Metamorphic
I am rainbow
moonstone
run through
with tourmaline.
Hexagonal
point, above
jagged, half-
hewn base.
Sliver of light
given solidity;
darker veins
in shadow.
20 thoughts on "Metamorphic"
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I hit send too late on this one. It clocked in on the 30th.
But I had the one I wanted to end on. The note I wanted to hit before we close out LexPoMo 2020. This seems par for the year, doesn’t it? Too little, too late. Too much, too soon.
Well, this is our year. And it’s time we stop meeting fates where they fall. There is a quote in one of my favorite movies that says, “You cannot change fate. However, you can rise to meet it, if you choose.”
I want to take that a step further: It has been one helluva year, folks, and a pleasure to read your words. My hope for all of you, as we move into July, is that we would all start rising to meet our fate. But not that which some uncaring and stoic universe tosses in our way–the fate that we have chosen to write.
Maybe, then, it is appropriate that my last PoMo Day appeared to be stolen from beneath my feet–if only so I could be an example of taking back the day.
Day 30, then, below.
Stage Call
“I don’t know you but I watch you
all the more for that…
Words fall through me and always fool me
and I can’t react…”
– Glen Hansard, Falling Slowly
The stage is set:
Dawn a few hours away, a pall
of yellow behind black
hides the movement of stars,
unseen but there. And
waiting.
The birds are in the wings
of words, their dictation
having been taken, written
over quarantined months–
so many days–for just such a day
as this
one coming.
His legs press themselves
to the stoic cold of concrete
steps, in the dark, rehearsing
his heart, searching
intention.
There will be no understudy.
There will be but one showing.
There will be no more lines
save those that have been
met, known, spoken
into that dark, beneath
a susurrus of insects.
And they wait—
the birds, insects, stars,
both present night
and coming day,
and the man—
the poetry of a lifetime
in the palm of his hand—
for the universe to call
places. For the cast
to appear. Places.
For the orchestra to return. Places.
For the final act.
Places.
I kind of like this bonus poem situation as well as the meaning you make from it (too little//too much//2020. I also like the poems themselves and having enjoyed reading your work again this year Joseph. Thank you.
You were one of my favorites to watch this year, Jane.
Thank you for your reads, replies, our discussion. Will be missed.
Joseph I so enjoyed reading your poems every day-well almost and for your clever approach at sneaking your final bow for this play in-because it was meant to be here and it new it and so did you! Adieu, adieu-hope to see you soon.
Thank you, ma’am! Yours as well.
“Metamorphic” is the perfect title.
It changed four times. Glad you like how it ended up!
Yes, thank you for the extra poem that truly did belong here!
Such beautiful language usage – “The birds are in the wings/
of words,” You write from one spectrum of the scale to the other and leave no prisoners between! It’s been a pleasure.
:P. Thank you, Sylvia! Got me blushing over ‘ere!
So clever to just add it to comments. Now if I had been smart when my very large and stubborn cat did put his paws on my keyboard, I would have had an out. I have also enjoyed your work this June. Thank you.
😂 yea, it was my 4 am rebellion 😂
Have enjoyed the arc behind your pieces this month as well!
Your poems this month have been a feast of luscious language and slow-simmered emotion! Most enjoyable!
Big fan here, Kathleen.
Thank you—that means a ton.
Wonderful, wonderful work. The extra poem and what you make of it is beautiful. Thank you for sharing with us this month.
Thank you, Aaron!
And for your sharing as well <3
I was great getting to know you through your poetry. I still haven’t finished commenting on all your stuff! Every oenward and I hope we cross paths somewhere out there on the poetry scene.
Thank you, Linda! I’m sure we will eventually
Thanks for sharing your work and thoughts! Enjoyed all of it.
Thank you, Other Linda! haha