Mariella Hunt's Blog, page 27

Hero

I glide through

Ageless galaxies.

Eternity

Does quake.

I soar through

Starstuff old and new

To show you that

I wake.

I pass through

Endless light-years,

And secrets of

The deep,

All to drive

Away the beasts

So you, my dear,

Can sleep.

Lady of the Brook

This was written as folklore for a novel I’m writing. It’s supposed to be a song.

The lady of the brook

Sees the moon—he creeps above,

Dancing on her surface.

O! what could it be but love?

The lady of the brook

Waits each night for his return,

Never knowing that for her

His heart will never yearn.

autumn’s roses

which holy garden

could have been

mother to roses

of such sheen?

slumbering in the

promise sweet

of a september

soon to greet—

autumn so painless,

they’ll forget

the scorching summer

lives on yet.

see how this flower,

clothed in red,

yawning, bows her

pretty head.

Life & Flowers

I stepped out today to find all of my flowers had bloomed.

Gathering some into a vase, I realized why it’s important to wait for certain things—and to appreciate what’s going on during the wait, even in moments when it seems no change is happening.

The flowers are stunning, aren’t they? If I had rushed them, if I had not waited out the long hot summer, if I had not endured August weeks of dryness during which no flowers grew—I would not have gathered so many colors today.

The cliche is true: the best things are worth the wait, every moment of it.[image error][image error]

The Old, Grieving Garden

Wildflowers spring to life where they will

As, above, the sun sets on my sorrow.

I didn’t think that I had tears to cry still.

This sadness will last well into the morrow.

The flashes of blue and dots of white

Dancing in patches of summer dirt

Nod sympathetically to my plight,

As if they could comprehend my hurt.

A day will soon come to bid them farewell

When they bow their heads in graceful death;

Not yet!—I have secrets yet to tell,

But cannot catch my breath.

Butterfly, flit from leaf to leaf,

Sending my message to heaven’s door.

Meanwhile, I’ll make peace with my grief,

Here on the cold stone floor.

A Night of Mist and Questioning

I walk in mist

One chilly night,

When sorrow-clouds

Eclipse the light.

They fill my lungs

In every breath

With loaded air

Tasting of death.

The street lights wonder,

“Who is she?”—

They’ve never seen

The likes of me.

Behind their thick

Church-veil of cloud,

The stars, too, gossip—

Not aloud.

The cobblestones

Beneath my feet

Send questions up

And down the street;

Yet through it all,

I pay no mind.

I walk in mist;

They stay behind.

Starlight & Streetlight

With stars and

Streetlights

Guiding me,

I got lost all the same.

Searching for

The sunrise, I

Heard whispers

Of my name.

Heavenly

Dance slows for

Nobody,

Poets and sleepers alike.

Starlight and

Streetlight will

Keep their shine

Long into the night.

Time & Space

Eternity

Passes, like

Dregs of the

Milky Way

Trickling through

Space. Cosmic

Light fades in

The heat of

Ancient Sun.

The Grudge

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What am I going to do when the season ends and my flowers begin to die?

How will I cope when I go outside in the morning and, instead of seeing a new darling has bloomed, I find the stalks becoming dry and crinkly—these gentle plants that brought butterflies and bees and joy to my days?

I have a grudge against death and its habit of taking things. I know it’s unreasonable and part of me believes death is not the end. But usually all I feel is fear that the end will come.

Now it’s a flower, later a loved one. Eventually, it will be all of us. Let’s hope we inspire people to plant new flowers in the years to come.

The Breath

In Hozier’s Work Song, I noticed a point in the beginning when the chorus catches a breath. It’s difficult to hear if you are caught in the beauty of the song, but now that I’ve heard it, I think it’s one of the loveliest moments.

Have you ever thought of the pause before a note? The sound is full of promise and effort. By it we realize that the people behind the songs we love are human; they, like us, need air.

When we know these artists are creatures like us, we feel closer to them. If we wanted to, we could also make art that would leave an audience breathless. True beauty comes when we lose the fear of letting our humanity show.