11:46 p.m., Shower
(Timestamps)
When the lightning strikes
Often and the dark river
Runs high and wide,
Words flow freely through
Me. The desert blooms with
Inspiration in my notebook.
But storm season ends
Again and I grow parched.
The inkwells run dry.
Under the searing sun,
My notebook lies barren until
Distant flickers appear on
The horizon. Heat lightning:
A crackle, an echo of
Storms that came before
And will once more.
But until they do, until
Ink floods my pages
In rivers, I record
The spark I saw from
Afar, a planted seed
Waiting for reviving water.
With the note, I write
The time and place
I saw the lightning
Fall, so I can find
It again in rain-time.
11:46 p.m., Shower
10:37 a.m., Room 355
5:54 p.m., Holmes Lake
12:10 a.m., I-80
10:37 a.m., Room 355
(Ave Calliope)
Ave Calliope, please hear me call
From where you’re chained against my wall.
I scream to you with fettered tongue
And lungs that drowned in what you gave,
The boon I was a fool to crave.
Ave Calliope, your promise chokes.
The words you gave seal up my throat
And weigh me down with silent pain.
They stain me with a golden bruise
For who was I to cage a muse?
Ave Calliope, I fumble with the lock
Which made in me my stumbling block.
Once loosed, I fall before the wall —
Phantasmic words that won’t be shared
Are heavier than I can bear.
Ave Calliope, my siren, my selkie:
Don’t leave me here in reverie
Unvoiced. I hand the knife to you —
Strike true and let the poem pour,
My crimson shot with searing ichor!
5:54 p.m., Holmes Lake
(The World is Wide Enough)
I think the world is wide enough
For all the art we make —
With purpose formed or simply to
Create for beauty’s sake.
Despite the million words of love
That have before been penned,
There’s always time for one more voice
In passion to ascend.
Though tragedies are numerous
As falling flakes of snow,
Each is unique, like those who weep,
And from tears, let words flow.
Poems will be written still, for
Poems poetry begets.
And though so many poems are,
I’ll add mine to them yet.
12:10 a.m., I-80
(Wind Farm)
The concert ended late. We drove o’er hills
On empty roads through thick and friendly night.
The high beams cut a lonely path until
The heavy dark was pierced by countless lights:
A swarm of scarlet fireflies that sparked
In rhythm, locked in perfect synchrony.
The watch lights of a hidden wind farm marked
Strange constellations intermittently.
The sudden vision fully filled the air,
Yet visions end. Dark crept back in around.
I saw the boundary of the farm draw near
And asked my friend to pin the beauty down.
“Please, take a photo so the memory lasts.”
But roads lead on. The moment then had passed.
This collection of poems received first place in the creative writing category in the 2021-2022 Union College Board of Trustees Writing Awards. The collection is inspired by the experience of overcoming writer's block and looking for beauty in the small things.
Annika Cambigue
Copyright © 2024 Annika Cambigue - All Rights Reserved.
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