little girl

A few things.
1) I am no longer getting new posts from my WordPress friends. Bummer. I attempted without success to contact WP. I have no idea what I did yesterday in my “reader” but now I appear to be getting some posts. So that is better.
2) I read a most amazing poem by “Laurie” yesterday. It prompted me to come home (here) and write this – I hope that I have not plagiarized Laurie! Her poem can be found here and is for me, simply brilliant. It is called Rusty Tears. You know how a “poem” just speaks to you!
3) For those who have kindly inquired about me, when I don’t write it is generally because I am ill. I try to write twice a week.

my feet
getting smaller
winding
thru
the trees
my pathway
fed with
pine needles
pebbles
dirt
and broken
sticks

all of this
and I am
still
not sure
if I am really
here

i look up
to find myself
through the
canopy
to see
my face
in
the
clouds
but i cannot
see

while looking
i hear
the call of
raven

speaking

telling me
to walk on
and on
for i am
not in the
clouds
no
i will find
myself
a ways from
here

where
else i ask
can i
be

raven
replied
hop on
my back
i shall carry
you
all the way
out to sea

there
in the seaweed
there in
the bracken
in broken shells
and bubbly
water
in a tide
pool
i shall let you
down
gently
you will see
a time
when you
were only
seven

in that tide
pool
you shall see
yourself
young
trusting
innocent
willing
to just be

you trusted me
to take
you
on many
dreamlike trips
where
innocence
was
a way of
life
and all things
gave

delight

hop on my back
now
come with
me
to a time
and place
when you were
seven
in
the tide pool
a place of
warmth
and
little things

a place
where you
still will
be

i
will hover in the
background
watching
out
for you
always

Posted a wee bit late in Poetry Pantry

Keep It Real

the smoky haze
so beautiful
to the eye
because
it hides reality

as i walked
into the five spot
everyone jivin’
swayin’
to the music
i was lost
to the rhythm
the throat of the sax
the piano banging
out the notes
of my youth
I was
reaching
for something so
elusive
i wanted
the fantasy
of being a grown up
connected to a group
in control of emotions
that had not yet
formed

i was seventeen
i was living a lie
being a grown up
drinking and smoking
loving jazz
in the village
the five spot was
thelonius monk’s place

i did an abstract of the 5-spot
all reds and purples
my college roommate
asked for it
i told her “only if i
get kicked out”
she has the painting

heard his kid play
forty years later
there was
no comparison
no fantasy chase
for me now
no fullness in the
notes

you cannot go
back
you cannot go
forward
for all you have is
now
today
so bang it out

there is
no more haze
no more smoke
just that odd
glass of scotch
or bubbly
dates with the hubby
movie night
cosy
snuggled up with a
reel
it’s good
get’s no better

©
Liz Rice-Sosne November 2012