Mariella Hunt's Blog, page 23

l’automne

Your bookshelves are empty.

Outside, the leaves fall.

We’re waiting through

The saddest autumn of all.

Your piano is sleeping—

Too great for my hands.

Still, I will play

‘Til my heart understands.

I took home your paper

To sketch out your face,

But you have a smile

That art can’t replace.

The trees out your window

Have all become bare.

So I search my heart:

You will always be there.

[image error]I’m thankful to have this beautiful woman for a grandmother. And I’m thankful to have her for another Thanksgiving.

Owlhearted

I am owlhearted.

I sing and then I rest

On the highest shelf, on which

I made a cozy nest.

I am owlhearted.

I slumber in the day.

Fairies will come out at night,

And that is when I play.

I am owlhearted.

You can’t deceive me,

For it is not with my eyes,

But my soul, that I see.

Selfie at a Mirror

I’m learning to draw. It’s helped me a lot with my poetry and music.

This is my first mirror self portrait. I’ll try again in a month. I’m happy with this, so I thought I’d share!

Also—embrace the curves. :)

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Ink & Gold

I couldn’t put in ink a thought

To justify the gold unfurled,

As sleep began to settle on

My precious, quiet world.

No nature lover could have asked

For her to stay awake.

Living things could never work

Without a well-earned break.

Yet falling leaves can sound like tears

As flowers die and stir my fears.

Moonsong

The Moon began her lullaby

Long before I was born.

She sees nothing new on earth;

Why do I fear her scorn?

If she did not like me,

She would still have to shine down.

She cannot pick favorites:

All who live bask in her crown.

Interlude: Autumn

I breathe. The scent of

Dampened earth

Is rising from the ground.

It mingles with the

Pungent smoke,

A neighbor’s fireplace.

My garden’s fading;

Falling leaves

Create the only sound.

I settle down;

October air feels

Cool against my face.

Tuesday Morning’s Child

Snowy hills have piled;

Whispering wind is heard.

Only Tuesday morning’s child

Makes out every word.

Frosty window-glass,

Snowy blankets grand.

Which dark things have come to pass

Upon this frigid land?

Things the sun has seen,

Things the moon will mourn,

Until every soul has passed

Away and been Reborn.

How can human tongue,

Limited, explain

What has hurt this land so long?

Who can be to blame

For these tears in the earth,

An emptiness that grows?

Words have very little worth;

Tuesday’s child knows.

Near Eden

Water cupped in my two hands

Bears the rich taste of the land.

Paths that loved me brought me here:

Eden must be near.

Maybe when I’ve breathed my last,

When what I know of earth has passed,

I will wander, light and free,

Underneath this canopy.

I drink. The water’s fresh and clean,

And I’m forgetting where I’ve been.

Overhead, a pigeon sings

Of love and gentle things.

If I should dive, would I need air?

Perhaps I would thrive swimming there,

Gathering shells and greeting trout.

I’d never come out.

Pigeon pleads for me to stay—

“Really, it’s a lovely day!”

Eden is not far, I know;

There’s nowhere left to go.

Let the Land Rest

Why are you afraid to feel

The yearly sleep of winter,

When there’s frost-scent in the air

And leaves from the trees splinter?

Have you never longed to curl up

Underneath a quilt,

After a long day of toil

Caused your soul to wilt?

Wasn’t it the sweetest rest

When you could move no more?

The instant you rested your head,

Sleep began its lure…

Trees and flowers are like you,

Thriving on the land.

Do not mourn when leaves are crisp,

But try to understand.

Hear that rustle in the breeze?

It’s nature’s stifled yawn.

Go inside and find a blanket,

Because life goes on.

Butterfly

Trap a butterfly

In the wood.

It would fly away,

If it could.

It too longs to

Spread its wings,

Hearing what the

Season sings.

It fades into

The sky above.

Learn what it can

Say of love.

Where’s it going?

Why was it made?

Will its colors

Ever fade?