An Explosion of Stars

 Melissa Lemay
—Poetry by Melissa Lemay, Lancaster, PA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

 

 

of stars

“The Wound is where the Light enters you.”—Rumi

I wait
as moon waits to touch sun.
She lingers
around, under heaven’s embrace.
Craters and
crevices punctuate
her landscape;
a remembrance of being
a crusade
to be conquered and marked
with a flag
by a man like all the others.
All of them
brandishing thoughts of ego,
countenances
solidified by pain.
She hides
in the black of the sky.
I see her
face in the explosion
of stars.

 

 

 

 

YOU LEFT

You left before I knew that you were leaving—
I did not get a chance to say goodbye—
you left me with this faint and constant grieving
reminded by the glimmer in his eyes.

And after death’s announcement you appeared—
a clearest dream of all I’ve ever seen—
in the way that I remembered and held dear—
seeing yourself off into the unseen.

You sit in clouds of rain inside my head.
You reach for me as shadows in the hall.
In memories of sweetest days we spent,
I understand you are not gone at all—

but a light that shone its time, then was released
to the sky, across the river, where light
goes. Into the depths of darkness light does reach—
not one knows all the places that it goes.

These tears I shed when spirit of you is nigh—
they’ll catch the light and glimmer by and by.

 

 

 

WILDFLOWERS

I’d pick wildflowers, but I’ll let them stay
In fields that grow, touched by the morning dew.
So many things we try to hold for truth
And flowers never were mine anyway.

Instead, I could catch rain within a glass,
A bottle or a copper flask—for you
To press against your passioned lips imbued
With sweet and long forays never alas

Unraveled underneath the sun’s cocoon.
In fields that grow, touched by the morning dew
I dreamt I found life there and we both knew
These earthly prisons were for the afternoon.

And water turned to wine my only gift—
In a bottle or a copper flask for you—
To drink and water the flowers wild, too,
In hopes the veil of dreams does soon be lifted.

I could pick the flowers wild, but I’ll let them stay.
The flowers never were mine anyway.

 

 

 

 

"COME FORTH!”

I am unknown to many, as we all know,
as we are, we come into the world unable
to comprehend extraordinary numbers of beings;
some may say they know us, they know only
what lives eternally within us in the end.

News travels of a man from Bethany,
a lover, a believer of the Most High, and
one whom the Most High believes for, loves.
I lie in death’s cold shroud, in a tomb,
I am unknown to many, as we all know.

Disturbed by illness, affliction, that
which man cast upon himself, as stone or fruit,
I foreshadow in you, and you through me,
a conquering of death’s steely grip, which,
as we are, we come into the world unable

to sway. Though unknown, I am your beloved,
My King, My Lord, My Master—yet who am I
that your heart should be grieved, that your
divine eyes should purge tears for me. Unable
to comprehend extraordinary numbers of beings

You created, my spirit bows in awe to your
supreme holiness, that you should choose to
rescue me. Abba! Father! I am not worthy
to grieve your heart. As all who wander,
some may say they know us, they know only

the surface of depravity we belie. Yet, you wept,
knowing the plague of living that must be
endured because of, for me. You call me,
“Come forth!” Grave-cloths be unwrapped, reveal
what lives eternally within us in the end.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.

—Og Mandino

____________________

Melissa Lemay first visited the Kitchen last Friday with a Golden Shovel; today she brings us some more forms: "You left" and "Wildflowers" are both Sonnets, and "Come forth!" is a Cascade. Melissa is a stay-at-home mother who, though she never graduated from college, says she has lived an interesting life, and her experiences shape her writing (some might call it an obsession). She writes about God, addiction, trauma, healing, being a mother, and many other things. Additionally, she enjoys spending time with family, drinking good coffee, and cats—petting them, not drinking them.

Melissa’s poem, “Ephemeral”, was chosen as Poetic Publication of the Year for 2023 at Spillwords Press, and now she has been nominated for Author of the Month at Spillwords, and she would like you to vote for her at https://spillwords.com/vote/. (You have to sign up for an account.)  Find Melissa (and other poets you might know) at Mom With A Blog (https://melissalemay.wordpress.com/). Welcome to the Kitchen, Melissa, and don’t be a stranger!

___________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Melissa Lemay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
El Dorado County Poet Laureate
Stephen Meadows will read
in Georgetown today, 5:30pm.
For info about this and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
 during the week.

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
 into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
 to find the date you want.

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!