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
