e. e.

out of the lie of no rises a truth of yes (only herself and who illimitably is) making fools understand (like wintry me) that not all matterings of mind equal ...one violet

"The best course is to learn. This is the only path which never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder in your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about devastated by evil lunatics, or find your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then - to learn. .. This is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting."

T.H. White

For this week's prompt, pick a word (any old word), make it the title of your poem, then write the poem. Don't think too much about this poem when writing the first draft. Just pick a random word and start writing. (Tip: Try using an object, such as "Rake," "Scarecrow," "Apple," etc.)

Listen

to just get you to
all i want is for you
to
for a minute, just

if you want someone to
--tell them it's confidential

otherwise, don't wait to be heard
the ear is a shape turned in
towards its own hearing

you is not a word the ear likes
the ear likes I
I
and did you know that I

I think
I

when the inner ear stops trembling
from the misconstrued,
the incorrect use of
you

- what?
- no!
that's not what i meant
you didn't listen

when all is done
listenening likes silence best
it is most like I

it is always the rests
that make the music
that feel like the self
is expanding
there
at long last, heard

the rest
sustained in accord with the chord
of one's own truth
in the open, broad assembly
of part and whole

lady in waiting

now. needle threader. balloons drifted to the floor.
tea candles vanished to their little tin cups everywhere.
some wine bottles. the dog's first failed boutonniere.
scissors for cutting bangs or snipping threads.
my own high and shiny shoes, done from dancing
parsley and rosemary on my kitchen floor and garlic
and a pan soaking. dog biscuits here and there.
then a house filled with women for just a bit at flurried start and end, one baby being changed on the floor (when does that happen here?)
those lovely tall hippie girls
those lovely older hippie mothers
the massage chair and fireworks, the satin steaming and tule fluffing.
the little silk buttons that had to be sewn back (not by me, thank goodness) half hour before the walk through the roses: dog in the lead, neversobeautiful friend right on time for her good present and future. 10:10 10 10 10

i got to host a bride, to care about everything she did, could do, could want
and what she wanted she got: a man who loves her, loves her dog, will love her and her dog, i do believe, i really do, forever.
so sweet to see and be a part of, to have the privilege of dedicating just sweet time with that degree of purpose, duty and luck.
this little role...
made me deeply content.

(i love it when other people get married!)