Invocation

Come to me, poet.

Bring me your words.

Whisper them, soft.

Let your voice

carry the longing

of my soul

to the skies.

Sit here beside me.

Stay awhile.

Let your song

match the timbre

of my mood.

 

Reviews

[Ufi Auttorri ~ Amy C. T..]

I have read, in various places, writers that compare time to a river or a stream; something flowing. Occasionally, there is a reference to the beginning or the end of time. It is compared to sunrise and sunset, birth and death... but always flowing. In truth, it is not that way here in this invocation. Here, time presents itself as a moment; a hard-rock candy that, melting slowly upon the tongue, flavors life and being with a gentle, mournful call for companionship. A heart bared in yearning for one that can share a view of eternity that is at once both blissful and frames prayer as recognition of the unknown and unknowable. If time could speak, what might it say? Could it explain to one caught so fully in it's grasp the true nature of immortality? What words could it use that might lift a silent soulful voice toward a heaven'd sky; where longing and loneliness have no place in the lexicon of that existence? The questions remain. The lessons continue... abide with me.

[Emily B]

your reivew is such a lovely poem . . . thank you for gracing me this morning :)

[Ufi Auttorri ~ Amy C. T. Serrat]

It was/is a great poem, Emily. Say, is this a form of synergy? :)

[Emily B]

i hope so, it always makes my day brighter to be an inspiration

[Ufi Auttorri ~ Amy C. T. Serrat]

Hum it with me... "Walk on the sunny side..."; don't worry, you are. :D
[REF: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sy1eOLEiyFY]

[Emily B]

mmmm, sweet sunshine :)

[Fabian G. Franklin]

A Visit With Emily

I open the yellow, dog eared pages
to a ribbon marked passage stained with tears
And though we have been friends for ages
I retrace those comforting years
When the winds howl; bitter and cold
Crawling beneath the shared quilt of our art
When aching bones say I am old
You kindle a fire on the hearth of my heart
Let us sip hot cider to the flow and ebb
Of poems we wrote when we were young
When the writing spider wove his web
In our souls and every song to be sung
From distant hills across the snow
They will spy the smoke from our chimney
And the frozen travelers then will know
That a poet sits with Miss Emily

[Emily B]

there's coffee on the fire and a pie in the cupboard
the wind may howl outside
but we are safe and warm :)

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Miss Dickinson...the other Emily...said if a write made her so cold that no fire could ever warm her...she knew it was poetry...but I've reversed the thing you see because I believe that poetry should be the warmth that no cold can invade and no outer enemy or demon can steal away from our hearts. Thank you for inspiring me to write this tonight. You are always an inspiration my friend. :o)

[Wondering Mind]

now what more can a poet ask for?

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlande..]

it's frustrating that I have so little insight to give because of extreme exhaustion

[Emily B]

what was it you said you needed a little while ago? a soft voice to whisper you off to sleep . . .

no need for insight, you are welcome

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlander]

I feel like part of my brain is about to pop

[Emily B]

shhhhh, shhhhh

rest in me

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlander]

I just have to let this energy out..I feel like the guy in the movie pi, but I won't use a drill...probly a cry will do, thank you

[Corset]

let the song match the timbre of my mood,

that is just so beautiful. UFO writers review is amzing how can someone follow that act, i'll just say bravo! it's beautiful Emily ;)

[OT]

:) this made me smile - as always your poetic voice is charming!! poet indeed bring your words!!!

[An Ordinary Woman]

Ohh Emily, that's inviting, sweet....it reads like lemonade on the front porch on a warm afternoon.

[Tony]

I have reviewed this a few times over the years, and each time I reread it, it speaks to me.
It is magical and mysterious how a song, a poem, or a person can bring out the best in us, when we least expect it.
I'll call it, inspiring words.

[pheasant]

The words are here
and always near
...Never is there need to fear

The voice is clear...
A passing peer
Is stepping into gear

And settling down
In this here town
And laying down a sound

The song now whistling in the air
Lifting lighter shades of care
While time goes missing... not knowing where