BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS – PROMPT #58
All poets please be sure to read the announcements if you haven’t already. I will update the process of the book during the week. Watch for that as well.
Air fills our lungs with the breathings of life; our collective muse with the bloomings of our souls. It appears we’ve all given birth to amazing poems “in the air.” It stands to reason. Air is life sustaining as is all your poetic prowess! And as that beauty blooms, we offer:
MARIE ELENA’S CHOICE
Another Saturday morning spent in wonder, soaking in the words of the poets who grace our site. This week, I’d like to call attention to a different (new) voice among us. Susan L. Chast’s superb Unfinished Melody is written in what she refers to as “unusual classicism for me.” It may be unusual for Susan, but it flows as liquid from her pen. I’ll not point out lines that particularly strike me, as this is a work in progress and, much like prayer, will speak to each one differently. Susan, welcome to Poetic Bloomings.
UNFINISHED MELODY by Susan L. Chast
Polyhymnia* remains quiet when the girl calls upon her
“Muse of song, come to me, or if you will not,
then Calliope* come, then Erato* or even Euterpe*, come!
Quiet muse, you belie your name! Speak through me now
as I gaze at this paper, touch the cold brass of this horn.
Come through me now because I call you to lift my song
over the humdrum of the day to day and up to the ears of God.”
The girl prays on her knees and in her bed
At her desk and in front of the computer
At the piano and over paper, pen and ink.
She prays in silence, listening to and waiting for
voices she has come to know in her passions.
And the muses, do they even exist? Has she imagined them?
The girl looks past the sky and lifts her questions to God.
“Your servants need you, and don’t you need them?
Waiting upon you, they are. With them serving, you exist.
Even the wind remains invisible to all
Without the things it moves—the branches, the hair,
The papers down the hill—these attest to the wind.
Let me praise you that you may live and breathe
Through me that sings your presence into the world.”
Listen, she is calling: the girl against the wilderness,
Her low moan echoes through the hills of the city, through the strings
of the telephone harps and electric conduits, through
the roses painted on the walls. Listen, they answer:
Muses of the streets and brick fronts and concrete walkways.
Smooth vehicles moving on rubber and horns, voices interweaving
From the cells in the hands and throats of the passersby.
WALT’S LOFTY CLOUD:
That flight I imagined remains a dream unfulfilled since flying and I are mutually exclusive. I do not travel flight well. The Wright Brothers may have had it right, but I remain a day late and a dollar short. That is why I was drawn to this piece by Nancy Posey. Many wonders seem to escape our eyes. Our vigilance sometimes takes a flier. (It’s in the air!)
MISSING THE WONDERS (by Nancy Posey)
While I slept, meteors zipped across the sky
like fireworks set by dozens of small boys,
and only later did I learn that I’d missed
the transit of Venus, not to recur again
for at least a century. I set the clock
and rise the find that clouds obscure
the lunar eclipse. The giant moon slid
up the horizon without my witness.
I wish for wonders in the heavens,
one-in-a-lifetime alignment, mystery
or portent, science or mysticism,
but my timing’s always off. Star shine
and shadow, the heaven’s showing off
and I’m not there for the punch line.
Had I been a wise man or shepherd,
I might have heard too late, arrived
in Bethlehem only to learn the babe
has fled to Egypt and to wonder
at the wailing
in the streets of Judea.