November Dailies

 

# 1 

Whole Worlds

Whole worlds pass through her hands

Some stain, some she drains, slowly,

Into paper jars she stuffs in  her desk.

#2

His Maker

Our galaxy is like a rainbow at night

I wear bandanas of all colors to say

Thank you for receiving them

On the other side of the water and the stars

My words soar away from us

Because the only bridge is flight

And breath the only support

When the sun comes up and the stars dissolve

I know that I'll be covered with inexplicable

Fur, my shirt like a starlit night

#3

Greenbean

Greenbean sings like the grumpiest angel:

The one who hit Heaven with the binder

of all the souls who carry minor infractions,

the ones who won't make honor guard wing

or the golden choir, and tripped hard

before beginning to inform each one.

But it's still Heaven, right?

So Greenbean sings.

#4

Midnight days sanded fine

Steel that sings with souls of pine

All the years the wood will tell

Melody's arc is that of time

#5

All the queen will say

is that her moves are legal

all animals are in her purview

and horses, too, are regal.

#6

I remember columns; I was placed

Near the sacred fire

And the memories lean away

My balance is wisdom

But folly lives and shies

from the flames.

#7

Her pattern was born on me.

My skin is a tapestry of her pink roses. 

What she remembers,

the horses on her bookshelves,

the soft pages and the blankets,

enameled barrettes and socks,

the square wash of sunlight;

all those dreams are fairy horses

still running.

#8

Among the paperwork was this calendar--

She had always been a traveler,

Braver than her holiday sweaters; 

She never called us stuck

But she left those flying women watching over

This small desk she'd brought from  home 

when her flight was called.

#9

My imagination is large enough

to carry me--the grasslands are wide,

and the winds slide down the mountains;

I'll walk them home

I'll fly my dreams above.

My yard is the earth itself

My imagination is large enough.

#10

The river drains, leaving the pews

beneath the arch of a forest in silence.

Have you imagined a boat?

Water comes from the heart pressed

firm against the chord.

Find a seat, put your throat to the oar.

Carry us onward, carry us over,

carry us through.
Sing.

#11

Careful, it is hot and the bowl delicate,

bone and sky and last years' field,

breathe across the surface, drink.

Peace, after the calling.

Tea, after the boiling.

#12

Tilt the world, not the  map, then lean--

It will leave the shape of itself 

For a mold for life or dreams.

What could the sticky years reveal

if you poured them in 

And a new world congealed?

#13

Pull the hooked weights from your grief

Spin the wool you gathered, dreaming

Weigh it down and drag the smoke

For the fish who grants the wishes

Swimming in the mist trees sigh

When they imagine dancing.  

#14

Today, I am grateful for the phone

and all the turkeys who called.

-- 

Gratitude in 19

Thank the world for the rain that woke the moonflowers, 

weaving a hope umbrella.

#15

No party -- no new dress, no shoes -- 

so thankful for that, and my mother's shirt,

and the shell my father had 

from GreatUncle Pete, the pirate.

Let the light fade in the kitchen window

Let the living room grow golden;

I will listen to the sea, and dance

and pour a cup of something warm

and raise a toast to the people 

who taught me to keep my sea legs

when I was adrift.

#16

I leave the backdoor open 

just for this: to invite the lizards

to explore the indoor plants;

to invite the butterflies

to the slosh of sugared tea; 

to turn from the page

to find a fawn, wondering

what happens next?

#17

I would give you a sword, said the waves,

if you were my daughter. 

But the sway of the moon drew them

far down the beach.

She had given her daughter herself

and she shone lemon-silver;

she will fight the darkness well

laughed the light over the tide.

#18

The pathway ends in tea time--

mad if you prefer, proper if you must--

always formal as the pinstriped woodland 

printed stark upon the sky.

And, with that, our November of daily prompts comes to an end. This month has encompassed NaNo, a bird fable (coming soon!), weekly poetry, and Thanksgiving. Although there was some sarcasm seasoning the thanks this year, as well as sorrow, there are several things to remember [uurrrgg, just swallowed a chunk of ice while thinking about gratitude--let's add that the ice chunk was small], including our wonderful WordCrafters writing group and our fearless (and tireless) leader Carrie, who provided these daily prompts and some of the weekly ones as well; my family doing well this year following a few minor surgeries during the pandemic; Arthur and Merlin, who are good writing & snuggle companions; my spouse the patient & creative cook who added scones & ice cream to his repertoire  this year; and, finally, finishing a draft that I was pretty sure I wouldn't start. Writing has carried me this far and I hope that as the work of pruning and shaping drafts continues, the gratitude & inspiration will still be fueling the effort. Along with caffeine. 

-- Chrissa