The song that means the most to me today…
And a new poem…
One View From Shadow
One stands upon dark winter’s sill
And shudders at the gathering gloom
The candles gutter from a gust
That chills the room
One at the banquet fears to breathe
And silent and unmoving stands
For Time might hear and make her leave
And still her hands
Ten thousand voices in her head
Are frozen now in breathless fear
Stories untold cannot be read
No one will hear
The clock ticks on as shadow spreads
As winter falls, and cold congeals
The one pushed into shadow dreads
What time reveals
Which stories now will live or die
Which tales will to the banquet bring
Their secrets for the guests to whom
It is still spring
The shadows gather close but won’t
Silence the stories pressed by night
The words will come until they don’t…
One lifts her pen to write
Holly Lisle — Dec. 28, 2016
In memory of my sister, Julie.
Beautiful poem. The Scorpions are one of my fave too. Congrats on getting back to fiction. Looking forward to read more new stuff.
Thanks. It’s good to be back, even though I’m getting there in a slow and crabwise fashion.
Wow, the Scorpions sound good for a bunch of old dudes 🙂 Haven’t heard anything from them since their hard rock days, must be 30 years or more. May we all have that kind of longevity in our chosen fields.
No joke. That, however, was a helluva song to start with.
Regardless of idiotic political posturing everywhere, may this year’s solar journey be kind to us and give us the strength for the next one, as long as possible.
Happy New Year
Lovely poem! Holly, happy new year to you also! All the best to you in the new year!
You, too, Karen. Thank you.
Lovely! Happy New Year, Holly, and everyone who shares this ‘banquet,’ defies time’s shadows, and – just keeps writing.
Hear, hear!
A wonderful, powerful poem.
Thanks. And hugs. I hope this year will be better for both of us.
The image this poem brings reminds me of Charles Dickens Villainous Character Ms. Havisham, from Great Expectations. I knowledge this is most likely not what you were thinking, but I had fun writing this short description of what I saw.
It is as if she is standing before her wedding cake long untouched in the dark of winter. The only light is from the candles dim and cold. She stands in fear of accepting that she did not get married. And refusing move forward in time, she ruminates, hiding from what she had made of her life, with empty thwarting thoughts of spite and hatred because of the tales that never came to be.
“Stories untold can not be read” and all the things that didn’t happen can not be said. And if none remember when I am dead, at least there will still be cake*.”
*(But the cake is a lie)
LOL! The cool thing about poetry is that it CAN be interpreted differently than the author intends.
The gust that chilled the room was my sister’s unexpected (at least by me) death. The rest is me dealing with the reality of that, the squamous cell cancer found (and removed) in my tongue last year, and the reality of the passing of time.
Lovely words. Lovely response from Hannetjie.
Though I have to point out – your muse is so anxious for next year that you’ve dated your poem Dec 28, 2017
Numbers and I are NOT friends.
Every good wish to you Holly. I have enjoyed your courses, your updates and your continued optimism. Have a truly great and profitable 2017.
Thank you. I really appreciate that.
Happy New Year everyone!
Poem made me smile, thanks. 🙂
New Year Greetings, Holly
Thanks. And happy new year!
Happy New Year Holly and all visitors to this post!
This is a beautiful poem. thank you.
This speaks to me on so many levels. Thanks Holly, for everything! Happy New Year – may it bring everything you could hope for and more!
Happy New Year and warm wishes for a great 2017! Thank you for your direction and insight. Nameste.
Holly, I hear you. Four years ago, I had a year like this one. It took a long series of poems to express all that I felt about it. Here is One.
VILLAGE
It started at lunch one day when her leg petrified
One helped her to the car
Two checked her in
Three took vital signs
Four wheeled her in a chair to a small room
Five settled her on the gurney
and brought warm flannel blankets
Six took a history and ordered tests
Seven wheeled her to ultrasound
Eight spread warmed jelly and glided a wand stem to stern
Seven wheeled her back again
Six confirmed the diagnosis
Five taught her self-injection
Two checked her out again
One walked her to Nine and Ten in the pharmacy
Eleven consulted on surgery
Twelve gave a second supporting opinion
She walked outside under the trees and cried
Eleven accepted her decision
calling Thirteen to arrange it for the next day
One took her home again
She awoke and packed a bag
One drove her across the lake bridge to admitting
Fourteen checked her in
Fifteen walked her to pre-op prep
Sixteen and Seventeen gowned her
and performed indignities
Eighteen and Nineteen helped pull the sheet
that transferred her to another gurney
Nineteen wheeled it into a sterile room
Twenty and Twentyone set the IV
and swabbed betadine
Twentytwo arranged ultrasound and digital monitors
Eleven arrived with clean hands
She entered a dream videogame
that travelled through her limbs
The moments became tightly focused on details
lost between short-term and long-term memory
Eleven and Twentytwo wrapped tight dressings
Nineteen took her back to where she started
Twentythree took over and made her drink water to prove herself
Hours later Twentyfour sent her away with One
She climbed and climbed and climbed
into her own bed
Midnight arrived with terror
One called Nine-One-One
Twentyfive through Thirtytwo arrived
with flashing lights
They carried her down and down
to their own gurney
Thirtythree drove them to the local ER
Thirtyfour checked her in
Another transfer to another gurney
on gripped sheets and a nylon plate
Thirtyfive observed her and ran more tests
finding that the worst had passed her by
Near dawn Thirtysix gave a voucher to
Thirtyseven in the cab that took them home
Behind the scenes Thirtyeight through Fortythree
continued to work at their laboratory benches
in the clinic and both hospitals
Fortyfour through Fortynine
continued filling prescriptions
Fifty through Fiftyseven
continued to chant and pray
She fell backward and backward
into their waiting arms
One checked on her in the dark
She was still breathing
They breathed out and she breathed in
One breath
And hugs. There are years like this. They devour us or we survive them and move on. I’m glad you survived, moved on, are here to breathe in. Breathe out. And in again.
