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A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi. (In front of you, a precipice. Behind you, wolves.)

Thursday, April 30, 2020

National Poetry Month--Day 30--5 Senses--Poem in Your Pocket

This cliff was much taller than it looks, and pretty stinking scary to hang out over. Certain death if the wind won. Mom started back at this point, saying, "I just can't watch you anymore." Poor Mom. It was such a rush! Taken by Ju with her telephoto lens.

 Today is both the last day of National Poetry Month and Poem-in-Your-Pocket day. To find out more on both of these subjects, go here. And it's been a pleasure to stretch to meet these challenges every day. Thank you, Stephanie Abney, for orchestrating the challenge each year. My hat's off to you.
And now, I give you....Five Senses Poem:

The Milky Way--a great place to spend some time, don't you think?

Before my closed eyes, I see the universe arrayed in diademic splendor, each star a gem, each galaxy dazzling in its glittering perfection. When I open my eyes, the faded familiarity of my dusty bookcases.
I close my eyes once more and the scent of searing chiles and the odors of leather and wool, sweat and rich fragrance of flowers greet my nose, as if I crouched in an Argentine marketplace.
A marketplace in Argentina.

The cries of the hawkers greet my ears. Diario! Diario! A newsboy with his dusty bag full of papers and a winning smile saunters past. The parrot on his shoulder caws, "Diario!" in its owner's voice. The cries fade to the thunder of crashing waves.
The monkey went everywhere. It was a game to tuck it somewhere on a person without them knowing it. Amazingly it still came home with me.

The salt spray peppers my skin, and I know I'm once again on a rocky outcropping in Ireland, along the Cliffs of Moher. I clamber up the scattering of rocks and boulders to lie prone on the cliff-top, the gravel digging into my front as I hold myself out beyond the cliff. The wind tries to snatch me from my perch.
Tea at the castle. Very proper and delicious. Afterwards the shenanigans resulted, but that's another story.

I am pulled back to Dromoland castle, to a tea party shared by my mother and sisters and I. Pinkies out, ladies. The scones with delicate clotted cream and tart currant jam play about my lips, drawing out a sumptuous smile. The little cakes and watercress sandwiches tasted of opulence and a happiness shared.
Two of the sisters NOT involved in shenanigans enjoying their chamomile.

Thank goodness for making memories, for filling the imagination with points of light. I pity those who live only in the machines of other people's manufacturing.

©2020 by H. Linn Murphy

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