I have these two wonderful friends who are creative writers . They both have blogs filled with poetry that will make tears come up and sting the rims of your eyes. Their strings of words are the kind that give you goosebumps…the kind you have to read one more time so that you can savor their rich meanings and subtle sounds.
How can one who loves writing not be moved by that?
It’s been a bit since I’ve ventured down the road of poetry. Probably since college and maybe since high school when I wrote for the school magazine. I think it’s because to me, poetry feels a bit like a luxury…just like those thick novels I used to devour at a rate of three per week. The babies and the bills came, and I just put down my pen.
Turns out though that for those who love writing, we get the urge. It’s a craving for words, a need to let them live. It bugs you in the shower, on insomnia ridden nights, in the heat of a lazy summer afternoon, when you know there’s something you should be doing but your body is slow to move. You take another sip of your iced tea instead, and think…”someday”.
The blog was born because of that urge to write and it’s the reason I sit here on many nights into the wee hours of the morning when everybody’s finally gone to bed, had their last drink of water, and the monsters are chased out from under the beds. It’s the reason I form the words, even if only the crickets hear them.
If you told me I’d ever post a poem on the blog a year ago, I would have said, “oh, no, I don’t think so”. Once again though, I’m inspired by those I love. Inspired by my friends who show their beautiful art and by the subject of my little poem, who made it so easy to spill my guts onto the page.
Last night I was watching a little late night TV and was preparing for my trip to New York, when my son Mason came down the stairs complaining of a headache. I gave him some Advil and he curled up on the couch next to me and drifted off. I looked over at him and was again marveled at the fact that his feet are the same size as mine, his hair the same brown. I couldn’t let tonight be another “someday” so I just wrote. Thank you son.
Crazy Boy, all nose and freckles
Shock of dark locks, cascade across indigo eyes.
Pale skin, all dew and cream,
Untouched by time and hurt.
Long limbs forming sharp edges,
taking the shape of the years.
Those years dart past
like river water over pebbles,
worn soft into memories.
Beautiful boy, where will your steps land?
On what beaches will you scrawl your name?
Shy smile, what will make you laugh in life?
What will be the work that wears your hands,
the loves that streak your heart?
Find your mountaintop, dear one.
Show Your bold and Your brazen,
Your colors, words, and light.
Let wise ones shape you, but never change you,
though the world will try.
Live Your meaning.
Learn to breathe the thin air of dreams.
Let Your heart be untethered,
Your soul sovereign.
There is but one river,
round it’s bends despite your fear.
Sweet blue-eyed likeness of me,
know how you are cherished,
as you blaze forward, on-into all that is meant for you.