I put the kettle on. (Forever since you loved me) Set the cup and laid the linen. (Forever since you held me) Steeped the leaves and measured honey. (Forever since you kissed me) Sipped my tea and wrote my thoughts. (Since forever, Love, forever)
Within a week dust fell Upon the shoulders of A timepiece. An enormous shell. An empty show box. My well-worn rag is green And pushed against fine things – And table legs. Hallway rails. Vacant chair arms. In the hallway -step-step Then skip my hearts beat. Ragged door. Behind its wall No voice of reason. Within these weeks dust fell Upon each mountain object. Wipe the clock. Turn and place My fingers round the doorknob. The old rag fallen carelessly, sleeps. Beat Beat -this life pumps – The door cracked – My life’s unreason Stands waiting.
When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locust, equally the beech, the oaks and the pines, they give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily. I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness, and discernment, and never hurry through the world but walk slowly, and bow often. Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, “Stay awhile.” The light flows from their branches. And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say, “and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.” by Mary Oliver
It is clearer. A pair of cruddy working shoes By a metal door- I am heavy - Off comes the day! Costume. Name plate. Used up words and unused love. This old basket holds it well. See my dear friends! Pages bonded and lined up in rows. But some escape And find themselves lying quietly in unexpected places. My heart longs to stack them. Up against the door. For this: A final barricade. A pen. A sharp pencil. Loose inked Paper. I muse, I write, I bleed. Music plays a serenade – An ode to pages gone missing. Mortar, life’s blood, tears Hold paper bindings against the door – Lay down my trowel. Sleep. Shelley Rae Bell
When All of life has paused Quietly waiting Like a heron facing sunset - Ready For Onward Rest. In the peace dawn - the unveiling of the sun. And the owl's soft callings sleep. The whippoorwill sings songs at the falling moon. This. Pause. Take a breath. Be still. You think of me. Between the darkness and Light. And I know. Shelley Rae Bell
Threads are scattered across my lap. How long have I lain cross this table? Tic Tic the Clock in the back of my head - and the table rocks. Threads. Thread... bare in my hands. The original tie -in. Like a macramé hanging - in its unformed state yet frayed from sliding fingers. And the time. Ceasing. Unceasing. I relent. the hands, the pen, the plug. Toc Toc the Clock. Stand - and the threads scatter Across the floor. Shelley Rae Bell
Look at this recess all covered in theory!
As if the world was paper thin and transparent,
Mottled and crumpled,
Taking shape Under a watchful eye.
I contort. Take a turn in the weather.
as if I could change the wind or a grey spotted cloud.
Tumbled now and jagged edged Under a monochrome sky.
So then. Now. Take it back!
the form and philosophy, written.
I am sharp and slicing the paper essay,
the fading ink is mine.
I have a song of sorrow in my heart.
you only know.
The first born light today
shines on me.
while I suffer notes of weariness
shadows play in minor key.
I lay down in cool downy greens
and I see
notes in blues and reddish hues.
Up and down the scale it goes
a song begging to be free.
shelley rae bell