poem: Maps of Distant Shores

pondering

If I had a secret love,

 maybe I'd think of that person

        in most of my spare breaths,

   wondering why no-one else could see

     fireflies dancing when we interact

and maybe, just maybe,

          I would stay up late,

     thinking of things to write,

  perhaps I'd draw a picture in words

        of what the maps of distant shores

           might look like

         if we found ourselves

   landing there in painted and gilded

      and rough-hewn

    sailing ships and dugouts and even

life rafts from boats that previously sank

       and maybe

  I'd look up and just say

      to the devil with GPS and compass

  and throw out the guide book; it would

only hinder this adventure and

    let's just explore the hell out

           this day, this situation, this place,

     what remains to us then of this life.

             With contention

        always lurking in shadows

          maybe most would never notice

      at all if we found joy

         buried like treasure in remote sands.

  They expect me to talk in riddles

     anyway. And maybe then

  the day might come for announcements

       and the heralding of trumpets,

           or maybe it is already here

         and someone forgot to tell me?

  But then, if I had a secret love,

        he might just about have

            your set to his eyes.

    Incongruous as that may be

    I think he might look a

        little or a lot, like you. Maybe.

 

 

      

 

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

"if you find yourself alone, riding in green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled.
For you are in Elysium and you are already dead" Russle Crowe's Gladiator.

I have to remind myself that I am here, among other poets who can congur and make the most
magnificant light from secrets. And being among other like minds means that secret loves are
never antimicrobial, destroying the growth of pathogenic, good dreams and that their endings
hold a certain chosen truth.
however hard I try.

tremendous work.
dana

[Marie Anzalone]

No Elysium Fields yet for you, dana- you bring far too much light of your own into this world and we so need you here. But isn't that what poets do- explore other realms and bring back glimpses of the possibilities? I know on my days when I can suspend disbelief, there is so much there it hurts the eyes sometimes. AN dthen I come back, to the land of mrere mortals, and ned the rest of you to remind me, with your own words, it wasn't just my own dream I saw. We're all really in this together, aren't we?

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Maybe...such a strange word, and yet one that is such a steadfast prescence in all of our lives. I am the queen of maybe's...but if I had a secret love, I too would throw caution to the wind and set sail into the unknown; for exploration is the key to passion and undying love. This was well written; conversational, relatable, dominantly phrased and filled with great, tangible imagery. A pleasure to read.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, Sarah. I have had a few secret loves over the years, and when I did throw caution to the wind, it seems there always something to learn. For me I am trying to learn; if someone offers you the hand, take the dance, even if you don't know the steps. Maybe it's only ever going to be a single dance. But that is ok, too. Eventually, one might sneak up and make itself determined to last a little longer than a season.

[Georgia Gypsy]

Need a simple 'like' button here...for when more words aren't necessary :D

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, GG, for understanding

[Emily B]

awwwww, Marie this is wonderful.

[Marie Anzalone]

it's probably time to stop being afraid of some things. spent far too much of my life that way. maybe one day I'll even own up to whether or not there is any veracity in this piece. Maybe.

[Emily B]

life is a wonderful adventure, spent the morning trying to find the secret hiding place, the dishes are all disappearing, the son goes to wash the dishes, they never end up in the cabinet at all . . . he's smart, i have to give him that

[Marie Anzalone]

I saw the intern off to work this morning, and then could not get back to sleep despite only getting a few short hours. Every time he wanders out on his own to navigate the public transit here, I am so unreasonably proud of him- like it really is my own kid. They're climbing a mountain today. I have to pick up something really nice for him to make for dinner.

[Emily B]

he is your kid, you know, anytime we spend time with someone, we are an example and an anchor for them, I dreamed I was feeding a baby, she looked like me.

[Marie Anzalone]

you know, I was commenting to Emma just yesterday on the concept of soul retrieval; how Natives believe a par tof the soul, a child-like part, goes into hiding for sake-keeping when there is ordinary or extreme trauma; and how it can be brought back and/or coaxed to return by the adult who feels secure enough and has enough of a support system set up to welcome it. Babies in dreams almost always mean something in the soul is awakening. I wonder if it is not you?

[Emily B]

it never occurred to me until i typed it to you, i think it was, wow!