I realized yesterday that if I sort of scrunch the meanings of a couple of my early November poems into the themes that Robert Lee Brewer suggests on his blog, I only have to write to extra poems to catch up to the Poem-A-Day thing. I just can’t resist. I will get those two extras written. Mockingbird reminds me that they don’t have to be super-poems.
Beneath the surface of the dream
where tiny rodents skitter and run
I could feel the story rising.
There, where the memories yield their harvest,
where travelers wander deep in shadow,
I caught its scented breezes.
Inside the dreaming of the house
where rooms went on forever,
lay a village of self to explore.
Below the one about the baby
and the orphaned white kitten
flowed rivers of recognition.
What do you do
when the gods of the dreamings
offer you maps for the journey?
How will you answer
when the night-folk cry out:
“Give us the hope of our meanings!”
1. That pecan pie
2. Bridges. Hope. Bridge of Hope
5. Writing poems
May we walk in Hope!