Skip to main content

The Path Of Contented Resistance





So much going on with work of various kinds, distraction is medicinal. I have wandered through some old papers, found this poem and written a sort of postscript to it. A bit rushed, a bit distracted, but happy.


1992

Solo


I cannot fall in love today

It will only live in one house
And I won't stop moving


The day before I may have

Stood at the gate, wishing
Dearly to be let in


But the air outside

Was fresh and the view
Needed exploring


Tomorrow my boots may be

All worn down
My head spinning with sights


Then I will choose my loveliest place

Lay down with the flowers
Who comes to me there can stay


And a love that is real doesn't care

At all for cement and fences
It moves easy as grass under breezes.



2013

Duo


Moon overhead

Heavy with shine
Follows a gravity


A fidelity

Pull and lustre
We see it as we feel it


We move with the lug

Experienced
Through the swell of it


Smiling under

The weight of
This light


  



Comments

Suze said…
Thank you for posting these, Lisa.
Geo. said…
Beautiful, Lily. I sure enjoy your poetry. You're definitely an Earthling.
Lisa Southard said…
You are most welcome Suze: I couldn't sort out the spacing issues, the verses are supposed to three lines each. But it was getting late and I decided not to stress over it. Otherwise the weight loses the light!
Likewise are you welcome, Geo. I am rather at home on this planet, although it's not always apparent :-)

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...

Back From The Future Blog Party

Another joint blog adventure- if you want to see who else said what the list of participants is here . The premise is this: 'You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you. You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself. What's in it?' Here's how I imagined it: Before dawn? Shadows outside, first forming. Sleep has gone, I don't know where. Coffee I can find. All the way from Machu Pichu, this fair-traded pack. Scissors are in the drawer, which ...

A Glitch Or Two

My Chromebook has been crumbling. It seems a little like dementia, this inability to upgrade its powers of communication, it makes me sad, even for an object. It's one of the reasons my posts here have been put aside, that and generally being tumbled by tiredness. I have saved up money for a replacement, also I have spent that money on trees and shrubs. I have two novels to sort out however, and this will be the reason I save up again. I don't stop writing, even if I don't tell anyone. In the meantime should you need a calm place to go, I have begun a substack account. Please do drop by. If the kettle crumbles we can make tea (or soup) on the firepit. Me on substack:  Lisa Southard