Mariella Hunt's Blog, page 21

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#2

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#1

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Dwelling-Place of Storm

I am a poet,

Keeper of flowers

Dwelling-place of storm.

My emotions

Manifest in

Terrifying form.

I can destroy you

With my words,

Feeling no remorse,

Or I can calm you,

Fighting battles

For you at the source.

I’ve learned there is

No middle ground:

Believe me, I tried.

I am a dwelling-place

Of storm;

Friend, I never lied.

Hundred-Acre Grave

Yesterday, the blue and gray

Skies rolling overhead,

Sighing, seemed to me to say

The rivers had turned red.

Treading gentle on the grass,

I sought peace but found none.

April, she had come to pass,

Her faithful weeping done.

Musical, the ancient trees

Groaned with the bluegray sky.

Their duet, a mournful sound,

Spoke of a world awry.

One persistent hummingbird

Called, as if I could save

Her home from the fate I heard,

A hundred-acre grave.

As I trekked an ancient trail,

Trees around me died.

Had April seen her tears fail,

Longer she’d have cried.

Mermaid

White horses are

Sea turtles.

I cannot tell my world from theirs.

Coral, I watch wildflowers

Bloom before my eyes.

The breeze to me

Feels like a wave,

Tousling my hair.

I don’t think I belong here,

My home is not there.

Poetry

Bottle up your pain

In an old, glass jar.

Let it sit there for a day

‘Til it’s black as tar.

Fall down on the grass,

Find a feather there.

Take your bottle; feel the sun

Shine down on your hair.

Use the feather, trace

Feelings in the dirt.

It would be a shame to waste the

Art found in your hurt.

If a leaf falls down,

Take to it with ink.

Rinse your newly emptied jar;

Just don’t stain the sink.

Finally, you’ll breathe;

Pressure, it will fade.

This is how the realest sort

Of poetry is made.

Calluses

I am building calluses

Around my heart.

Nobody can come in

To hear my song.

She’s losing strength

Because I exposed her

To empty souls who

Did not know,

That she is a melody

Few have heard,

And she is timid.

She will hide.

I will not forsake her

Or sing her to the dark,

So I am building calluses

Around my heart.

Flowers

You were never going to see me

Among all the other flowers,

Watching idle as the strangers

Daily passed me by.

I am not unlike my sisters,

Neither am I just like them;

We are gathered as a body

Staring at the sky.

If you deign to come in closer

And, for once, get on your knees,

You might see my red is different—

Only by a hue—

Maybe if you bowed your head

And plucked me from the ground,

You could press me in a book,

A love poem for you.

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Stars

Did you see the stars tonight?

I could hear them cry

Watching human promises,

Every one a lie.

The stars above, among themselves,

Feel no need to compete.

Each is glad for her own light,

Sacred and complete.

One by one they turn away,

Collapsing in despair:

Their grief consuming everything,

Leaving their wrath fair.

Child, don’t wish upon the star,

But promise her you’ll wake.

Nothing good will come to you

Defending your mistake.