Woman Troubadour

Woman Troubadour

she has been accredited

with many miracles

woman troubadour/articulate activist

a champion of narrative poems

on the subject of love & adventure

devoted herself to nursing broken hearts

never afraid to contract beauty from loved ones

woman troubadour/delicate hand-writer

watches the sun wind down

while the rest of us nest tentatively

the chorus of shared friendships

give way to a wide open margin

mutual sentences of loneliness & poverty

navigating the blueprints on pure instinct

woman troubadour/crowned felicity

never deceived

never betrayed

kindness & courtesy make every impression

on her remarkably advanced reasons to grieve

to know nothing of heart’s cold draught

is to single out the meaning of indifferent wind

woman troubadour/frequent flier

conquering faces by diminishing belongings

the beautiful multitude of singing in silence

your city expired in a war fought for justice

a woman with the fragrance of redemption in her hands

her message & the sky lowered

her expression & the ground swelled

milks tenderness dry

wrinkles the embers

do not cling to her button-down neckline

do not caress the complications of moonlight

woman troubadour

melodious matron

lives vicarious

through your tears

breathes miraculous

into your fears

with every intention to escape with a song

she grows too fierce employing impractical instruments

**

I kicked back into gear with ‘Large-Hearted’ yesterday and again today while it is slow at work.  Writing two stories in one has proven to be a challenge and I’m not exactly pleased with one of them.  I love the bulk of the whole story but the secondary tale has me at odds with word play.  I can’t seem to get it to flow the way I want it to.  I know what it is I want but it’s coming out like a big pile of dung. Gah!  I will continue to press on.  One word, one sentence at a time, right?

I finished this poem this morning after seeing a tweet by Carmen Townsend last night.  She shared a you-tube video of Patsy Cline’s ‘Walking After Midnight’ and it made me recall this one week where I was afforded a string of days where I was home alone.  I carted the stereo down into the kitchen along with a stack of CDs, my writing gear and a cookbook.  For one blissfully solitary stretch, I wrote and baked perfect apple pies from scratch and sang along with my musical friends at the top of my lungs, something I don’t do often because I’m not known to carry much of a tune.  But, it was peaceful.  I spent time with Joni Mitchell, Diana Krall, Tracy Chapman, Norah Jones, Ricki Lee Jones, Courtney Love, Stevie Nicks and Patsy Cline.  I think of that time fondly as I could easily spend my days that way, squirreled away with the company of music, Muses and confectionary delights.  I don’t mind being alone until the well needs to be re-filled.  In the spirit of my soulful sisters, songstress angels, poetess influences I wrote ‘Woman Troubadour’.  It reflects the spirit, strength, courage and wealth of all creative women and the gifts they give and their brave hearts.  

I tweeted in reply to Carmen that I often hum ‘Walking After Midnight’ and she then said it was attached to fond memories of her Mama.  I love how music does that, for women, for the world.  It’s powerful.  Wonderful.

Back to working on my story until it’s time for my afternoon commute where I’ll get lost in my book while singing a pretty tune under my breath.

In propinquity,

Nic