These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.
7 March 2008
What Would Love?
what do the stones and the trees want to tell me,
what do the swirls and tangles of the river's turning tide say?
And the birds, heard though not seen, chirping faintly,
what are their messages? They sound busy.
It's the end of the day. The lengthening light grows pale.
A solitary fish skims the surface three times in a row,
it looks joyful. I sit on the steps overlooking the water,
and rock my hips lightly back and forward, my legs
in their pants and boots splayed comfortably, feet flat.
At home the men, my husband and son,
can talk or think or seethe or feel aggrieved. I don't need
to know what they are doing. I ask myself, 'What
would Love do now?' Love, I believe, might watch the river,
might listen to the breeze and birds and sighing water,
Might rock a child to comfort her, laugh at a jumping fish,
and forget the smile on his face when he saw her cry,
the way he smiled right at her, not hiding it. Love
might gaze at this pelican gliding past on the current,
elegant as a swan, effortless, unhurried.
Love might look at crab holes in the sand
and pools of caught water about to be filled and covered
as the tide comes right back in, and the breeze picks up
and tells me it's time to think of my own return home,
with the air becoming colder and darkness drawing down.
Linking to the Tuesday Platform for 10 May 2016 at 'imaginary garden with real toads'