Sunday, May 24, 2015

The Lotus Song



It is late Sunday,
A cool breeze reaches to me,
Heavy-breathed and evading
The fading halo of sun
Outside my windowed doors,
Tickles my toes, ruffling
The raveled, fickle edges
Of my ‘writer’s recliner.’

I am alone, holy silence,
My corner livingroom
A one-woman séance
I bend into, sway of my
Thirty-something hips
As I light three candles.
Three blind moons bloom,
A bright petal to my waking muse.

Night feels like a wet beach towel
Across the back patio, umbrella swimming
The atmosphere like a ghost coming home,
My house smelling of coffee,
Microwave-roasted, and still sublime.
The cinnamon and brown-sugar of a
Sweet roll, my gift offering
To the God of my empty pages.

I think of Buddha and the
Cherokee-Irish of my late grandmothers,
Then press my being into the pen,
My notebook a square-backed cupola,
My trip across the inkwell sky,
Each written line a footpath between the stars,
Jupiter swaying across the horizon
Like an old-fashioned tire swing.


Posted and Shared for the lovely community at Poets United.  

19 comments:

  1. I love:

    "my gift offering
    To the God of my empty pages."

    ReplyDelete
  2. I love the thought of creating poetry this way.... To have those empty pages and just create in that recliner.. I usually sit tapping my keyboard wherever I can.. The image of those candles sounds like the best of ideas.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Loved the idea behind the poem :) these lines are my absolute favorite:

    It is late Sunday,
    A cool breeze reaches to me,
    Heavy-breathed and evading
    The fading halo of sun
    Outside my windowed doors,

    Beautifully executed :)
    xoxo

    ReplyDelete
  4. so many lines to love her....'My trip across the inkwell sky,' what a sublime trip through this poem!

    ReplyDelete
  5. I officially have a girl-crush on you.

    Your ear for rhyme/sound is sublime. I adore your work. And you. And the way you spend a Sunday.

    These are my favorite sections:

    "A cool breeze reaches to me,
    Heavy-breathed and evading
    The fading"

    "The raveled, fickle edges
    Of my ‘writer’s recliner.’"

    "A one-woman séance
    I bend into, sway of my
    Thirty-something hips"

    "press my being into the pen" ... I love that you make writing sound erotic, because it really is.

    "Each written line a footpath between the stars,
    Jupiter swaying across the horizon
    Like an old-fashioned tire swing."

    ReplyDelete
  6. You have set a wonderful scene here. I like all of the sights and sounds you described. A 'one woman seance' sounds like a very good thing! We all need to transport ourselves at one time or another....and I love, love, love the idea of pressing one's being into a pen!

    ReplyDelete
  7. I love "Three blind moons bloom, A bright petal to my waking muse." I liked having seen the photo of your writer's corner, so I can picture you in it. Your four closing lines are brilliant! A glorious poem!! Makes me happy to read it.

    ReplyDelete
  8. I like how you created a scene for the art of writing. I do not need much to write poetry since I mostly use a computer but I like a good pen and a nice notebook when I work on paper.

    ReplyDelete
  9. You have created a great place to write. I often light candles it seems to be meditative and helps to hear the muse. I really enjoyed the following part as I wonder what that one- woman would conjure up.

    I am alone, holy silence,
    My corner livingroom
    A one-woman séance

    ReplyDelete
  10. Some very intense images there!

    ReplyDelete
  11. The peace and calm surroundings a definite way for good poetry:)

    ReplyDelete
  12. 'to the god of my empty pages', '...one woman seance'
    this moment of solitude in silence with your muse is well captured in this.

    gracias for sharing such loveliness

    ReplyDelete
  13. What a glorious read this is, so earthy in its descriptions. I didn't want it to end.

    ReplyDelete
  14. This sounds like a very good Sunday..beautiful poem

    ReplyDelete
  15. Like the reflection on your day, the ritual of anticipating writing, a meeting with muse...'Night feels like a wet beach towel' ~ love this line. ~ Feel as I was visiting you...thanks for coffee :)

    ReplyDelete
  16. this beautiful poem has a meditative tone just needed for inspiration..."Then press my being into the pen,"...my favorite line...

    ReplyDelete

Thank you for taking the time to comment, it is so appreciated. Your thoughts and critiques are always welcome! I will be by to visit your blog soon!