Depending on when you met me – you might have found me:
lost inside the moment of practicing my saxophone, lonely but not alone
writing little poems in a yellow notebook I kept tucked out of sight
teaching myself guitar, searching for a spark, somewhere inside the dark
turning poems into songs, singing words, ever so softly, even I could barely hear
for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/depending-on-when-you-met-me/
You might have liked me to be a child of sticks, of snare shots, sizzle, and coordinated drum kicks
Instead, you had me, a curious kid with fingers on the keys, a tongue on mouthpiece and reed
We all find our way in
for #OpenWrite
My fingers, caked in mud, removing Winter's weeds as I ponder a patch of lilies
A patch near driveway black, I too often forget where they are; my fingers, caked in mud
until the days I'm reminded of the remains of Winter's coat, as I ponder a patch of lilies
and notice among the dead, the determined vines pricker my fingers, caked in mud
But nothing short of blood stops my in my task as I ponder a patch of lilies
and remember last year's grace in blooms of tiger yellow; my fingers, caked in mud, as I ponder a patch of lilies
for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/villanelle-on-the-vine/
I am from whole notes, a sound languishing over time, melody on the prowl for rhyme
I am from half-notes, broken apart like seeds, by a need to always quicken the pace
I am from quarter notes, articulation dots scratched along the top, reminding me to pause, breathe, stop
I am from eighth notes, a hand over your shoulders, a curved slur blurring us together in a riff
I am from sixteenth notes, in rapid succession; I disappear into the air before you have the chance to hear me
for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/where-im-from-again/
A hammer to the head — it's not what you think — but even so, years after, I thought about it, often, late at night, remembering the fall, the cry, the call, as I lay awake in bed
On paper, at least, a travel itinerary's flawlessly built on possibilities: a leap in imagination of side alleyways, riverside wanderings, museum galleries, shops and eateries, and a language to wrestle your tongue into submission
for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/oh-the-places-youll-go/
Imagine a world of cloud rolling above the hills, alone, but beyond a crowd of daytime daffodils, with petals reaching towards trees, both, swaying to the breeze
a “borrowed rhyme” poem for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/borrowed-rhymes/ words borrowed from I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud by William Wordsworth https://discoverpoetry.com/poems/william-wordsworth/i-wandered-lonely-as-a-cloud/
A moment of breathing, in the woods
Stop – note the uncurling green branch buds;
this small grove of elm trees awakens
for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/when-spring-speaks-in-tricubes/
I am wander a page spelunker wrapping fingers around verse immersed inside some other poet's writing finding something forgotten or missed a glance a sound a thought a kiss
for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/the-verse-collector/
You see the whole of things, Charles Wallace, while we capture only the softest of edges
It's almost as if you're invisibly threaded in connection to your sister, her thoughts in the night like starlight,
and yet, you fall silent near strangers, observant as always, always noticing the slightest twitches in the fabric of time
You might do well to learn to wear humility as a blanket, for the universe depends upon you
a poem inspired by A Wrinkle In Time
for #OpenWrite