Tuesday, 16 October 2018

F Fic, Non-fic

Marianne Lyon Poetry

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marianne poetry april 18

Blowing a Kiss

 

`          Today, like every other day, I wake up empty

            and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study

            and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument. *

 

Doing has become mundane

            snakes through me.

                        Sometimes great sadness visits

                                    diminishes my sense of being alive.

 

This doing, this wandering

            from one door to another

                                    this wanting for each one to swing open

                                                offering miracles I secretly sense exist

What is this hidden sense?

            Is it like too-weary to forge a morning walk

                        but stubborn legs have a notion to

                                    dance me down a path

 

where clouds part, warm sunbeams spill onto bare shoulders,

            unfeeling heart opens, knees genuflect on soft earth?

                        What is this throbbing sense?

                                    Is it like when my nose smells lilac

 

and I am in Grams garden?

            Wiggling toes caress fresh mowed grass.

                        I sing with her harmonica tune

                                    and suddenly my memory finds itself in familiar room

 

high up is her dusty faithful instrument.

            There is no locked cabinet.

                        It is just there for the reaching.

                                    I spread my small fingers,

 

ask her if I can play a tune.

            To be that child again, to have blowing air carry

                        my mundane doing away.

                                    I begin to inhale then exhale the sounds alive.

 

My being explodes like a flash flood rushing down

            a canyon of joy.

 

            Let the beauty I love be what I do.

            There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground. * Rumi

 

 

 

Full

Today, when I happened on this place

saturated with joy, my heart opened

and I remember only a few

times in my life feeling my cup filling

 

One time I heard a symphony

pulled out of a swirling breeze

poppies gold and lupines blue

in spreads and comforters.

 

Another miracle day

revealed an ancient oak

alone in nearby woods

silent in golden shimmer of afternoon

 

Today my heart opens again

sheds a hardened husk I sometimes wear

and as I walk home

joy becomes the rhythm of my stepping

 

Along a white picket fence

I carry back the vision

of a patch of soft burning nasturtiums

clustered like clannish little families

 

You understand? We are not that different.

I bid you open your door, take a walk

And happen upon your own places

places that fill you up.

 


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. She has spent time teaching in Nicaragua. 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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