#nationalpoetryday

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I don’t really get hashtags (I don’t Tweet, except during charades when I’m impersonating a bird), but I thought it looked nice, so here it is again:

#nationalpoetryday

It’s been a couple weeks since I left behind my second draft for a world of eloquent language, descriptive phrases, and rhythmic syllables; a dimension of emotional release, creative wonder, and nonsensical metaphors (can green be nightly?).

While I miss being surrounded by my characters, the break has been therapeutic. Instead of worrying about dialogue and plot holes I’m just breathing. That’s what poetry is to me. A deep breath of fresh autumn air. It calms and invigorates me, teases and comforts me, cleanses me and takes away the stresses of modern day society.

When I write poetry I have no face. I become a disembodied voice with no name, a pen moving across creamy paper without a hand to guide it. Because poetry just is. It doesn’t have to make sense. It can be meaningful. It can be pointless.

But it’s beautiful.

As National Poetry Day (with the theme of stars), I thought it would be fitting to contribute with my own poem, written entirely for this purpose and in one, short sitting. I hope you like it!

Breathing, murmuring

Silver in the blood purple glass of the ceiling

Dancing on white crests of sleeping ocean waves

Nestled in icy mountain peaks, shrouded with mists

And outshone in the reflection of snow

Gathering in rivulets of frigid earth nectar

Collecting below in moon-shafted glades

A pool of fey, shimmering serenity

Edged with shadow-grass blades

And fleeting wondrous glimpse of

Barefoot goddesses

Playing with their Mother, the Silver One

Gathering handfuls of them, like diamonds

Tossing showers of laughter and wisdom

Over each other’s ink-night hair and pale skin

Washing courage and deepness into pores

Glimmering in iridescent joy and sorrowful grief

Distance and time rubbed into immortal youth

And never-ending beauty

The stars, in the blood-purple glass sky

Watch their sisters on the earth

Mourning them, envying them

For to be alive on living soil

In moon-shafted glades and gently lapping waters

Is warmer, cool, compared to the far-year

Distance and icy starkness of the heavens

They wait to be chosen

Reflected in man’s eye as beautiful

Loved by the goddesses

Subject to a poet’s loving, yearning, grieving pen

The stars watch

Waiting

As they are watched by mortals

Who yearn to be among them.

~*~

‘The Starry Night’ by Van Gogh, 1889

Did you do anything to celebrate National Poetry Day?

WordPress is still being picky and is being difficult about links (and tags), so here are the long forms for links of interest:

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