Tuesday, 21 November 2017

F Fic, Non-fic

Poetry by Marianne Lyon

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marianne lyon poetry

Invisibles

 

It is impossible

for me

to write this poem

without thinking of Mom

how she would

walk home from

her night shift in

bloodstained nurses’ shoes

pour Kellogg’s Cornflakes

in pink plastic bowls

kiss us hard

from kitchen window

watch us walk through

back yard gate

down skinny alley

to school every day

 

It is impossible

for me

to write about the

invisibles

without thinking

of her teary eyes

sputtering to dad about

the unholy death of her friend as she

mercifully held one trembling hand

in midnight emergency room

her other palm over pulsing wound

inflicted by the insane husband

 

It is impossible

for me

to write about the invisibles

love, compassion, hope and joy

and not be ferried to her grin

when I walked on stage

to dance my first solo

when I read

“The Three Little Pigs”

all on my own

when she would reach for my young hand

firmly squeeze it and

even now I feel the thread

of her rising up into my heart

The Ecstasy and the Agony

 

Sages seem to have

answers like

yin and yang

light and dark

heaven and hell

they bid us

stand witness to

our deep fiery pain

while trusting inside

a joyful sunrise

 

wisdom schools teach

us to hold these opposites

walk with them

cuddle them like identical twins

one in each arm

allowing a piercing wail

a giggling belly yammer to compose

a discordant duet

for our compassionate ears

open hearts

 

But what of majestic ocean

gracing our shores sending

one warm wave twinkling

then another, effortlessly

magically flowing them back home

all is well, you say

but what of the same life-giving ocean when

a gull white as an angel

plunges down into seaweed

plucks a flailing fish

dinner for her family

 

Sages say ocean is bemused

has a third eye to see through

this life-giving-death-act,

only knows to obey its true nature to

crash over blond sand then wills itself

back to wholeness

the miracle, they say, is that ocean smiles

knowing it cradles more spawning fish

in its luscious garden.

 

What do you say?

 

I am the Dance

 

Sometimes I choreograph life

to sway

on plumes of breath

thready soft

rising from earth

ancient

 

Sometimes I invite my life

to jig

with animal toes

wiggle in jungle tangle

 

Sometimes I insist she tango

an epic battle

with angels

and devils

spin her whole self

between worlds

seen

unseen

 

Sometimes stubborn one chooses

her own stage

her own masquerade ball

but

when bewildered

loses her footing

partner less

I teach her to pirouette

on wind-carried music

or waltz a

a whirl that

trips then lights her joyfully

into the next

fantastic


Marianne Lyon has been a music teacher for 39 years. After teaching in Hong Kong she returned to the Napa Valley and has been published in various literary magazines and reviews. Nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2016. She is a member of the California Writers Club, Healdsburg Literary Guild. She is an Adjunct Professor at Touro University Vallejo California

 

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