ManicDDaily

So, says the Universe

You think I do not love you because
people die;
because you lose your sight, because
leaders lie;
because your child may be harmed.

How could a universe that loved you
let your child be harmed?

You think if the universe loved you,
your life would be charmed.

I send you signs–all the time I send you signs.
In the moss that grows
beneath your toes, every thread crowned;
in the moss crowned with stars
beneath your toes.

In the stars that moth your nights;
In your breath, in light,
in what grows from death, from blight.

In what’s born
from what never really died;
in all that stands and sits and lies.

I roar that love
in strong winds,
murmur it in all manner
of susurrus,
holding you in my non-arms.

What you look at, you’ll find charmed.
Even when you cannot see,
oh my dear one. 

*******************

Poem for April and Fireblossom’s Friday on Real Toads.  The prompt to write about love from the perspective who loves someone who does not know about it.  (The poem is still a draft, and I have edited it since posting.) 

Finally coming up for air on my end and hope to return comments. 

The pic is mine from my book, Good Light Room, available on Amazon. 

After Dickinson (In Modern Times)

Because I would not stop for Life,
he did not stop for me—
Life not really a creature
of posed civility—

As I drove and drove myself
Life hopped on for the ride—
Though he’d himself no need for haste
He let me indecide—

We passed by schools, their playgrounds bare—
youth stop-starting ahead,
each of us scurrying plural 
to find our own instead. 

I didn’t see my horses’ heads
eyes round with darkling strain—
I did not marvel at the gleam
of steaming car or train.

I did not really see at all—
oh yes, there was my screen,
someone was doing something there
someone else too, it seemed—

Missing much before me like—
the cornice in the ground
that grave site sometime swelling—
that loss most surely found—

Till then, it isn’t centuries
it might feel not a year—
yet still I hunt some distant there—
although Life sits just here.

*****************
Drafty poem for April after Emily Dickinson, for Marian’s prompt on Real Toads about etiquette. The Dickinson poem that inspired it follows vaguely can be found here.  Drawing is mine (as are all on this blog unless otherwise identified.)  All rights reserved.

I’m not really satisfied with this one, but I am already a day late and need to leave for work!  Sorry I have been slow to comment.  It seems very hard for me to do the blogger/wordpress interface and a lot of the comments I did yesterday seem lost in some nether space.  Agh.