you are a dark delight, a subtle surprise
hidden in the labyrinths of soulful thoughts
where winds the pensive path less traveled
lying wait in secret places to touch my soul
yours is a voice well attuned to expressions
of devotion, your heart cannot sing halfway
is there a hint of drawl on the edge of words
dropped g’s, verbal trails like Spanish moss?
who’s your daddy, your mama, grandparents?
did ancestors work cotton fields along side mine?
do you remember…. or did they tell you about
catching a jar full of lightning bugs after twilight
going fishing with a long cane pole and a string
voices of tree frogs and crickets’ summer song
a breath of cool breeze when the storm passes
stars near enough to touch on Southern nights?
have you tasted grits and sipped blackberry wine?
was faith found in a lively, little country church
where nearby, those of your blood rest in peace
ashes waiting for the celestial trumpet to sound?
you know the meaning of being a dreamer
in love with love and addicted to sugary words
you are a glass of iced lemonade sour-sweet
refreshing thirsty heart amid parched seasons
where expressions of love languish and die in
untended gardens on withered vines of solitude
so speak on, whisper in the secret sacred night
quicken love with each warm breath of your soul
WE ALL HAVE THEM...THE LITTLE PLACES THAT BELONG JUST TO...GOD, US AND TIME. BUT...EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE, THROUGH OUR WRITINGS, ONE MIGHT CATCH A 'GLIMPSE' OF THE DEPTHS...OF WHO WE REALLY ARE. A FANTASTIC WORK THAT PULLS THE READER OUT...OF THEIR SECRET PLACES. SO VERY WELL DONE AND THANK YOU FOR SHARING. LOVE, BLESSINGS & FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
Reviewed by D. Vegas (Reader)
Reviewed on August 12, 2011
Belle, Memories of summers' past. Lemonade and fishing, lightening
bugs, dreamer, in love with love---I'm guessing you are writing about
your past...excellent!
Always,
Deborah
Your talent to reach into places tucked away deep in distant corners of the mind is awesome. Images from memories lost re-appear crystal clear at the caress of your words. Thank you for creating and sharing, aware poetess.
Belle, your resourcefulness reaches out into uncharted waters with regularity and an eye for sharing emotions esoteric or those widely acclaimed. Diversity be your name and penning spirit my dear friend. This work of yours. I do know where to begin. I am nestled with its lines like a babe in mother's cradling arms. "Ashes awaiting for celestial trumpet to call", who can be unmoved? You have moved my soul with passion. Let there always be more Belle. I bid you love and peace. Jon Michael
I think it's because the summers are so long in the South that great writers are born there. There is much more languid time in the heat when the parents are sleeping to go off into the country and find those places that are solitary special to children. When we grow up and those languid summer days come again, we take out the pen and write.
This one sure brings back some memories, Belle. Sunday school, sling shots & fishin holes with sticks for poles. We played a game called "Mud Gutter" in the summer and another called "Fox & Geese" in the winter.
Different memories from yours, but still very much the same.
From First Love to its destructive end and on to new beginnings, Mary Angela Nangini's poems explore the birth and death of a relationship. The powerful poems are presented in two parts with an introduction to her next book My Ontario Beautiful. (Th
This collection of poetry addresses the nature of time, reflections on the natural world, the difficulty of loss,
contemporary social issues and gratitude for life.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
bugs, dreamer, in love with love---I'm guessing you are writing about
your past...excellent!
Always,
Deborah
Be always safe,
Karen
This is just gorgeous...'verbal trails like
Spanish moss?' the whole poem is that, and more.
Yes!
John
fee
Ron
of the soul stored in one's heart!
Memories that You articulate so Grand!!
In admiration of ~La Belle Rouge!!!
Lady Vivian
Different memories from yours, but still very much the same.
Nicely done, thanks Dick