A week down on NaPoWriMo2019. “Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem of gifts and joy. What would you give yourself, if you could have anything? What would you give someone else? “
You could spin this theme a hundred ways. I was reading a blog post over on http://www.traciyork.com about a PowerHouseCreatives challenge on Five Things That Make you Smile.. That could have been the way I went with today’s poems (the fuzzy notebook with a llama on it that made me smile in Tescos, so I bought it and sent it to my brother in Brooklyn where he did the literal LOL on receipt.) There may still be a poem in it for another day.
But this is where the morning writing practice decided to go. It’s later than usual. With a busy schedule of workshops I need to have sleeping in days to recoup and re-centre.
I see you. You see me. That time we woke and beauty was in our eye. There was a rose in a glass on the mantel. We were in the initial throes of our love.
I see you. You see me. We woke. We saw the beauty. From which we sipped and still drink. It is a glass forever full of our love.
I see you. You see me. Changed in that blaze of beauty, it doesn't disappear in a blink. It stays. That scent which arose from our love.
I see you. You see me. Now we look around. Beauty surrounds. Because when you saw me, I saw you, we saw the world. The grain of sand became the pearl of our love.
I am grateful that my body clock has had this reset,where the night owl is hooting in the winter dark hours before dawn. Truthfully, I love autumn and winter and the long hours of darkness. It does make me wonder if I will be up in the ambrosial hours making poetry at 4am during the the long days of midsummer though! It does seem like the Poetry Daily is now a fixture of my life and, having passed the three month mark of writing and posting daily there is no sign of abatement yet.
Also, I am grateful for this pre-dawn quiet, gathering time, in what is a season of overwhelment. There are guests coming and menus to be planned and provisioned. There is a concert to be rehearsed and delivered. There are greetings to be sent near and far. There are the loose ends of projects to sign off on before the Great Feast and the annual shut down that happens here in Ireland between Christmas and New Year (except if you work in retail!)
But each morning, it is just me and the snoozing old dog, and maybe a hungry cat mooching for early breakfast. I make tea and then face the blank page. I wait to see what will turn up for the Poetry Daily.
These are the quiet hours where we can hear our own heart beat in the silence and the darkness, where only dreams can speak of our loves and our losses so eloquently. They weave that tapestry from our own anxiety.
These are the quiet hours where dawn beckons and makes us wait and wait through this long, chill dark. Like good children waiting for the Big Beardy Man in a red suit and black boots we stay hushed.
This waiting time is magical. Anything, but anything might turn up! And be a gift.