I put the kettle on. (Forever since you loved me) Set the cup and laid the linen. (Forever since you held me) Steeped the leaves and measured honey. (Forever since you kissed me) Sipped my tea and wrote my thoughts. (Since forever, Love, forever)
Within a week dust fell Upon the shoulders of A timepiece. An enormous shell. An empty show box. My well-worn rag is green And pushed against fine things – And table legs. Hallway rails. Vacant chair arms. In the hallway -step-step Then skip my hearts beat. Ragged door. Behind its wall No voice of reason. Within these weeks dust fell Upon each mountain object. Wipe the clock. Turn and place My fingers round the doorknob. The old rag fallen carelessly, sleeps. Beat Beat -this life pumps – The door cracked – My life’s unreason Stands waiting.
It is clearer. A pair of cruddy working shoes By a metal door- I am heavy - Off comes the day! Costume. Name plate. Used up words and unused love. This old basket holds it well. See my dear friends! Pages bonded and lined up in rows. But some escape And find themselves lying quietly in unexpected places. My heart longs to stack them. Up against the door. For this: A final barricade. A pen. A sharp pencil. Loose inked Paper. I muse, I write, I bleed. Music plays a serenade – An ode to pages gone missing. Mortar, life’s blood, tears Hold paper bindings against the door – Lay down my trowel. Sleep. Shelley Rae Bell
There is time to meet with trees and listen...
the wind will rustle in their hair
and breathe wisdom down below.
Suddenly, if we hear, be still...
the earth will claim our agitation. Will.
Peace. Peace! Ash and dust.
Unrest will filter though our feet soul
and under rocky core -
then up through surrendered flesh -
lifted up to sky once more.
Shelley Rae Bell
I have a song of sorrow in my heart. You only know. the first born light today shines on me. while I suffer notes of weariness shadows play in minor key. I lay down in cool downy greens and I see notes in blues and reddish hues. Up and down the scale it goes a song begging to be free.
shelley rae bell
Do I keep things out? Or in?
I cannot tell. I would not say.
Forged bars are where doors
would compose an opening.
I held the blacksmith’s hammer.
And tongs when I breathed fire.
Placed each bar in tedious fashion.
A wartime plan.
Do I lock the door against? Without?
I select. I would indulge.
A secret keepers combination.
A brave companion.
There is something beyond the shadows… images without definition. Unknown. Still, I’m moving and feeling. Is it curious or despair?
Let me fall, fall in darkness where sleep is comfort and the only lie is dreams. Where deceiving rests between the dark and light. Let me, with eyes closed fall back, to fall in darkness and lay in deceptive dreams. shelley rae bell