Monday, February 28, 2011

Love Still



I'm thinking of someone I loved--

Love still.

I'm looking at the vines that grow on the west side of the yard--

Why do they reach out to the second post, or the third?

Why does the simple painted wood invite the seeking curls?

Why are they there at all,

With their red stems,

And new green leaves?

Why am I,

With my old sweater and my melancholy?



I'm thinking of someone I loved--

Love still.

Shouldn't love be a thing in motion, like an arm reaching

With fingers open

Welcoming?

I am thinking of the places where the vines don't grow,

Because someone who doesn't care for vines has cut them,

Or because mulberries and wild strawberries were already there.



I am thinking of someone who loved me--

Loves me still.

I am thinking of her face, and her dark hair long that enchants me.

I am wondering how the vines know where is empty air and where is something solid?

I am thinking how the afternoon turns, becoming dusk.



I am thinking of the vines, and the bruisy evening sky.

I am thinking of someone I loved--

Love still.

________

31 comments:

Sherry Blue Sky said...

The way your mind works is simply brilliant. I COMPLETELY adore this poem - love the hopefulness of the vines - their knowing where to reach, whether bare spot, or not. I love your "old sweater and melancholy" and the "bruisy evening sky". I'm glad you know you are loved. You are an amazement. I just want to keep reading your poems till my eyes close for the last time.

Caty said...

Can't say it any better than Sherry Blue Sky...so I'll just say, "ditto" :)

hedgewitch said...

Do they know, or do they just grow, because its their nature to reach, hoping that the next post will be there when its time...and the places where they can't grow are indeed filled with something else, even if it's just sky and air. I like these thoughts and find them comforting. And a fine poem as well.

Helen said...

Would you think me lazy, with no imagination whatsoever if I said 'ditto' as well?

Rene/ Not The Rockefellers said...

mystery, magic and melancholy...
in these
love and vines tangle and grow

love this Shay...like a favorite old sweater

Lulú said...

...and if she reads this poem, I'm sure she won't stop thinking about you, my friend. Beautifully expressed.

Neva Flores said...

Why does the simple painted wood invite the seeking curls.....beautiful piece....

Kim Nelson said...

Thinking of love in all it's forms is a wonderful thing. That which we ponder, we help create. Love. What better recipient of your creative energies.

Raven said...

This, like everything else you write, is simply lovely. You are amazing.

Lynn said...

The old sweater line expresses the mood perfectly.

Hannah Stephenson said...

Curling vines and longing pair very well indeed...

These sound like song lyrics to me!

Mama Zen said...

Beautiful, lilting, and sweet. The way you see things is remarkable.

Tess Kincaid said...

Beautiful. Old sweaters are the perfect companion to melancholy.

Ami Mattison said...

Just lovely, Shay! Beautiful. Delicate. The comparison between the vine and love is a fresh metaphor--very nice.

Shouldn't love be a thing in motion, like an arm reaching

With fingers open

Welcoming?

What beautiful lines! A truly amazing poem! So glad I read this today!

Daryl said...

Feels like skin

ab said...

I'm a sucker for poems with repeating lines, and this one is great! I like the comparison of love and vines...especially the lines, "Shouldn't love be a thing in motion, like an arm reaching
With fingers open
Welcoming?"

blueoran said...

Why does the world keep evolving, spinning, changing, spitting out fresh blossoms, creep higher, while we are like rocks in our deepest places, unchanging, forever carrying our crosses, sighing when the terrain starts to incline rather than just dumping the damn thing? "Cause we remember. We dream. We tend our longing like a garden that grows to dizzy heights because we aren't, or won't, or can't. The vines know what to do next because that's the only place they are: Here. Now. We know the moment only as that huh? place we pass through in one or other between regrets about the past or anxiety about the future. - Brendan

Joanna Jenkins said...

Love still. Tis is beautiful, Shay and made me funk of people I love still.
xo jj

jen revved said...

"I am wondering how the vines know where is empty air and where is something solid?"== beautous, FB! xj

Holland said...

You have the power to look at the world through the eyes of a young girl, yet with the experience of someone who has seen a lot. A marvelous combination in the world of words.

katrin said...

ahhh so lovely
love should be a thing in motion
but then maybe not...

Lydia said...

This is beautiful, musical, sadly soothing. One of my favorites here.

artswebshow.com said...

This is great, soft tone to the writing.
Interesting poem.

moondustwriter said...

Those living vines each with a story all of their own - especially if they had your words to guide them

I would love to hear the echo of this back - I hope you hear it!

Lisa said...

When one is coming in at Comment #25 one can say "ditto x 25". Gor-jiss work, dahhlin....

love the repeated lines - and particularly love this bit:

"I am wondering how the vines know where is empty air and where is something solid?"

*sigh*

xx

TALON said...

The last two words - they stab like a dagger.

What a poem, Shay!

That kind of love - the stick-around kind - can be the most beautiful and the most painful.

Sara said...

Shay,

This is a poem that perfectly melds the picture with the words. I love seeing how the vines climb and even the randomness of their reach.

Then your words make me think of how loves can be accidentally lost. They're still alive inside the heart, but they no longer have the place to climb and grow.

You are truly a master wordsmith of love.

K said...

You're amazing. I need to go reach for the one I love.

LL Cool Joe said...

I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks about people they've loved. Well still love, it never goes away. Well not for me anyway.

La Belette Rouge said...

This really touched me. Really. Little sniffles of tears came with this reading.
Thankyou, Tiger-friend.
xoxo
p.s. You and Hannah have inspired me. I have been writing poetry for the last two weeks. I fear my poetry is dreadful but that doesn't stop me from writing it( I just won't post it).

Brian Miller said...

smiles. getting my shay fix on tonight...what a tender poem...and full of yearning still...