imposter syndrome

i am going bananas

over my empty bag

i take out my fishing rod & reel

and cast the line over the lake 

it is summer & sun

has blued & sparkled the shore

stones, sands, pebbles, low tide

i take it

crackles, bouts of silence, birdsongs, sweat

running down my back

a tremor pulses

and i reel in the line to look at my catch

is it lost door key? 

is it freshwater salmon?

or maybe a lost train ticket?

nope

it is the shape of 

a woman's torso

robust, unpretentious, glorious

the randomness is serendipity

the nothingness is everything

and this sits right with me:  

lens of the uncertainty of the poet

                       The Uncertainty of the Poet

                                                   Giorgio de Chirico

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Thank you for your comments and visits.

Thank you, Sarah Connor

 

your muse has black wings but

your words, breeze-light as rain 

falling on heads, pink-pleated & flower-crowned 

may your hours be filled with white

crisp pages & pen, smell of lavender & lemon

tea rising from the warm pot, taste of 

freshly buttered bread, seranade of

birdsongs from robins, calls of owls,  

laughter of children, chicory flowers,

sights of life unfolding

and vibrant river moving, you 

are lifted

out of the silence of your space, out of

the skein of your clothes

the limbs of your books

the roots of your apple trees

(sorry, but the mail bag is full)

you are one with the rooks

rolling bowling calling squalling roiling boiling swirling whirling*

black wings glinting & stretching 

& flying into starlit sky

I do not know the notes of your songs

nor do I know where you are heading to

but the windows are open

and i only know this:

thank you 

for the gifts of wings & words

~~~

Inspired by her lines in Always Fire:

From ‘No mail – no post’:

“No words.

No rhymes, no poeming tonight,

just this blank space,

this white page,

stretching endlessly”

and

“Find me a space here,

tucked into the silence.”

‘This Doesn’t Feel Like Home Yet’:

“A bird sings,

but you don’t know the notes,

this window opens

onto streets you cannot name

and words you can’t decipher.”

*Rooks at Twilight

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics :  In Conversation with Sarah Connor.  Hosted by Kim Russell.  Thank you Kim for the wonderful interview.  Thank you Sarah for all the time you have shared with us at the dVerse Poets Pub.