Cast the Coats Away

Poetry collection No. 8, includes Lightning and What Can You Do About It?

Hey friend,

This is my eighth poetry collection. Frankly, I’m astounded that the poems keep coming. This collection was influenced by Mary Oliver’s Upstream book of essays (a solid three out of five for me, some one-liner gems but also, some extremely weird lines about drinking milk from cats), @amykaypoetry, and the first autumn thunderstorm.

I guess the themes are responsibility, sanctification, authenticity, presence, and joy (I know, I know, summary is not a skill I possess. Everything is ten shades of nuance).

If you can summarise this chaos, you win May. Thank you for reading. 💛

Photo by Marissa Grootes on Unsplash.

Cast the Coats Away

“With growth into adulthood, responsibilities claimed me, so many heavy coats.”

Mary Oliver, Upstream

I rushed to put on the coats, 

waited for it from childhood 

I relished the responsibility 

swishing over my shoulders,  

I slid my arms through shimmering 

sleeves of obligation and duty.

Now, desire descends while driving 

home from some responsibility

I want to cast the coat away, 

shave my head, pierce my nose, 

lie down and feel music 

throb through my body

I want to dance 

                       and dance

                               and dance. 

Lightning 

I sit on the front verandah, seek refuge beneath tin, 

watch the first storm of the season roll in. 

The pink heavens are set ablaze by lightning 

while the rain rages. Refulgent, radiant

pink reflects off the road. The trees sway, 

leaves framed black against the gleam 

of a coruscant sky, while I clasp my pregnant 

belly. My baby thuds in time with the thunder. 

I want to hold this moment in my palm, 

like the third trimester of this pregnancy, 

stow it away like a pearl in a jewellery box. 

I want to hold joy and pain intermingled. 

But I know fervour will flow through 

my fingers, like water in my palms.

And so I sit and I relish. 

What Can You Do About It?

Prompt from @amykaypoetry

Girl, let me count the ways: 

I can make a list, get my highlighter,

take on tomorrow’s problems. 

Those problems are easier. 

I can push this problem off my desk 

by sheer force of will. I can refuse

to admit the problem exists. I can work

harder, out-run the problem. Maybe 

those other people are not running 

as fast as me, hustling enough. 

I can point the accusations at everyone

who bought this problem to me. 

I can judge those who are still struggling.

When this gets to be too much, I am talented

 at numbing. I can take on another thing 

and another thing and another thing. 

Finally, I can lay it down. Cry and cry and cry. 

I am not alone. Of course, I never was. 

He was always here. He’s so kind to me. 

He says, “Do not fear, for I am with you.”

 

You can read previous poetry collections here:  

A Prayer for Words | I Feel Most Alone in Sterile Supermarkets | A Cloud Prescription | More