My dear friends, I have today for your delectation something rather special. It struck me how many wonderful, famous and celebrated poets are women compared to say artists in the world of painting.
This is something I’ve also noticed within our own circle, and so I feel both honoured & privileged to have been given permission by the following poets to recite their work. Below is just a small sample of the amazing art to be found and enjoyed.
If you’ve a favourite piece you’d like read I’m always looking to expand my ‘Alchemists of word’ section. Don’t be shy or humble for I’m not a critic or academic, just someone who loves the written word.
VIKTORIA AT MY BLEEDING WORDS
Ashes Ashes – by Viktoria
The dimming cinders of my spirit
Lay glowing feebly in the night
The smoke escaped my every merit
The arsonist: life’s pain and plight
My vessel’s blood rolled with a smolder
My passioned breath – a fev’rish dream
Here I have died, my ash grows colder
The air still vibrates with my scream.
And yet a tale, I dare remember
Intangible, deep as the skies
That I exist still in these embers
And that a phoenix I shall rise.
I’ll rise, and soar above my ashes
The pain I felt – a memory
The blaze, my death, might come in flashes
But stay a dying reverie.
I’ll rise, but I am dust in limbo
The fire scents my senses stir
I’ll wait to cool, then from this pyre
I’ll rise. And be the firebird.
MIRIAM AT MY WINDOW
Deny the Heart – by Miriam
Friendship, love, care
are they but one?
Philia, Agape, Eros
blending to a singular Self, one without the other
the circle is broken;
A sickle moon.
Love born by the spirit,
Sensuality Kindness, aren’t they part,
of being complete?
How can we then deny?
Close the heart in a safety box?
so as not to get hurt,
kill what we are
what we can be; Fearing Life itself.
The little bird in your hand
rescued but stunned,
tender is our love, as is holding a child,
so trusting and soft;
Who with a smile wins our hearts,
as a loved ones kiss on your neck
whilst you pen your lines.
VANESSA AT SAY NO TO CLOWNS
Unseasoning the season – Vanessa
The immutable reality of change
the longing to keep “before” in range,
it’s cratered the cortex of my being
and reverse refracted all my seeing,
my inner core blinded by the white ,
lasering the absence on my sight,
the snow in sympathetic silence
weakening the contrast in my blindness,
reaching for the knowing of the past
the sewing pain of beauty will not last,
or the hope is, it will, in fact, diminish
and these lines, for now, remain unfinished…
WITH by VANESSA FLOWER. (music chosen by Vanessa).
I catch the evening as it floats in,
on peppered bird song
and the undulating breeze, salted-
these tiny sepulchres
vibrating with lament,
precious, sacrosanct lyrics of being
in creation’s sighs
LYNN AT L BURTON WRITES
For a giggle I sent our Colleen, Lynn my attempt at a ‘Southern drawl’, tongue in cheek and great fun, y’all. How about a tyke accent Lynn ? heehee.
Three Times – by Lynn
echoes a salt shaker tap
across chequered tiles,
nudges the writer and jazz musician
tucked in a window booth.
trail back on sunbeams and soda straws.
– three straws lined up in a straight row –
I imagine them writing verse,
putting to music my companion’s eccentricities,
voicing a slow tune
as she folds and unfolds paper napkins,
announces that the menu is backwards
and everyone needs a friend like Betty.
Betty isn’t her name. Or mine. She replaces the salt.