Last night I let JulieAnn know she was tagged for Talk Thursday, just as last week Enlightened Faery had let me know I was it. I wondered, and feared a little, what JulieAnn would do. Wow, I was blown away by her post Ravings of a Mad Woman . Incredible. Now I am doubly afraid.
The need to write lyrical, metered, rhyme dwells deep inside me. I consider myself a poet. To lay down the words that make others dream, feel the wind on their face, the sea and sand beneath their feet drives me, the elements beating their tattoo in time. The simplest word or phrase will lodge itself in my brain, becoming the rhythm of my day until I write it down, let it grow, expanding into line, verse, and stanza. The meter will awaken me in the dark of night, when other mortals sleep, and hound me until I write it down.
In the tired night my prayers will be broken by a line, a set of lines, until I say my Amen and get up to write it down. Woe to me if I ignore my muse, the whispered voice in my brain, repeating over and again the words that will not let me be. Dare not roll over for slumber deep, for by morning’s tide I will have long forgotten the rhyme to be nagged by the knowledge there was once something there that longed to be and I ignored.
To lay the words that move you to tears is the center where my longing is born. To be the kind hand that pens the lines that captures your world and thoughts. The ideas and hope that makes your heart sing and believe again. That is the center of me. To bring you the wind in your hand, the thunder in your heart that matches the sound of sky and sea, that is the center of me.
The Elementals
The morning mist sets on the moors,
above the heather wet,
and holds the light close to the ground
the moist, damp air it's net.
The churning waves sent from the sea
batter the rocky beach,
the salt spray flies to meet the mist
where moors and ocean reach.
I raise my arms up to the sky
in praise, my morning rite,
drink of the day into my soul,
of salt spray, moor, and light. .
The mid day sun rides on the sky
where Gulls and Petrel soar,
fields of blue, are the air and sea,
mauve, heather on the moors.
The foam peaked waves, crash to the sand
below the granite cliffs,
where churning winds, gear up to rage,
a gale wind strong and stiff.
I raise my face up to the sun,
drink in the wind and light
its strength and peace rain over me
I breathe eternal might.
The western sun has gone away,
dusk heralds in the night,
a storm brews strong upon the sea,
waves gather strength and height.
Dark churning clouds are rumbling deep,
and flash with brilliant light.
Tempest winds howls over cliff and land
and blow with all their might.
I stand and breathe the elements,
drink in the raging sight.
it's pain and brute force bolsters me
in life's continual fight.
The morning mist lays on the greens,
a bonney day begins,
the birds are winging on the sky,
the bees are buzzing hymns.
The churning ocean will reach the cliffs
and kiss the basaltic rock.
The breeze will freshen on the bay,
and ruffle on the loch.
I stand in awe, in silent peace,
I bow my head to pray,
for the wind and rain, sun and mist,
I thank God, every day.
© 20 July 2000 Calista Cates-Stanturf
The need to write lyrical, metered, rhyme dwells deep inside me. I consider myself a poet. To lay down the words that make others dream, feel the wind on their face, the sea and sand beneath their feet drives me, the elements beating their tattoo in time. The simplest word or phrase will lodge itself in my brain, becoming the rhythm of my day until I write it down, let it grow, expanding into line, verse, and stanza. The meter will awaken me in the dark of night, when other mortals sleep, and hound me until I write it down.
In the tired night my prayers will be broken by a line, a set of lines, until I say my Amen and get up to write it down. Woe to me if I ignore my muse, the whispered voice in my brain, repeating over and again the words that will not let me be. Dare not roll over for slumber deep, for by morning’s tide I will have long forgotten the rhyme to be nagged by the knowledge there was once something there that longed to be and I ignored.
To lay the words that move you to tears is the center where my longing is born. To be the kind hand that pens the lines that captures your world and thoughts. The ideas and hope that makes your heart sing and believe again. That is the center of me. To bring you the wind in your hand, the thunder in your heart that matches the sound of sky and sea, that is the center of me.
The Elementals
The morning mist sets on the moors,
above the heather wet,
and holds the light close to the ground
the moist, damp air it's net.
The churning waves sent from the sea
batter the rocky beach,
the salt spray flies to meet the mist
where moors and ocean reach.
I raise my arms up to the sky
in praise, my morning rite,
drink of the day into my soul,
of salt spray, moor, and light. .
The mid day sun rides on the sky
where Gulls and Petrel soar,
fields of blue, are the air and sea,
mauve, heather on the moors.
The foam peaked waves, crash to the sand
below the granite cliffs,
where churning winds, gear up to rage,
a gale wind strong and stiff.
I raise my face up to the sun,
drink in the wind and light
its strength and peace rain over me
I breathe eternal might.
The western sun has gone away,
dusk heralds in the night,
a storm brews strong upon the sea,
waves gather strength and height.
Dark churning clouds are rumbling deep,
and flash with brilliant light.
Tempest winds howls over cliff and land
and blow with all their might.
I stand and breathe the elements,
drink in the raging sight.
it's pain and brute force bolsters me
in life's continual fight.
The morning mist lays on the greens,
a bonney day begins,
the birds are winging on the sky,
the bees are buzzing hymns.
The churning ocean will reach the cliffs
and kiss the basaltic rock.
The breeze will freshen on the bay,
and ruffle on the loch.
I stand in awe, in silent peace,
I bow my head to pray,
for the wind and rain, sun and mist,
I thank God, every day.
© 20 July 2000 Calista Cates-Stanturf
Posts
1 comments:
Beautiful and amazing, my friend.
Post a Comment