A Poem to White

This evening, as I carried a bouquet of baby's breath flowers away from my bridal shower, the color of the dainty blossoms and their perfume stirred the words for this poem, which quickly began tumbling through my mind. You never know when and where inspiration will appear, and I'm actually fairly pleased with the result, so I decided to post this instead and postpone the poem I originally planned for today until two weeks from now. I hope you enjoy it!

I am the taste of snow

before the first flake falls.

My breath forms the misty

fog floating, rolling over the hills.

I am in every color, yet I

an none of them.

I am nameless. Homeless.

I am the tranquility

before and after the storm.

My blanket comforts, my

light guides the lost.

I am the stars glittering

bright in the heavens.

I am constant. True.

I am the caps on the tips

of the churning waves.

Mine is the diamond of April,

the pearl of June.

I am the raiment of Everest,

the crown of its cousins.

I am majesty. Power.

I adorn the lilies, the daisies,

the baby’s breath in the fields.

My scent is pure and lovely,

crisp and fresher than dew.

I am the moment of clarity

after the darkness of fear.

I am dignity. Beauty.

I am between the ink

on the leaves of books.

Mine is the voice of silence

in the hours before dawn.

I am the wishes you whisper

to feathery clouds.

I am innocence. Hope.

I am white.

Turtles

While walking from the gym on campus yesterday, my sister and I stopped by one of the ponds to photograph a couple turtles sunning themselves on a log in the middle of the pond. One of those photos I posted below, as they were rather adorable. This morning I awoke and the lines of a poem inspired by those turtles wandered through my head (oh to be a writer and hear voices in your head first thing on a Saturday morning). The poem itself is rather self-explanatory, so I'll not waste your time with a rambling introduction.

Photo by Abigail Blair, 2018

The sun beats through the cold,
Alighting on our backs
As water gently laps,
Caressing the banks.

Heads lifted toward the blissful warmth,
We sit unnoticed by those
Who stride quickly past us,
Those too aloof to pause and live.

In their haste they forget
To feel the warmth so rare in February,
Too bent on scrambling from A to B
In their busyness and work.

We watch them from our spot—
You and I together observe—
How they run and rarely stroll,
How they chatter but don’t really speak.

What would happen if they left
Their busy world for just a moment
And felt the sun?
Or heard the water’s kiss?

How might their lives change
If instead of speeding off from
One thing to the next, they paused
And appreciated the gift around them?

But what do we know?
We’re just turtles on a log.

If you enjoyed this post (and even if your didn't), please comment why or why not in the section below! Also, if you do not mind terribly, I'd like to pick your brain for a moment. What would you rather see on this blog? More free verse poetry, attempts at structured poetry, short stories, personal posts? If you might spare a minute of your time, please comment which you prefer. That helps me customize my blog to include what readers wish to read, not simply the last-minute post I devise every-other-Saturday morning.

Happy Saturday!
~Abigail Blair