Oh, every now and then you come to me in dreams and I wonder “why the visit?” (this time), with so many loose ends, I suppose, of knots and fraying strings, that I am sure, there must be a rope that still ties us together, when even as you approached I welcomed your company and the conversation, which I’ve now lost to memory, still leaves this feeling of warmth.
I remember you well, slipping through my young and feeble hands like a sand I could never, would ever hold onto. Such tiny grains of glass and glint of mica catching light like diamonds promise to outlast all unfortunate and fortunate encounters. And so I suppose, in my own way, I loved you then; that young man with piercing eyes, who for some and unknown reason, always saw me.
Run, run, run and go, go, go and make your way fast into the light. Let the shade fall from your shoulders like a cape, and feel for once the heat. Unafraid, that you shall ever burn less bright than you burn today.
I know the feeling, how the small sharp corner of the page turns within the hand, so newly bound, so neatly pressed, with ink yet dry, still almost wet, could stain, I’m sure, my fingertips, and I know, remember, how once they did, those words that sunk deep in my chest, and there is where they always live.
Oh, quiet, silent words we’ve kept in velvet, drawstring bags, and how they’ve stayed like sleeping songs we’ve ever yet to sing, but now the songbird’s muffled notes, I hear, they call to me, so sweet a sound: a child’s voice! is how all words began in thee.
All my words belong to you now, all of them. and how close you are to arriving now, that I can almost taste your LOVE upon my mouth. like fine wine and only sweet, delectable, intoxicating! and how you have always been and are, “my, LOVE!” I do proclaim, and how unashamed I am to say, “oh, LOVE, oh, LOVE!” that is your name; the Christ who comes to take away, His Bride who waits so patiently, in love with only Thee.
Seems like I have not forgotten all the worn paths we walked together, in the feeling of a rushed heartbeat, in the seeing of the cat’s cradle, I made a decision, I decended the ladder, and above me you stood, and as you held it steady, said, even there, you’d still walk with me, and true to your word, you always have.
Oh, once, I walked the forest, so light on my toes, with delicate fingers skimming the ferns, on all the worn paths the deer had so carefully walked before me. And how silently they’ve learned to step, where above the light jumps from branch to branch, till reaches the floor of the forest, where the small mice live and in the underbrush they make their houses. Squirrel and owl too, to sleep safely in the the trees that are tallest. Here in this memory, where I often walk now in that place that awaits me still; a return to enchantment.
I lay down my arms, as if I could. Would you find me spent, head down, arms listless in silent, quiet breaths? Inhale deep, then exhale slow, repeat, as if, my worry could, might, leave me, leave, but child, do not leave before me.
Have you lived long enough oh, weary flesh, to recognize the difference? that I am not you, and you are not me and so I will discard you, one day, as fast as I slipped into you to leave you in a heap and I will never look back nor wish to ever once again be encased in such a garment; so limiting, so heavy, though wear you now, I must, for a little while longer only, endure.
Maybe our kisses, they do taste like oranges as the peels fall from our hands with the smell of citrus on our fingers. but you say “no, it’s vanilla, with this hazy smell of lavender.” and as your kisses travel down my neck to the edges of my shoulder, “as if grown in two climates; one cool, the other warmer.”
How forgetful we are as we live the dream. Oh sleep, oh sleep, with our eyes shut tight. Oh, when, oh when will we awake? Tomorrow is but a day away! With our faces buried in the deep, and covered with feathers under his wings. But an egg, but an egg, and how soon the shell is about to break.
There is always the memory of you, whoever you are. Like a flood, like a kiss, with arms like a warm blanket, “and oh, how I have missed your love,” this life. Where I have traversed how many landscapes, and you? You, as though the shadow who stretches out always one step ahead of me, and ever reaching, to grasp hold, to stop you, to turn around and say, “hey, look!” and finally, materialize.
And now you’re thinking of that song by Lionel Richie, “No? Adele then?” when I’m just reaching out in the only way I know how, because, yes, of course, you are always my silent, listening friend. “Until the end!” I say, because now the past stretches out so much farther then what’s left of the string that proceeds into the future, that so many doors are closing with only one left, it seems, so few will remain to open to walk through or meet, there at the precipice of this life to the next, him, who perhaps will walk through it first from the other side into this place where we exist.
“I prefer the first song as opposed to the last. Look it up. Listen again.” Remembering once when I said “hello,” and you looked so completely dumbfounded, and now? Perhaps through it all, I’ve grown a fondness, the way a song ends, when the needle finally hits that blank space on the vinyl static and then lifts, the arm swinging with a drop and a click. “Yeah, like that,” is how I like to think from here on out, is where I exist; in that distinct sound where it ends.
The incessant knock at the door keeps asking for words, but my mind is too full already. Are you so blind you cannot see the chessboards set to play for the many? For the world is asking, no, demanding, “please, pick your seat,” for either side is yours for the taking. “Black or white?” for one is your demise and the other, another’s saving.
I was spelling the wrong word right, while you were telling me the opposite meaning to life but I wasn’t listening, was I? And how long the shadows cast against the hot Summer ass fault when in the last hours of the day there is no one else to blame except those who stand in the mirror across from us; a poor reflection, true, when I can’t hear the meaning through the sound of the consonants; right word, wrong context, trying to write against the sound of the lyrics to Jessie’s Girl, that’s all this is, when all the while I’m just wishing for silence.
Hey… just wanted to to write a quick post about a new endeavor I’ve started. I’ve decided to put my poetry into volumes (book format), which will be titled by year.
So far, I’ve completed Volume2011, which is comprised of all poems written within that year, but will be working on subsequent volumes/years to make them available for publication over the next few months.
With over 1600 poems written since 2010, and most being posted here on this blog at one point or another, I thought it would be nice to have them in book format, as it makes it more tangible and easier to actually find what I’ve written.
It’s been a fun journey though: scribing words, and one I plan to continue, though, Art’s been finding me in many different avenues as of late; having recently taken up painting, but that’s another endeavor that’s just about to launch via my website at jenniferlenhardt.com.
Stay tuned for that, and as always, thanks for reading!! Especially those of you who have been following the words (some good, some not so good), over the years! :)
P.S.. Thought I’d also mention… there is a book already that comprises all poetry written in 2010, titled ‘Fertile Soil’.