Holy Wild, Muse in Brief, Poetry & Music

Dear Editor: A Poem in Four Tweets

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Dear Editor,

Are you okay?
I only ask because
your selections of late
have gone rather grim.
Not an ode to joy
among them,
not one kiss.

Even the poets
have given up
on love songs,
turned instead
to irony, regret,
every bright color
a glossy veil,
an Us Magazine
of sorrows.

Of course
we all die
eventually.
But are you
doing okay
in the meantime?
This morning, my cat
woke himself up snoring,
is all I’m saying.

I wanted you
to know
it’s okay
to love something
unironically,
something small
& furry
& full of himself,
and that
I love you
this way,
too.


This poem first appeared on Twitter. Follow @alileighlilly for more!

Current Events, Holy Wild, peace, Poetry & Music

#WritersResist: Bring the Fire Down

Remember To Look Up

Bring the Fire Down

Move through the hills unrolling
dense and shifting green below the night,
touch earth — between justice
and mercy, between nakedness and warfare,
between all that you would not do
and all you have done, unknowing —
move through the water to the streambed,
move through the mountains to the heat,
move through the empty sky, crying.
To touch the slick, smooth rocks wet
with life and blood and water;
to walk the land; to kiss the deep
echoing heart of the offering well.
Move your compassion. Move your peace.
Move slow and solemn in darkness
and do not be afraid, though their power
burns to brightness, busy, churning
life upon life, grinding colors from their bones
to paint their eyes — move, you beauty,
move, you simple world. Reach up
with your remembering. Reach up with your
longing. Reach up with your being
and your making and your singing
strength into the storm; reach up with all
the detail of the in­between, the tragic
and the torn; reach up to touch the sacred
flame exalting in the midnight earth,
reach up to touch the sun as she is rising;
reach up to show your hands are empty;
reach up to leap your dance on holy ground,
the hills unrolling, the whole earth breathing
— reach up your love, and bring the fire down.


This post is part of #WritersResist. Thank you to Melanie, for spreading the word.
Photo Credit: “Remember to Look Up,” by Cat Burton (CC) [source]

Photograph by Matt Lusk Photography
Holy Wild, Poetry & Music

The Wrong Kind of Poem

Today is the five year anniversary of my first date with Jeff, and the two-and-a-half year anniversary of our wedding. (Which means that, from this day forward, we’ll have been married longer than we dated. Weird!) Recently I was looking back through old journal entries, when I found this poem that I wrote back in March 2010, one year after we’d met. As the French say, Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose… Happy anniversary, love!

Photograph by Matt Lusk Photography

The Wrong Kind of Poem

I am looking for poems
about love
in the vast collections and anthologies
I used to read.
I remember so many
of them bursting with it, that something which was
almost like suicide in its sublimity
and sadness and inescapable
beauty. Sometimes I would cry
or gasp like a fish swallowing nothing
but longing, arching my shimmering, singular existence
against the hard new ground of my life.

I was young, and death
made my young body lovely, and unforgiving.

Now I finger the dog-earred pages, the bent old bookmarks.
They are all, every one of them, elegies
written by old men
overly concerned with their own lingering doubts
about who they might have been instead.
I know, I have been stupid.
I should have been reading the Romantics, the shamelessly
optimistic, the ones lost to themselves
in fields of daffodils and the sound of bells
who never stopped
to consider what it all was for, but knew
anyway, and with certainty.

Now I do not know
how to tell you properly what your love has done for me.

When I listen, there is only
the sound of our breathing together, softly
and without any pain
that would distract us from the gentle urgency
of being alive.


Photo Credit: Matt Lusk Photography