Trying to net a name for the ache:
warm belly-clench of sorrow for the good and the sweet ones we may not meet but know by their light; for the sudden tear-sting at dusk as a blackbird sings defiance at the creeping night.
I saw an Angel’s face Greened with tears.
Watched globes of mist lose form
And drip from holly tips.
The wind limped and keened
Between statues and trees
Where moss softens names
Of the no longer missed.
Arms askew, weeping pines
Reached to shuttered skies.
Onyx-eyed crows stood silent.
aled feet on lost leaves.
September Journey – a Micropoem
~Polly Oliver (2020)
Too full of their burdens,
the clouds’ sides tear.
Veil of tears drops to earth
Washing away the grime of days,
Dashing flotsam down drains.
A pluviophile lies listening
Thrilled by thunder,
Clarion of fresh starts.
Where clouds roll beneath
our flying feet and the moon
Silvers our spirits.
~Haiku by Polly Oliver (2020)
Playing a bit with an echo or pun in the first and last lines. It’s another short form experiment:
She looked back once, then not at all.
Turned her path to the crowd,
We all fall and fall.
Love shifts its focus and form.
Sweet ache of living.
Haiku by Polly Oliver. 2020
The size of a grain of rice, a lentil,
Tail-anchored to algae petals,
so minute, unfeasibly cute.
Snouting from soft camouflage,
Tucked in curls of wafting current,
A tiny, briny dream.
I knew your heart would smile
When you saw it; unlikely, fragile,
But clinging on. Like love.
Polly Oliver ~2019
A frantic path through raindrops.
Climate out of joint.
Poets and writers we may seek to be-
But do we then lack authenticity
When each pearl’d drop of life is pooled away
And re-cast in cold ink on another day?
‘True’ living and recording will never quite chime,
Experience twists for the bard for her rhyme.