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 Apr 2017 the Sandman
Roberta Day
I emptied my chest;

An old casket encasing

a dying blood pump.
 Apr 2017 the Sandman
When the rain quits
I can hear sorrow
again coming down
from the waterman's
tar-papered shack
where he sips his bitter
liquor from a cracked glass
weeping over a drowned
child as the wet black
cat of the past jumps up
in his lap licking the last
of the salty catch between
his fingers and the blood
he spits up when the moon
opens up his old wounds.
i want to cry until i become an ocean
until the rivers of salt tears wash me clean
i want to be free
and i don’t want to feel so alone
i want to untangle the knot in my throat
i want flowers to live on the edges of my soul
i want to fall in love
with a pair of eyes
that fall in love with mine
and i don’t want to feel so alone
so unworthy of love
and i want a song
a song for me
and i want to breathe without it hurting
i don’t want love to feel
so far away
i want rain to fall and wash away the pain
and i want the words
for everything i am feeling
and i don’t want to feel so alone
i want poetry written for me,
love letters and late-night texts
and i don’t want to feel so alone
do not fear the rain when it comes
and do not fear when it goes away
don’t be afraid of the waiting
don’t be afraid of the tears
when they decide to fall
don’t be afraid to feel
to wallow in the grief.
let yourself pause.
listen to your heart.
gardens don’t grow in a day.
 Apr 2017 the Sandman
Lora Lee
if ever there were
gods or goddesses of desert
of the drylands
of parched earth some call home
they would be surprised to learn
                     of the miracle of
                           this Spring deluge
                                unfurling forth                
                            from deep within  
                        the crusty dermis
          of this sublunar territory:
          hydrangea and ***** apple flower,
          intermingling their hues
          of mauve and lilacs,
                              as well as the color of sky
                               blooms of the succulents
                    popping open
                    in celebratory dance
                                   in wild fuschia
                                sunray butter:
a dazzling botanic trance
          hollyhocks of magenta,
           veils of bougainvellia, too
                    sweetpea clusters
             curling in the trellis
weaving heavy-scented magic
through and through
a private orchard of lemon tree, and apple
olive and pistachio grove
One would not guess
the endless giving
of this desert treasure trove

And I feel like a goddess
              of mythology softly spun
like Demeter, or Ceres
ancient Egyptian Renenutet
my hands spread out
in the licks of gentle sun
for as spring pours forth its honey
all through this barren land
I , too reawake
and flush out all the infected,
dust-scratched sand
I welcome in
the waters of abundance,
of love, of light under stars
let new energy wash out
old poisons
my radiance spilling far
Reaching out unto the Universe,
cradling this heart
         I cup the buds of blooms,
                                      of nectar
to inseminate my dark
       allowing me
to release the past
and seed within me, lit
         the atoms
of  new
unfolding bit
by tender
Published in the online literary magazine The Blue Nib

This was inspired by the NaPoWriMo 2017 prompt for Day 22 (today) , which was to write a Georgic poem, or a poem having to do with agriculture. I had never seen one and so checked the source: Virgil's Georgics. Quite fascinating, but here is my version! :)

I suppose this could also be a celebration of the Earth and its beauty! #npmearthday

And of course, musical accompaniment that helped me along:
do your eyes still shine
like two stars in the sky?
do they still close
every time you smile?
what song is your soul singing?
what blooms grow in your garden?
are you found?
or are you still lost?
if you are, know
i'll always wait for you.
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