In… that’s the big one.
Happy New Year, Holly!
Best luck in 2017. I look forward to what comes. One of the first things you wrote in HTTS, is never let fear stand in your way (I’m paraphrasing here). It struck me, because when I stare into my computer screen, I often see Fear staring back. I tell it, “I believe in me.” So I tell you, “I believe in you, too.” Together, all of us here can banish Fear and rock this world with our words.
I loved the poem. I have found words for both teaching some and creating new worlds. Now all I need is confidence. After my first international sales, I hope 2017 is the year I will find the last piece of my inner triad.
You’ll get there. And HUGE congrats on the international sales. 😀
thank you. I did a small workshop for beginning writers since it was my master’s capstone, then the person who bought that also bought symbol and stone since I referenced it in the course. I was excited about that. first international sale.
Holly — what an awesome poem. Keep writing. May your words flow freely in 2017 and continue to be authentic and heartfelt. Bright Blessings Cedar
“Which tales will to the banquet bring
Their secrets for the guests to whom
It is still spring”
Winter is coming. Bring stories.
This is absolutely beautiful, Holly. Heart-rending, actually. In remembrance of your loss this year, it reminded me of my own when my mother passed. I was 24. Though that was 18 years ago, there’s not a day goes by that I don’t miss her horribly, and not a week without telling at least one of my kids that I can’t ask her for this recipe or for that story from my childhood. I can’t even fill out papers at the doctor’s office without being reminded that -no, I don’t know why I’m allergic to sulfa, just that my mom always said I was.
Her unwritten stories haunt me to this day.
And your poem touched everyone of those feelings.
Thank you. And hugs. My sister was the hardest loss I’ve borne so far.
Life is glorious and amazing and wonderful, but the fact that it ends is brutal.
Happy New Year, Holly!
Wonderful poem. I wonder if it would be even more inspiring in the first person – “I” instead of “one.”
2017 is going to be our year – the year of the writer and the poet. Hooyah!
On the use of “one”.
Sometimes you need to step outside yourself to gain perspective. This year has given me reason to need that perspective, and the use of “one” reflects that need for distance.
You’re like a little beacon out there, Holly. Thank you for shining.
Just put ‘the end’ to my first really finished novel – my goal for 2016. Now I’ll start your course on revision and ‘sideways’ writing and tackle one of the other stories waiting in my que.
Looking forward to sharing 2017 with you.
Holly, your creativity and commitment to writing, as well as your willingness to teach as you write from the heart, inspires so many of us, even those who haven’t taken a ‘big’ class from you. May 2017 bring you healing and lovely new stories. I’m remembering way back in human history, we told stories around the fires to keep the dark away.
So many stories. So little time. May you pen all the stories of your heart in 2017 🙂
Oh, yes, this one needs to lift her pen and write. Time races faster than the pen! I’m printing this out for my bulletin board. Thanks, Holly.
And miles to write before we sleep…
Truly.
My dearest mentor!
My words will never be as eloquent as yours. I tried to write a poem in answer. Oh yes, my right brain says hi!
It’s waving like a lunatic and jumping up and down.
Hope
Even though encroaching night
On winter’s wings have come
It gives way to endless spring
The cold will be undone.
And even though Time may loom
And fear the words erase
Time itself is bound by time
Its fingers fettered by its days
The banquet table is prepared –
In the presence of the shadow of Time
As it looks on in icy hate
A Voice whispers, “child you are mine.”
For like travelers have enjoyed this meal,
Have stared at darkened shores.
We all stand on this finite road,
And wait for Heaven’s doors.
Now the words forever come,
No time will stop them now.
The voices will not cease to speak
For shadows lost and have to bow…
May your 2017 be filled with hope and peace that passes all understanding!
(Ps. My right brain wants to know if you’re going to give a course in poetry writing in the future?)
Hannetjie
I love your poem. And the statement and response format is something I both enjoyed and admired from the history of poetry, where poets debated with each other in verse. Your poem is a really good example of poetry in that vein.
On the possibility of a poetry class — my first commercial sales were poetry (SF sonnets), but I don’t have a significant body of work to give me the credibility I’d need to teach it.
On hope… I’d like to think some part of us goes on as ourselves after we die. I don’t, but I’d love to be proven wrong.
What I have instead of hope is the power of the press of time to finish my work before I’m done.
Hugs!!! ❤️️❤️️❤️️❤️️
Holly and Hannetjie,
Lovely poetry from you both. Some of my favorite poems have come in response to other writers living and dead, famous and unknown. May 2017 bring many words from us all to battle the darkness.
Sincerely,
Rob
Write on!
May the year to come be filled with words and fun!