The days become a giant clock and I,
its moving hand, marking the hour
remembering the time, the same as
what is gone, the same
as what is to come. Days, hours
minutes fold into each other
indistinguishable. Perhaps, it is
all a trick of the mind – the walls
preserve life, the walls take away
life. Outside is as far as an arm stretched out
of the window, so within reach, so out of reach
are all those things I took for granted
in my solitude, everything has meaning
and everything means nothing.
Life seems a dream –
Am I awake or am I sleeping?
No more are the violins playing
no more music float in the air
Silence is descending
and here I am.
Why do my hands have thorns in place of a song?
my shoulders sag in the weight of memory
Those what-could-have-beens -
If I only could set them in a tune -
could be real
embodied in a song
Too many doors open
the melody gets lost in the illusions.
Clouds gather, lights fade out
The plaintive voice of night enchants
these shiftless thoughts
and leave them lonelier than before.
Just a random poem written on a rather lazy afternoon.
A party of blue jays flew over my head into the forest, going home for the night
I chase happiness flying with fresh wings and dream of it well into the night
I ran here and there until the lights went out Sitting by my window, I stared down the night
Stars glistened, the half moon smiled night birds sang, what a peaceful night
quiet descended upon my spirit I floated in the solitude of night
I only now see you in my dreams The past comes back in the dark of night
That I could hold your hand again My hand slipped into the emptiness of night
Moments by and by pass into oblivion Light dawning breaks the hold of night
The first three couplets of this piece were written in the summer of 2019 after I surprised a band of blue jays in the yard. It was a happy moment and the inspiration for the title “Happiness”. I did not know how to proceed so I abandoned these lines until today. Perhaps, I needed things to happen in my life to find the next lines. I don’t think they fit with the original title though, but I can’t think of another one that is more suitable. So, Happiness it is.
The counters are still empty The cold floor is still clean The sky is still grey –
The furnace wakes sputtering and clanging as steam builds up.
I set the coffee to percolate
flour the counter for the brioche dough prepared last night
to be kneaded and braided and tucked in the pans for one final rise.
Light spreads on the horizon The children stir in their beds;
I take my first sip of coffee savoring the last bits of silence –
The day begins.
I wrote this for Grace’s Meeting the Bar prompt – Setting for DVerse Poets. I am not sure this meets the bar, but I am certainly glad that I got to write somehow (one way or the other) and to participate in the prompts again. I am also fairly certain of the joy of learning how to make bread after giving up on it decades ago because I could not proof yeast. Learning somehow set me free as now, I can make my favorite breads. The one above is brioche which take hours and hours to make.