I haven’t posted much lately–rather than not having anything to say, I’ve been dubious about posting something I wrote a few weeks back. I’ve tried to write other things, but once you stop posting the blog entries that you really *need* to post, it’s hard to make yourself write others… I think there’s an element of self-betrayal there, and your subconscious mind/creative juices/etc don’t trust you enough to produce. After all, they helped you write one thing, and you never did anything with it (after promising yourself you would) so…? And on that note, soon I’m going to post the “missing” 2-part entry, as I should have done a fortnight or more ago. Hopefully, that will get me back on track.
In the meantime, I wrote a poem, and I actually don’t think it’s the worse thing ever, so I’m going to post that now. It’s as yet untitled, but if a title suggests itself to you, please feel free to share 🙂
Naomi sits like a blue-eyed cat on my windowsill, and that is that.
She watches the cars as if they were ships, as wordless praises flee her lips,
She waves her hands and lifts her heels, excited by the spinning wheels,
She laughs and reaches towards the glass, marking their progress as they pass.
Naomi lies in her bed, awake; the notion of sleep never seems to take.
At midnight I look and she’s still there, eyes bright in a face framed with bed-swept hair.
I rub her back, I stroke her face–she seems happy enough in her dwelling place–
as I close the door but leave the light, I think she murmurs a soft, “good-night”.
Naomi flies through a field at dawn, her footing sure, she doesn’t yawn,
She runs and leaps like a mountain deer, and all she wants to be is here.
In the moment, by night or day, she’s freer than free, a creature fey
no less human, though twice as wild, my little girl, my faerie’s child.