in the evening,
the crickets are singing again.
august makes violins of their tiny legs.
we throw open the windows at night
to hear the symphony.
there’s a sweetness on the air–
a coolness too,
that when inhaled,
fills the body
with all the promise of autumn.
Those few lines of poetry popped into my head the other night as I was laying down to sleep. I jotted them down in my phone, as not to forget them. I don’t write poetry very often anymore, which is a strange thing, considering that it used to be my life. I graduated college with a degree in English with a creative writing focus.
I used to live and breathe poetry, constantly reading & writing. I even had a few things published. I thought that I would be a poet when I grew up. But life had other plans for me, at least temporarily. Still, there are times when poetry floats up inside of me & aches to find its way out. The change of season is often one of those times.
These photographs are some snaps of our kitchen at the moment. I had just finished doing dishes. Matthew hung cayenne peppers over the sink to dry. There are wildflowers in the window sill, a sure sign of late summer if ever there were one.
I am equal parts devastated and thrilled that autumn is nearly upon us, but I don’t have the time or the energy to get into that now. Until next time. xo
Craving more poetry? Click here to have a read through some of my favorite poems.
This month’s prompt word is celebrate. Aside from the fact that I’ve been physically unable to spend time on my computer, it’s been difficult to even brainstorm for this prompt. I’ve been suffering and when you’re suffering, it’s hard to think about celebrating.
Still, this set of photographs kept coming into my mind. I took them on our last day of vacation. I cannot help but to smile when I look at them. They remind that even when life is very difficult, there is still reason to celebrate & be grateful.
I wanted to put some words with these images, but writing is not my strong point at the moment. So here is one of my favourite poems which happens to be very apropos to the celebrate theme.
won’t you celebrate with me
by Lucille Clifton
won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.
Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries.
You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise I rise I rise.
Words come from Maya Angelou’s poem, Still I Rise.
Photographs come from me.
Poetry Friday is a feature that I run once in awhile. A long time ago — before I was a mother, before I was a wife — I was a poet. Poetry was the thing that got me through many of my darkest hours. Once in awhile I like to share poems here, but only the poems that make my heart beat so hard that it feels like it will shatter out of my ribcage. Enjoy… if you’re into that sort of thing.
For Women Who Are Difficult to Love by Warsan Shire
you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.