Hang on to Sunday’smysteries woven in the blueof night sky and golden honey,ablutions like speckssuspended in beamsof gauze-filtered sunlight,just floating there.And Monday’s workaday ache.Hold on to every day,because ghosts come fasternow, waving your immortalitylike gauzy flags, or shrouds.Everything could change--today’s melody quaint and tinny,if you remember it at all.
Late entry for Grace’s challenge to the Real Toads, inspired by the poetry of David Huerta. Thank you, Grace.
Sharing on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden!
This rings true for me, as I contemplate a return to the new school year on Monday. The blue mysteries of Sundays will suddenly have an elevated importance.
ReplyDeleteThe way a Sunday feels with the ominousness of a Monday lurking round the corner. The hardest trick is to keep the Monday gloom from eating into Sunday.
ReplyDeleteToday, I shall " Hang on to Sunday’s / mysteries..." and the ease I felt on that day. It will certainly help deal with a day at the hospital. Remembering gentle memories always makes the rougher bits of living better.
ReplyDeleteI admire the opening lines: blue
ReplyDeleteof night sky and golden honey ~
Thanks for linking up Marian and wishing you happy week ~
Wonderfully tuneful and very well described, Marian. I especially like the details re the light and sun. Thanks. K. Manicddaily
ReplyDeleteits got a nice rhythmic tone to it
ReplyDelete.. your lovely poem reminds me of how blessed I am to be spending precious time wandering the warm Atlantic shore.
ReplyDeleteThere are changes that swing and sway like the flags you mention here, some are for the better and some are for the worse, but at the end of the day we just keep moving forward; either to remember the time before or to forget it. Great poem!
ReplyDeleteLove the idea of Sunday's mysteries...yes, hold onto every moment.
ReplyDeletea sky full of mystery, a star gazer's dream
ReplyDeletemuch love...
Read this on face book first. This is really good Babyluv. the message is a somber and hopeful one at the same time. This one floats. Down here, they all float.
ReplyDeleteAn ode to the ear, Marian. :)
ReplyDeleteMrs. Jim has pretty well worn mine out.
The music of life can grow dim and dimmer though, as time passes. Do we callous?
I read your third line with an extra syllable (or word, depending on proper spelling) but came back to the rescue as my brain and eye had a conflict.
"mysteries woven in the blue
of night sky and golden honey(dew)"
Weird.
..
Yes, those ghosts do come faster now...a beautiful reminder to cherish each day
ReplyDeleteSo wonderful! I love seeing your words dance.
ReplyDeleteAND I just got
your book Superpowers, etc in the mail today. Hooray!
ReplyDeleteoh, you! how great, thank you!
DeleteThe imperative to "hold onto every day" is fraught, a tough challenge, when you compare the first and second sentences. But that's the point, isn't it. because so many ghosts are flying past. I wonder too if we'll be held accountable by our future poets (if others indeed will come) for failing to sufficiently be about the task of measuring, calibrating, singing enough this every next day. If that failure will kill the words.
ReplyDeleteWorth coming back to--so true. k.
ReplyDelete