Sky Closes In
Sky closes in, as though a bubble
shrinking into itself, as though it is not,
after all, part of that universe out there,
it wants to hug earth, close it into an embrace,
protect it perhaps, silly emotional sky.
Sky has divested itself of clouds as though
readied for bed, unadorned with feathery garments,
just its plain self, tucking itself into dark.
Here within the bubble we feel soothed,
warm velvet strokes our cheeks as we watch
the final nighttime come, not knowing it is final,
only that sky is close and loves us.
Storm-Gatherer Villanelle
Give me your storms, your darkness, your bleak songs
I am the gatherer of clouds, of hail,
leave them to me, the sorrows and your wrongs.
I am the one who knows where grief belongs,
the one who sees each day when you will fail.
Give me your storms, your darkness, your bleak songs,
those sharp dilemmas holding you on prongs,
release them to me, I will hold them bail,
leave them to me with sorrows and the wrongs.
Let me assign your doubts their echelons,
to send them down or properly set sail.
Give me your storms, your darkness, your bleak songs,
black shadows following in jostling throngs.
I’ll gladly lift from you each awkward veil,
leave it beside your sorrows and the wrongs --
I’m Mother both to weak and paragons,
here, anxious now each mis-step to curtail --
Give me your storms, your darkness, your bleak songs,
leave them, they’ll join my sorrows and my wrongs.
Cleo Griffith has been on the Editorial Board of Song of the San Joaquin for twenty years. Widely-published, she lives in Salida, California. Her poems have recently appeared in Wild Roof Journal, Time of Singing and The Poeming Pigeon
Sky closes in, as though a bubble
shrinking into itself, as though it is not,
after all, part of that universe out there,
it wants to hug earth, close it into an embrace,
protect it perhaps, silly emotional sky.
Sky has divested itself of clouds as though
readied for bed, unadorned with feathery garments,
just its plain self, tucking itself into dark.
Here within the bubble we feel soothed,
warm velvet strokes our cheeks as we watch
the final nighttime come, not knowing it is final,
only that sky is close and loves us.
Storm-Gatherer Villanelle
Give me your storms, your darkness, your bleak songs
I am the gatherer of clouds, of hail,
leave them to me, the sorrows and your wrongs.
I am the one who knows where grief belongs,
the one who sees each day when you will fail.
Give me your storms, your darkness, your bleak songs,
those sharp dilemmas holding you on prongs,
release them to me, I will hold them bail,
leave them to me with sorrows and the wrongs.
Let me assign your doubts their echelons,
to send them down or properly set sail.
Give me your storms, your darkness, your bleak songs,
black shadows following in jostling throngs.
I’ll gladly lift from you each awkward veil,
leave it beside your sorrows and the wrongs --
I’m Mother both to weak and paragons,
here, anxious now each mis-step to curtail --
Give me your storms, your darkness, your bleak songs,
leave them, they’ll join my sorrows and my wrongs.
Cleo Griffith has been on the Editorial Board of Song of the San Joaquin for twenty years. Widely-published, she lives in Salida, California. Her poems have recently appeared in Wild Roof Journal, Time of Singing and The Poeming Pigeon