Sunday, February 27, 2011

Late Winter Delirium



My dreams ice at the edges when I get this tired.

They stand like winter stalks

Or dead brides,

Miles from the main road

Or any comforting verse.



See the hag, the hearse,

The hard frozen road and the half moon hanging--

They whisper,

Here is your baby girl you lost.

Here is your youth.

Here is your easy life in summertime, the crickets and clear stars,

The lavender and clean sheets,

All the things forgotten, disbelieved or denied.

Here is the basket with no bottom, and here is the hope of carrying them with you anyway.

Here is your heart--

We have saved it through the deepest freeze and weakest light.



I had made a heart of brown leaves and birds' nests, thundersnow and feathers.

Now,

A whole flock flies from it and still, it isn't mine.

I take the new one offered, as if it were strong and worth possessing.



If I have to feel my real heart, let me feel it plain--

My voice will crack the river as I scream.

Give it to me anyway,

I am too tired to fight.

Lie if you need to,

Tell me there is a Mother in Heaven, a Love in the Spring;

Tell me any mad tale that comes to mind--

That what God creates, she loves,

And does not leave behind.

________

19 comments:

Cloudia said...

Your words

speak to



me-






Aloha from Honolulu,


Comfort Spiral

><}}(°>

Neva Flores said...

they speak loudly and wonderfully...........your words.....

hedgewitch said...

"..Here is the basket with no bottom, and here is the hope of carrying them with you anyway...."

It's amazing what you can carry, without even a basket..
unfortunately,though,
sometimes it's what you don't want that you can't lay down.

Mystical and sadder than a nuclear winter.

La Belette Rouge said...

I will tell you that there must be a Goddess/God if there is a you. There has to be. I feel gods in creativity and love and beauty and dogs, otherwise I am an agnostic. Here there are lots of all of the above and so I see god here.
And I want to tell your dreams to be kind to you and to show you all the beauty that you are.
xoxo

Sherry Blue Sky said...

This poem makes my heart ache. The winter stalks, the dead brides.......the half moon hanging.....the lost baby, the lost youth, the basket with no bottom. This poem says it all about pain, longing, and almost giving up hope while yet hoping. Holy cow, Shay. So damned good.

Lynn said...

Yes - it seems to have an ache about it.

Kim Nelson said...

Visceral.
Written to compel the reader to go on, to feel, to want to respond.
On a personal note... As you know by now, Dear Shay, I am a weaver and believer of mad tales. I will them into existence.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Back to read again. Your words brought snow to my valley. "My dreams ice at the edges when I get this tired." I know this kind of tired. Remember and believe: spring will come!!!!! To both earth and tired hearts, once again.

TALON said...

Oh, I can feel this one...winter seems unending...summer seems a dream.

Beautiful, Shay.

Mama Zen said...

This gets in your bones and aches. Beautifully written, Shay.

Daryl said...

These words, feelings touch me deeply.

blueoran said...

Let this ouija squeegee from Florida scrape the frost off the vantage here (though it is thrilling as it is terrifying), whispering: It has already begun, though madness lingers yet, like frostbite. -- Brendan

Jhon Baker said...

very good, opening 4 lines, wow, we all look for this kind of opening.

Rene/ Not The Rockefellers said...

bleak thoughts
but your pen is on fire

don't stop Shay :)

jen revved said...

from where I sit, you are blessed with love, those who come to you in all weathers. that is the source of my own personal agony, not feeling blessed yet with enough of it and making mistakes and not knowing how to stop people from going away. But I persist, I persevere, as do you. this poem rings true-- it's honest, with much art but no artifice. I tweaked the review, the links are now live, photo up-- love, Jenne'

Raven said...

'Lie if you need to,

Tell me there is a Mother in Heaven, a Love in the Spring;

Tell me any mad tale that comes to mind--

That what God creates, she loves,

And does not leave behind.'

Yes, please lie to me. The truth is too painful to bear.

Another stunning poem.

gabrielle said...

What a brave one, she, to gather all of those orphaned things, hold them close again.

ellen abbott said...

I'm sending spring your way.

ab said...

Wow - this one cut right through me with its beautiful, morbid imagery. You captured the weariness and stagnancy of winter perfectly.