My Front Doorstep At DuskI'm off for a visit to the land of daughters and grandchildren in North Carolina, but before I depart I just want to leave you with a poem for Poetry Thursday, whose prompt I am not following this week. There are also other poems scattered through this weeks posts.
This is another mrs heartwell poem. I posted this one several weeks ago and it was quite popular, so I thought it was time for another. This one isn't funny, but gives an idea of her vulnerability and the melancholia she often experiences. I think that's what menopause and times of female depression were once called ... this is not what this is, but is more a time of needing to pull back and contemplate where one has been.
Hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. I'll be back on Monday!
twilight
discarding her halo
the fixed blue shroud
enclosing her dreams
mrs heartwell swims
through the sweet pain of tears
thickening twilight
spills through half-closed doors
drawing her to the threshold
where familiar faces waver
in the heat of colliding stars
particles of longing
gather in translucent light
a sense of weightlessness
the need to rise
above the clamor of angels
their faded wings
drooping like violets
plucked from a bed of dewy moss
opening her heart
she drifts between clouds
swarms of fireflies
at rest in her graying hair
JZR
This is another mrs heartwell poem. I posted this one several weeks ago and it was quite popular, so I thought it was time for another. This one isn't funny, but gives an idea of her vulnerability and the melancholia she often experiences. I think that's what menopause and times of female depression were once called ... this is not what this is, but is more a time of needing to pull back and contemplate where one has been.
Hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. I'll be back on Monday!
twilight
discarding her halo
the fixed blue shroud
enclosing her dreams
mrs heartwell swims
through the sweet pain of tears
thickening twilight
spills through half-closed doors
drawing her to the threshold
where familiar faces waver
in the heat of colliding stars
particles of longing
gather in translucent light
a sense of weightlessness
the need to rise
above the clamor of angels
their faded wings
drooping like violets
plucked from a bed of dewy moss
opening her heart
she drifts between clouds
swarms of fireflies
at rest in her graying hair
JZR
4 comments:
I love the way you play with light here - especially the fireflies in the gray hair. A nice image!
This is a beautiful photo - how lucky you are to live there - and a beautiful, eloquent poem. Thank you for sharing this terrific work!
Wonderful poem. And your front porch is so welcoming.
These Mrs. Heartwell poems are very nice. I read one of your poems for the first time today and felt compelled to read more.
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