Tag / quiet

by ebbtide

the winter weather report

these long weeks while
the locust tree sleeps
unheeding of the rain
that drips from stems
and limbs, the seeking
beaks of the crows pull
seeds from their dangling
brown pods – a meager feed
worthy of the gray,
hungering days and watery dusks
outside my window

© Sarah Whiteley

One of a poet’s many blessings – any weather is poetry weather. 🙂 Happy Friday, my friends!

by ebbtide

let me be small

if, every now and again,
I must be smaller than myself –
then let me be small

let me curl into gray
unknowing stone, or disperse
downward as rain on windows

but let me be small
in the way of violets,
which at their core

are no less expansive
than the most colossal
of radiant skies

© Sarah Whiteley

by ebbtide

a remedy for wistful

I could watch (have watched)
that pine for hours
and the purple sand cherry –
currently slowly balding

seeing the yellowing
of the locust leaves
always makes me feel
just a little bit wistful

leaves that in a few weeks
will blow away to wherever,
leaving me here with
an unending view of rain

of streetlights and drainpipes
and that black shadow pine –
sometimes with crow,
but oftentimes no

hot tea, a splash of whiskey,
open window, open book –
a secret home remedy
for wistful

© Sarah Whiteley

I swear I’m really not feeling this melancholy – I love the fall. I think this is in part due to lack of sleep! Two nights in a row with almost none – perhaps hot tea with whiskey is a remedy for that as well?

by ebbtide

old friend

tonight I and the quiet
make a companion of the rain
whose soft staccato taps
at the window as if
asking to be let in
this – the first silence
in weeks – is as welcome
now as any old friend
or comfortable shoe
we fit, you see, without
straining and fill
without words (without
asking) the nooks
and bends of the other
’til I am quiet and quiet
is me and all is right
with the rain coming in
on the sill

© Sarah Whiteley

by ebbtide

today I shall be

today I shall be not quite
and content with blurred edges
companioned by sounds that are muffled
by the silences my maybe head makes

today I shall sit and be potentially
with a chance of feasibility
and the rustle of a few quiet thoughts
that might or might not be there

today I shall be perchance
and take rest in the promise of my perhaps
while softly September might possibly stir
whatever is or is not here

© Sarah Whiteley

To say that I am tired would be an understatement. The first of the work deadlines is behind me and it was Brutal (yes, with a capital ‘B’) – long days and no weekends and a forced working pace that nearly brought me to tears a few times. So it’s no surprise that I’ve got quite a bit of post reading to catch up on. Today, however, I think will be about recovery. I’ll eventually get around to catching up, but I think my sanity insists upon a little ‘disconnect’ for now.