Save for her voice
from upstairs
drifting loose
I am in the quiet
alone with my thoughts
this notebook
taking stock
pulling strands
the walls around,
I feel them knowing,
understanding better than me
why I came here
it is as if they can see the future
and won’t tell me if it is good
or if it is bad.
The mended memories of home
cloudy today again
the open fields, closed
the empty rose beds
my grandfather dead this long time
his grave, my blood, unvisited
until now
in my memory that often
forgets it’s place
I put my pen down
I can no longer hear her voice
Beautiful melancholy. Your words lately have resonated with my mood. Thank you for sharing your poems.
ReplyDeleteShona,
ReplyDeleteBeautiful, beautiful. In these posts and poems, an authentic voice is coming through. You finger is on the pulse-- bravo!
Love it.
ReplyDeleteShona, thanks so much for putting together the Blogger Meetup. I had a great time.
a mother and some time alone to be the artist, my thoughts are with you, thanks for sharing, reminds me to spend some time to be.... today
ReplyDeletelovely
ReplyDeletehello, i just wanted to let you know im a huge fan of the classic, the vintage... and this blog has made me feel very.. i dont know... like .. at home..
ReplyDeletethank you
donna
ah, beautiful.
ReplyDeletexoxoox
your poetry gets better and better...it's always a treat to read. this one is beautiful shona!
ReplyDelete