Poetry

My aspiration is to be faithful to these three finely carved arrows from the pens of Seamus Heaney, David Whyte and Leonard Cohen .. that I break bread with both the living and the dead, that I pen words that like lightning or like honey coated ants divine their way into the small cracks and crevices along the surface of the great but imperfect walls we build to make ourselves invincible while secretly yearning to be kissed, and that I leave great heaps of ash in all those places where yeses have flowed without restraint from my ribcage.

I've been a closet poet since I was a teenager, hiding handwritten poems in dresser drawers, shoe boxes and recipe books to discover them years and even decades later .. yellowed pages opening the memory bank to my younger angst ridden days. I'm not nearly as hidden now, nor nearly as anxious and hopefully more wisened and discerning .. writing at all hours, sometimes waking up at 3:15 with lines running wild and turning cartwheels in my head, other times pulling over to the side of the road since the muses who feast on eloquence and poetry don't care much about ease or convenience, simply that a person is willing to take dictation. I am indebted to my Irish/Welsh heritage to whom I raise a glass of the finest, my long ago dead who continue to court and harass me in the mischievous DNA strands that make it possible for me to write at all and that carry the high fidelity coding of their recognizable intonations and steadfast devotion to the craft of critical thought and eloquent speech as well as a melancholic nostalgia for coal mining, basket weaving and harvesting cockles. The themes that most draw me to the page are: love, longing, heartbreak, .. the soulful, the earthy, rooted and entangled, .. the sacred, the dead, the lonely, the ecstasy of the mundane .. and the occasional Trojan horse kind of plea and wondering about civilization.

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Life is sticky ..
intertwined we are
in each other's
unfoldings, like
tendrilled vines
reaching for each other ..
or for bark ..
or for a wire fence ..
like that sunflower
calling out to the sun ..
for anything to
hold onto
while we find our way
through the elements
and seasons of our lives.

May we keep finding
each other again and again ..


So pleasantly surprised at how many were touched by this piece that I wrote on New Year’s day about falling in love. No matter our age or circumstances, to be in love with someone or life itself is a beautiful gift as well as achievement.
— Rachelle Lamb