Tuesday, December 10, 2024

Singing On The Porch

Singing On The Porch
© Surazeus
2024 12 10

Only the sun comes to listen at dawn, 
gleaming at me on porch of the old house, 
where I like to stand in cool drifting mist 
and sing about the beauty of this world 
written in the faces of people I know 
who never hear me sing about their light. 

People like to comfort their broken hearts 
by quoting that light gets in through the cracks, 
and so divine beauty fills up our world, 
yet I want to quibble with this nonsense, 
for all I hear when rain patters the roof 
is tears of souls who cannot mend themselves. 

Young woman who is mother to the lost 
bakes apple pies for wanderers passing by, 
who sit a while on porch of our old house 
and listen to me sing about the light, 
then wave their hands as they walk down the road 
to become ghosts who haunt long afternoons. 

Love is no abstraction of the wild bird 
that flutters wings with arrogant disdain 
at any who attempts to cage their flight, 
so I explore the world beneath the grass 
to hear the song of water in the soil 
which I sing again alone on the porch. 

The porch of this old house is my world stage 
for though I travel all around the world, 
singing on thousands of stages at night 
to ghostly faces half lit by brave stars, 
I remain alone on porch of my house 
with only birds and turtles hearing me. 

My mother tells me with bright cheerful voice 
light of the universe shines through my heart 
when I sing brightly to the lightless world, 
but I feel empty as the hungry sea 
so I eat apple pie on empty porch 
while birds sing to me about secret love. 

Wild boy who hides inside the willow tree 
runs away when I call his secret name, 
and though I walk all over our small town 
I never see him anywhere again, 
so I map the world where he might now be, 
my honey bee too shy to marry me. 

Returning to the porch of my old house, 
after four decades traveling the world, 
I stand alone in late afternoon light 
and sing till the young boy appears again, 
but he grows old when I reach out my hand 
to hold his cute doll in my trembling heart. 


1 comment:

  1. Orpheus strums lyre while Nikki Giovanni recites poems in the university auditorium where ghosts of the dead appear on rain-wet wings.

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