Oh, Lonesome Me

A kind of placeholder/catch-up poem for Day 9 of April National Poetry Month. Today’s prompt for NaPoWriMo was take any random song play list (from iPod, in this case) and use the next five song titles on that randomized list in a poem.

I’ll dream up something on my own later.

Left Alone
Underneath the Stars
Miles from Nowhere
Till the Morning Comes —

As the Poetry gods, Kismet and Dumb Luck, would have it, Serena Matthews, Kate Rusby (I want her and Alison Kraus to sing at my funeral — angel voices), Cat Stevens, Neil Young, and Damien Rice were the stars that aligned for a rather cool poem.

If the prompt had asked for the first seven songs, this would have gone over like a fart in church. Next up were Wall of Death (Richard Thompson) and Canadian Railroad Trilogy (Gordon Lightfoot). Whew!

No Soft Place

In the Wet Mountain Valley.

You don’t often find
any soft place to land
when you fall from the top
of Mt. Grace. The ragged rocks
and jagged fingers,
evergreen, are ever keen
to slow your descent
for the price of a pint or so,
a pound if you wish, of you.

And so we chicane our way
in the embrace of gravity,
not some angel also fallen,
a temptress who enjoys company
on her wingless flight.
Her hug irrefutable,
sure as sin.

And sin, surely just a wrong turn
on your upward path,
was that faulty first step
into your final fall from
Grace’s cloud-shrouded peak.
But how else could you peek
at this view of colorfully
autumnal reality? May it be worth
your toe-stubbing trip.

Our Better Angels

What if our guardian angels, our guides
to the light, aren’t as perfect as we hope?
What if they’re merely “good”, maybe
barely adequate, as winged messengers go?
Perhaps they can get as socked in
by a Blue Norther of Spiritual Woe as we can.
Problem is, they’re the only angels
we’ve got. It’s not like they can go
to the gym, or get retrained, or even
call out for a temp. Maybe 
the angels and I can pray together
for a mighty wind to blow away
these clouds that beset us.
Miracles do happen.
I’ve been blessed by a few before.
And, besides, my friends went to school
with the maitre d’ at the Chateau Ciel’s
pearlescent entrance station.
Table for one, please. Amen…

My dear friend, the wonderful photographer and poet Diana Lee asked me if I would like to write a poem based on the photo she took that you see above. You can see how the prompt worked out, as well as all her other fabulous work, at her site, Life Through Blue Eyes.