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Six Special
Poems by Dorothy Whitley
...on the eve of whatever tomorrow may bring...what good is poetry, except to transcend... On the Eve of ah the war of terror tearing instantly the heart held bleeding in hand all joy love sorrow to think of no tomorrow never to see light in an eye to feel touch of body and soul if only once upon a time here forever to never be how a possibility could ever dawn without a sun space without an earth that laughed with birds and sang with children walking in the grass under trees with swings and visions of wings Hearing the Great Heart hearing the great heart beat the rhythm of life regardless of strife that hum of creation pulsating energy into shapes of myriad finities in trees tribes time names all seen heard even bird and byrd not to mention bee or be the one that is Where Poets Go where poets go now seeking ezine to be seen not heard broadsided on flickering screens where poets go now seeking fragments of soul scattered under names all the same where they go now in circles declaiming decrying jeremiads when spring is somewhere always like e.e.'s perhaps hand silently singing in soft rain arranging in green and gold the mystery of flower and bee beyond the capacity of biology. Electrons Remember electrons remember forever some say beings they once were a part of tiger moments embedded with tree remembering through eyes that think the raven's wing even taliesin that would explain attraction instants of magnetism tattoos on the soul that speak of forests mountains lairs quivering in the marrow of night and light splendored on wet grass we pass through and through Blue Skies i look out my window daylilies and dill bow before the rain oregano erect in exultation birds hidden among pines wait for the sun i drive to breakfast with men without wives waiting in booths for women mail carriers for moments of hope to make their day eating hungrily i arrive at the office always one of the first to enter the darkness turning on all the lights at my command listening to the silence in the halls of learning I write on the blank screen of my computer the record of this rainy day remembering blue skies the feel of earth in my garden the fields of childhood row on row Moving Stones moving stones creating home all gone to metaphor gardening a solitary act moving this touching that walking through futures of yesterday planting trust in thyme here and there a rhyme anathema blooms a thorn upon a rose and so it goes all once upon a times encircled in boxwood memories outlined in brick heaved in seasons that create an outline of love |
| Dorothy Whitley lives
in North Carolina, is an academic dean, a teacher/ administrator for 40+
years, a long-time yogi, and a lover of language. email: D.Whitley |