gloves over the lengthening grass.
A glimmer of hope resides where none had been before.
I must guard it with care, as I nurture everything growing here.
In the pure air of a different place, my lung capacity might grow.
In peaceful dwellings, where healing is guarded, I might rise to do more.
What is it I wanted before.....?
Ah.
I remember now.
Beside the door, the box for garden tools.
The wind against my summer hat, I trace my steps of thought
to what it was like to be truly free to move at speed
and to breathe with ease,
with prayer,
in song......
I want my wings back, I say to myself.
A glance down.
A soft glimmer of blue in the grass beneath the old ash tree.
A stoop, then the discovery.
Tiny cradle, turquoise through and through,
singing out of summer's purchase
and time's remorseful longing.
I scoop it from the tender embrace of the soft and lengthening grass.
Partly shattered, partly holding the true shape it was made to become.
Tender crumbling flakes of heaven on my palm,
I turn homeward,
And breathe
a vaster sigh
of relief
than before.
copyright 2010 The Poor Woman's Retroactive Diary
Vanessa's poem that inspired yours truly to write this above effort is her stellar
"I Want to Move to Provence,"
her June 5, 2010 post.
Go and read it. You'll find it awe-inspiring.
(Sorry--couldn't make it Link. I tried. SOmething's wonky at O.S.)
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Comments
I can't wait to garden soon. Gardening sooths the soul.
Rated with hugs and a 'wish I was there with you "
Vanessa: Thank you, my friend. This one's due to the work of your post.
This is a lovely, lovely poem. I am struck by your imagery.
Thank you for sharing this with me!
I will come back to it again and again. This goes into my box of favorite things.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Lezlie
Now I'm on my way to read Vanessa, which I meant to do earlier.
Vanessa: Your post is a treasure in itself, one I shall enjoy reading again and again. It's really stunning, you know. I feel like I'm there with you as I read, enthralled. Beautiful, inspired art inspires, and you are that artist I needed this afternoon to remind me what this is about. Thank you again, most worthy reader of my offering.
Lezlie: Thank you for your kind review. Remarkable how therapeutic some poems are. This really helped me to view my life from a firmer stance.
fernsy: I specifically let you off the hook, darling! But it please me to see you here. :D A thousand thank yous--you are always so kind.
Fusun: I'm glad the imagery I've chosen here pleased you. It is a pleasure knowing I can count on your understanding and wisdom, come what may. You are a delight to know.
And I do recommend you read Vanessa's latest--stellar stuff, really. Simply beautiful.
NOTE: I'll be signing off for the night now, everyone. It's an early morning for me. 'Night, all! And peaceful dreams to one and all.
long to attempt to reflect upon them all. You have planted seeds of wonder throughout its length. Stunningly evocative work! I'm blown away! Thanks so very!
r
"I am alone.
I hear the wind calling my name on high-
Like rushing whispers tossed about in scrambling rushes.
The time is nigh.
My heart won't bargain for a safer perch until willing.
I must will the changes, flintily scraping away
at each hidebound thought.
A pause.
A restless thought.
What was it I told myself I wanted?
Peace with joy at breakfast.
Peace with rest at eventide.
Peace with anchored position no man can shake nor break,
no matter how low his mood can be."
Bravo!
Gardening itself is a wonder. In fact, I hear my 6 little seedlings calling me.
A Persistant Muse: Welcome! I don't recall seeing you here at the Diary before. It's good to have you here. And thank you. I may brush this one down a little before too long. It was quickly posted, there not being much time left till I knew I'd have to hit the hay. So a re-edit may be required. Hope you don't mind.
Fay: My friend, it's always a pleasure having you around. Refreshing--like my little gardening episode yesterday. And thanks for the rewarding comment via my first flying lesson. :)
anna1liese: Thank you. Any new bird may wish the same.
poppi: Hello! and thanks, dearie, for the read + upbeat rate!
sweetfeet: Thank you. A gardener's delight is in viewing the work completed, her garden at peace.
lemonpulp: I couldn't agree with you more--there's so much LIFE in what we do there.
ladyslipper: Vanessa's true ability may lie with her prose work most of all, but I would agree with you here that her latest may be one gracious prose-like paean to her garden.
Kim: Am I airborne today? :) Perhaps with thoughts only. It's my first time, after all..... (thank you, friend)
Little Kate: You take the meat of my poem to heart. I'm glad you like it as well as you do.
Jonathan: Thanks for stopping by to read and rate. I appreciate your input.
no matter how low his mood can be."
`Anchored position' -- no momentary wave can move me from where I am.
Thank you, PW.
Vanessa, yours is next...I behind, as usual today.
Now. to your comment. It sounds as if you yourself may have been forced out or cut off in some way from assistance/support. More power to you if you've held fast to your truth.
Leon: The wings necessary to do more will be on my list here. But thank you. Your supportiveness I cherish. You tell the missus we are very fond of you around here.
Matt: Sounds like you and your lady have the gardening chores pretty well figured out. A lot goes on in a woman's heart and mind on every occasion. ;) We are just like that. Go figure. And thank you, friend, for the endorsement on my work here. It is appreciated.
rita: Nice to see you again. And thank you.
I do think, however, you may have inadvertently invented a brand new word--tho' what good that may do you I cannot foretell. Re-caput-ur. Hmmmmm.
Latin "caput means "Head", if I'm not mistaken. Or the "off with his head" phrase. Very curious. ;) (I'm goofy this afternoon--haven't had enough sleep.)
Thoth: Thanks again for your very kind endorsement. It is always nice to have you around.
R
Rita: You too, friend. Thank you!
You know, I am shocked at my place in the roster at Dave's. I'd even forgotten I'd posted this poem. At the time, I was even thinking it needed a bit of reworking.
Now I wouldn't change it a bit. Just want this memory.
It's nice to get recognized. i'd forgotten what it felt like. Very gratifying--even stunning, under the circumstances.
So a greta big THANK YOU to anyone responsible for this. I can't thank you enough.
What a great guy is dave Rickert forgiving us all a better opportunity to have Poetry a flourishing art within Open Salon!
Inverted: This means more to me than you know. Thank you.