Skip to main content

If We Could Speak

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #210.



No industry where the sea has already eaten the road

No wine where the dreams are salted, preserved

No space for the story when water shoves the sand back,

Takes another lick at the asphalt,

Tastes the human toes, testing.

Gave you the blue sky, the blue sea, the blue planet

Gave you parts of the million years curling in your DNA

Gave you my breath, gave you my breath, gave you

Salt to savor your tears

Salt to float your dreams

If I could speak something other than flood

If you could speak something other than words

If we could speak the awe; if we could, if we could



Comments

  1. FireblossomMay 14, 2022 at 9:05 AM

    This is gorgeous, marvelously conceived and seamlessly executed. I adore this.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Carrie Van HornMay 14, 2022 at 9:17 AM

    I am with Shay here Chrissa, this is one of your finest! The questions, the thoughts, the imagery....it is all amazing and feels almost like a sacred conversation. Love love love this!!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. TruedessaMay 14, 2022 at 6:14 PM

    This is wonderful, the whole thought process. If only we could speak the awe of this beautiful
    world and life.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Marion HortonMay 15, 2022 at 12:50 AM

    Beautifully written - the flow and repetition, that last line ...

    ReplyDelete
  5. Gillena CoxMay 15, 2022 at 6:44 AM

    The rhythms are intriguing.
    Have a good Sunday

    Much💛love

    ReplyDelete
  6. SunitaMay 15, 2022 at 9:27 AM

    This is brilliant! You have touched so many emotions in this amazing poem.

    ReplyDelete
  7. .May 15, 2022 at 4:58 PM

    Love this. Awesome!!

    ReplyDelete
  8. Stacy M.S.May 15, 2022 at 8:15 PM

    i really enjoy the questions left lingering between the lines. wonderful and haunting.

    ReplyDelete
  9. purplepeninportland.comMay 19, 2022 at 5:23 PM

    This is a brilliant, thought-provoking poem, Chrissa!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To Blue Fields Far Below

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #228 , The Fashionable Twenties.  A sycamore fairy sits crosslegged in the road Dragons swim toward smooth hills above the storms Vines embrace the telephone poles  Someone washed the blue skies and she knows  It's time to dare the salty foam It's time to wade through the eternal fields' folds And gather golden apples for home.  Hoping this finds you with space to daydream and a good book in which to wander. Working on turning last week's prompt into a longer piece, as I found myself intrigued by the idea of tea in the garden as combat. Social situations are not my forte. As it's still Spider September, there will be a chihuahua-sized jumping spider that is none too happy about anything but hunting squirrels (that's for you, Mom).  -- Chrissa
6 comments
Read more

Once Upon a Future Past

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #204 . It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening ran behind me dragons, demons, and the sleeping world; afraid to turn, to wake me. Power needs its horror stories, its ghosts. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening followed close; a fantasy of goodness, where the gold is always covering bones. Power needs its fairy tales, its witches. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening treads my hem, like an army from the dragon's teeth and all the lies therein. -- Chrissa
14 comments
Read more

Flagrant

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #217. Come be part of the conflagration. :)  Oh, they called the mob to celebrate But only the fire heard They called the mass to congregate But only the dry grass bowed A conflagration Called to prayer Hungry for light Hungry for air Oh, they called the mob celebrate Wearing flames in their hair They called the mass to congregate Faceless in the burning air.  Greetings and salutations. I'm not sure what to say--we're not celebrating the 4th this year (not that I'm prepared to cede one holiday to the authoritarian idiots in charge of our state, but our grass is still dry from the heat and we have a dog terrified of fireworks...so we're celebrating by bunkering down and watching Howling 2  at the gleefully deranged suggestion of my sibling) and otherwise I've turned our dead corn plants into the basis for this year's Camp NaNo project...it's turning into a weird year, the kind of year where I'm reading more horror than norma...
7 comments
Read more