Stream of Thoughts

March 6, 2020

I haven't played around with poetry in several months. Today, I share the first draft of a new poem. The beginning. The unfinished. The rawness of the practice. The joy in the journey. Here it goes.

 

Have you ever heard a phrase

Not sure of the intent?

I heard it in Atlanta

No idea of what was meant

 

Said I was from Chicago

My heart does always rise

The name has quite a meaning

Stories fly the windy skies

 

Their answer was, I'm sorry

Their look was of disgrace

I stood there with these people

Gentle smile, a long straight face

 

Their comment was a mystery

It set my mind to roam

I stood with fascination

Chicago, my love, my home

 

For do they think its evil?

From snippets, they may hear?

Whatever was their reason

Struck my heart with wounded tears

 

Let me tell you what it is

My heart spoke, not my mouth

Etched with endless traits and style

As is here down in the South

 

My thoughts are turning fast while,

My stomach rids this pit

When will we come awake and see?

There is beauty in the grit

 

Her skyline rests near waters

Third Coast is one nickname

With strength, she holds her history

Withstood ruin of ash and flames

 

Come closer you will feel her

The throbbing of her soul

Talk with her and walk with her

The brokenness makes her whole

 

Drift up and down the city

Come, on Marathon Day

You'll see why many like her

Her life is on full display

 

All people stream her curbsides

The world comes into sight

Nations, fashions, colors too

Flow as one, like traffic lights

 

The world will have its problems

Each city, state as well

I'm sorry, doesn't suit me

Now its time to say farewell

 

Dear Friend,

Thank you for the spirit and soul of where I live, wherever that may be. Help me to recognize its gifts and feel gratitude for what is, not what isn't. In the is, is life.

 

Until,

Marie

 

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