Poetry: Emalisa Rose

Emalisa Rose

To wear wings

 

Outside our window

sunup to sundown

they keep singing

while nesting and courting

eating seeds, leaves and berries

and doing those bird things

birds do.

 

“What do they sing for,”

he asks.

 

“Perhaps for world peace

or for climate change

for Jesus or Buddha

or for clouds to make rain.”

 

“Pick your hypothesis.”

 

“Or maybe they sing, just to sing

to make us look up

and soften the edge

off the woes of this world.”

 

“Irregardless, I wish I wore wings.”

***

 

 

A trio of blues

 

They offer no answer

nor semblance of meaning

on this fog impaired morning

as wanton leaves wander.

 

And I pick up a trio

held close in my hand

as if they make up

for your stark disappearance.

***

 

 

Rain redundancy

 

The rain plays redundant

sketching then fading

drowning your likeness

on the womb of my window

wearing the sting

of your sudden departure.

 

And I posture with plentitude

hands over eyes, to conjure the clouds

and evoke of your image

 

never known, had you existed

at all.

***

 

 

The night brush

 

With a stroke of the brush

all we’d created

from morning to midnight

resonates on the kindness

of crosswinds and happenstnce

hypotheticals suns to return

and wishes on waterfalls

 

as we bow to the gifts of this day.

 

Unsure of tomorrow,

for now we exhale.

***

 

To wear wings

 

Outside our window

sunup to sundown

they keep singing

while nesting and courting

eating seeds, leaves and berries

and doing those bird things

birds do.

 

“What do they sing for,”

he asks.

 

“Perhaps for world peace

or for climate change

for Jesus or Buddha

or for clouds to make rain.”

 

“Pick your hypothesis.”

 

“Or maybe they sing, just to sing

to make us look up

and soften the edge

off the woes of this world.”

 

“Irregardless, I wish I wore wings.”

***

 

 

A trio of blues

 

They offer no answer

nor semblance of meaning

on this fog impaired morning

as wanton leaves wander.

 

And I pick up a trio

held close in my hand

as if they make up

for your stark disappearance.

***

 

 

Rain redundancy

 

The rain plays redundant

sketching then fading

drowning your likeness

on the womb of my window

wearing the sting

of your sudden departure.

 

And I posture with plentitude

hands over eyes, to conjure the clouds

and evoke of your image

 

never known, had you existed

at all.

***

 

 

The night brush

 

With a stroke of the brush

all we’d created

from morning to midnight

resonates on the kindness

of crosswinds and happenstnce

hypotheticals suns to return

and wishes on waterfalls

 

as we bow to the gifts of this day.

 

Unsure of tomorrow,

for now we exhale.

***

Bio: When not writing poetry, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting with macrame. She volunteers in animal rescue and walks with a birding group on Sundays. She lives by the beach, which provides much of the inspiration for her art. Her latest collection is “On the whims of the crosswinds,” published by Red Wolf Editions.


No comments :

Post a Comment

We welcome your comments related to the article and the topic being discussed. We expect the comments to be courteous, and respectful of the author and other commenters. Setu reserves the right to moderate, remove or reject comments that contain foul language, insult, hatred, personal information or indicate bad intention. The views expressed in comments reflect those of the commenter, not the official views of the Setu editorial board. प्रकाशित रचना से सम्बंधित शालीन सम्वाद का स्वागत है।