silver tray by the doorno card beckons
no visitors
no one ventures
up the porch
to rattle this screen door
curse these chores
that bind me here
my beacon dark
my heart longing
white gloves on
scuffed shoes buttoned
six minutes stolen
looking down the road
be dust rising
a carriage nearing
deliver to me
thought and words
this silence
hollow
a memory of
minds and fingers talking
minds and fingers talking
—me strauss Letting me be
20 comments:
You make me want to write poetry again.
another splendid piece indeed.
Man what a piece to make me stop and slow down. It's 8am here and I've been running around like a mad woman since 5:50 this morning and in another hour I'll be out running around like a mad woman again for most of the day.
Thank you for the few moments of calm.
Good Morning :)
Thanks Mojo,
That's a great compliment to wake up to.
Smiles,
Liz
Hello, Billy,
Welcome and delighted that you liked it.
smiles,
liz
Good morning, JM,
I was just fighting with the word verification there . . .
I'm delighted to think tha I gave you a little rest in your busy schedule. I want to be a positive moment in your daily routine.
smiles,
Liz
Oh, dear me this is just so incredible. Brava!
Hi easy,
I wrote that for all of you.
How leaving a comment reminds me of leaving a calling card on a silver tray used to be in the 18th century. How we miss each other when we're not about.
Thank you for hearing what I was writing about.
smiles,
Liz
I'm not sure if I can write poetry (I suspect not) but you inspire me to want to try. I think I'd have to stop whirling, though... You're so good at leaving your card in our silver trays, and you know how we long for those cards. What a gracious use of words!
As usual, I am here with my totally different outlook on everything. I could say "lovely images" or "that's beautiful" and not stick my neck out, but neck's are made to be thrust forward and sharpened knives have their uses also.
The silver tray, the calling card, the carriage all conjure up a former day, as do the gloves and the buttoned shoes. I envision a lady of a former time, a more genteel time when ladies might wait for the gentleman caller. But there is more than just the absence of a visitor - there is a great longing for the communion they shared, the "minds and fingers talking" - "memory" is the word that tells more than even the word "hollow" for this is something that is not current, but past, and so increases the melancholy and the yearning that she feels.
I suppose what I mean to say is: this moved me Liz.
Welcom Betty,
I often say thta poetry is writing in code. Thank you for figuring out what this little code was trying to say.
I appreciate that you notice my visits. I so like to come to see how you are.
smiles,
Liz
Wow. Thank you Ned,
It was real. Your found the pieces put there to tell the story of what was longed for, including the longing for something that is assumed to be past.
Thank you for saying that you were moved by my words. I so value that.
Liz
This is very good, Liz. It has the depth that poetry requires if it is to stay with us longer than a moment. And that, of course, is more or less the definition of good poetry - that it haunt us. This one has it. :)
After a long, complicated day with children running around, schoolwork on my desk, and chores on a never-ending list, that was just absolutely refreshing.
:0)
MEsun- you have such a musical way of putting these things. It's OK, we know you're thinking of us. We'll all get together and have a finger ball when your hands are more free. And it'll be white glove attire, or purple nail polish. We'll all click and whirr morse code magiclike never before. Don't worry.
Hi Gone,
Thank you. That I know is high praise when I hear it.
smiles,
Liz
Tanda,
Thank you.
What a wonderful thing to say.
It's nice to think that I could lighten your day.
smiles,
Liz
Garnet,
You never cease to get to exactly where my head is at and to send back the coded message that is exactly what I need.
LhG
smiles,
Liz
I've come back just to read this one more time. I know you wrote it thinking of comments but my mind is begining to travel to another place. A servant girl surrounded by the more luxurious past times and trappings of her master and mistress stealing six minutes to watch for some sign, some word from her lover long gone.
Sorry for going on...just me being, oh, I don't know.
Thank you easy,
That's the wonder of poetry, and loveliness of writing.
It's so much about the reader and what the reader see, as well as what the writer writes.
Please come back as often as you want to.
smiles,
Liz
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