From Jen Lemen 💚 sign up for Soul Snacks
There was a sentence halfway written.
There was a thumbprint ridged in ink.
There was a crease in sheaved paper.
There was a ring left from the drink.
There was a chair turned, facing outwards.
There was a door hung from its hinge.
There was a drop that wasn’t water.
There was a dog that knew to cringe.
There was tall grass, dazed and listing.
There was dirt sporing the air.
There was a quiet cleft by birdsong.
There was ragged breathing, barely.
There’d been a plan, the traces told it.
There was a shovel in the back.
There were gloves and tape and sibilant teeth.
There were constraints that held them fast.
There was no way they would believe her.
There was no cold hand that made fists.
There’d be floodlit eyes for every move
And no coming back from this.
Sing, stolid choir of objects, eyeless and aghast,
of a world that came to stay.
Add to your claythroat concord what lies in a hole
that took all day.
If an account remains ungiven,
if the seams close sheer and smooth,
if God’s own mind forgets, this time,
a scene will bear the truth.
Scene – Matthew Caldwell
Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting heaven
That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,
And thereupon imagination and heart were driven
So wild that every casual thought of that and this
Vanished, and left but memories, that should be out of season
With the hot blood of youth, of love crossed long ago;
And I took all the blame out of all sense and reason,
Until I cried and trembled and rocked to and fro,
Riddled with light. Ah!
when the ghost begins to quicken,
Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent
Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken
By the injustice of the skies for punishment?
The Cold Heaven by W. B. Yeats
some three thousand miles off Portugal
I hang in your green,
breath held, limbs still,
ears just under water,
feet pointing down into mystery.
The sea in my veins
is so close to you,
blood of the planet I throb in.
In your silence I feel the crashing
of waves in my heartbeat,
the wind in and out
when I come up to breathe.
It may look just barely
but I feel so alive.
You have no ill will
yet I know if I breathe wrong
you will take me.
This far north your hands are cold,
your lips are cold.
Still I float in your womb
and you say
“I will hold you.”
Sitting in my umbilical prayers I hear you.
Mountains and deserts say this, too.
And beside a little white church
on a North Dakota prairie
a plot of ground,
surrounded by family names,
says as well,
“I will hold you.”
I hear you.
I hang here in this green moment.
My heart is green
with the fuzz of springtime growth
borning life again
from the rich, bloody soil
it throbs anew
My mind is blue
as the sky in sunshine
like the night full of stars and glittering tears
it diamond sparkles
My life is orange
as flames in a forest
breathing the wind
it grows wild
My love is red
there is no hiding it
real as anything
it woos pilgrims
My touch is gold
hands, lips on wounds
for velvet skin, shared breath
it heals all
My soul is pearl
creamy and warm
to all who come
it opens hearts
My word is platinum
I seek only truth
life with integrity
it unlocks doors
My work is emerald
deep as the world
full of riches
it creates wealth
My legacy is silver
of the finest made
all about me
all about You
Amy Lloyd (AL)
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soul and spirit