Rain storming down from the orchard with its turbulence of
leaves and wind battering till all thought’s gone out
spent as matches and it’s a relief and
then here I am again with the wet dog with books and poems as friends and a million different
ways of greeting the world
and
there outside at last a single thin blade of sun insinuates itself like a
bookmark between cloud
and something new pours down onto the hillside and I’m out
there flying
and
it doesn’t matter whether sun rain wind or even sleet at the moment suddenly
again what matters is simply being alive
and
how poetry can remind me of this even at times when I’m dense as peat-soil
sodden and soaking it all up
ready
to transform it like worms compost into something I can work with something good in bare hands in the mouth
something to slip between me and eternity and the terrible joy of it all
Oh, Roselle - your poetry is so beautiful - you always take me to another realm where I marvel at your choice of words and how they /you lighten my heart.....thank you...
ReplyDeleteTrish how kind of you! And how lovely to hear from you, too. Thanks so much - I wasn't really thinking of that one as a poem, more as an unedited freewrite! But I'm so pleased you liked it. We need to keep looking for those bookmarks, don't we...x
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