For our April freebie, I was in a poetry mood again. Here are more poems! Hope you enjoy! ~Erin
Before Poetry
We are made of star-stuff, Carl Sagan said
But before poetry I was not a star
Empty, useless, aimless
stitched together crooked
cobbled together with dust and bone
and a muttered prayer over me
I was not a vibrating pulsating thing
my heart lay dead
gray and rotted
my silver strands of meaning severed
parting gifts
no light of creation
cradled within
But now
Poetry is lifeblood, red-hot and flowing through my veins
fire and tears, leaving echoes where they touched,
It is the burning energy and the searing of passion,
shining with silver gossamer light
It is the infinitesimal spark of creation,
lighting me up like a spirit in the darkness
filling me with purpose and meaning
stitching me back together
to myself
Watch as my heart beats again, strong and sure
alive again
Can you see it?
It is me
Star stuff.
Secrets
You tuck a strand of hair behind my ear
and your eyes meet mine
in them I see a perfect mirror image of myself
On your bed, caught in repose, after
sweet communion.
When I prayed the tide of years wouldn’t
drown us
and our love was as vast as the ocean
I pulled the Lenormand Fish card today
and it speaks of deep, deep connections
Looking into your eyes, I can believe that
our souls have spent lifetimes intertwined
We start a slow back-and-forth movement of
swings, our hands joined, our feet drawing
invisible pictures in the grass.
I want to trace your fate line
and see if it matches mine—
“We’ve much too old for this,” you say, but you
keep swinging, because you know it makes me happy.
“I know,” I reply. “But don’t you feel it? Your worries
just melting away?” I ask. “This total freedom?”
You don’t speak. But your languid, soft-focus
look tells me your answer.
Raindrops splatter on our skin and
onto the swing set, little splashes and plops
cold and wet, and I think of the Fish card
I wonder if we were ever merpeople
in some kind of merkingdom deep underwater
And maybe I’d take you to where I hid all my treasures
and I’d pull out my favorite, something of yours
I’d held on to for centuries.
Maybe a ring, or necklace, or an old shoe.
Mundane to you, but infinitely precious to me.
Love in an odd shape.
Love I could hold in my hands.
It’s downpouring now, and the sky spills our secrets, one by one
everything we tried to conceal, everything we couldn’t reveal
laid out like my treasures
stark against the gray sky
lit up by lightning strikes.
You kiss me,
a fragile, light, barely-there touching of lips.
I lean into you, my heart pounding as rain drenches us.
I’m blind now, but I can see you with such clarity.
You’ve been in my dreams — and in my heart —
for lifetimes.
We stay there, just enjoying each other’s touch.
It doesn’t need to burn with the fire of passion
or feel crazed with longing or need.
It simply needs to say I love you.
The only secret that’s worth telling.
Belonging
To belong: be a member or part of
There is not enough of me
to hold together
not enough to fill
the empty cups
you left behind
the 8 of Cups, the
card of Walking Away
or Walking Toward
Have you returned to me, my love?
I lost myself in you
Pieces of me
are now pieces of you
a coming together —
stars are reborn,
we’re glowing with
angelic, perfect light
we’re fusing together —
a reckoning, a reclaiming
I find myself again
at your center
inside your soul —
belonging.
Starlight fills us
until we can’t hold it anymore
and it spills outward
in glittering waves as we rediscover
each other again
and again
Shining bright,
the glistening stars in your eyes
tell me
I am home
at last.