Early Morning Thoughts ~ what about love?

In the wonderful musical “Oliver” there is an amazing tune: “Where is Love?” Where indeed. As I mentioned yesterday in early morning thoughts, I too am waiting. At my (.. ahem ..) age, being alone is sometimes not the best in the world. However, I have learned that it is better to be alone for the right reasons, than to be with someone for the wrong reasons. Will I know? How will I know love?

Does it fall from skies above?
Is it underneath the willow tree
That I’ve been dream of?

Will I ever know the sweet “hello”
That’s only meant for me?

Must I travel far and wide?
‘Til I am bedside the someone who
I can mean something to …

Several years ago I wrote the following. The story of how it came to me is not as important tonight as what I felt, and what resonated within me. I have shared this poem very rarely however, with tonight’s/today’s thoughts I felt it links to all that is here this morning.

You Looked

You looked at me and smiled.
I was unprepared.
You looked at me and spoke.
I was unprepared.
You looked at me and touched me.
I was unprepared.
And, for a moment, only a moment,
Unable to speak,
Unable to smile,
Unable to touch.
Then, I looked and smiled.
I looked and spoke.
I looked and touched.
In that moment,
that moment of happening,
I knew. I knew what I was worth.
I knew who I was.
I knew what I was.
And I was grateful.

Copyright wd

I Held a Jewel in My Fingers

I held a jewel in my fingers
And went to sleep
The day was warm, and winds were prosy
I said, “Twill keep”

I woke – and chide my honest fingers,
The Gem was gone
And now, an Amethyst remembrance
Is all I own.

Emily Dickinson


The Rainbow

. . . she saw the dun atmosphere over the blackened hills opposite, the dark blotches of houses, slate roofed and amorphous, the old church-tower standing up in hideous obsoleteness above raw new houses on the crest of the hill, the amorphous, brittle, hard edged new houses advancing from Beldover to meet the corrupt new houses from Lethley, the houses of Lethley advancing to mix with the houses of Hainor, a dry, brittle, terrible corruption spreading over the face of the land, and she was sick with nausea so deep that she perished as she sat.

And then, in the blowing clouds, she saw a band of faint iridescence colouring in faint colours a portion of the hill. And forgetting startled, she looked for the hovering colour and saw a rainbow forming itself. In one place it gleamed fiercely, and, her heart anguished with hope, she sought the shadow of iris where the bow should be.

Steadily the colour gathered, mysteriously, from nowhere, it took presence upon itself, there was a faint, vast rainbow. The arc bended and strengthened itself till it arched indomitable, making great architecture of light and colour and the space of heaven, its pedestals luminous in the corruption of new houses on the low hill, its arch the top of heaven.

And the rainbow stood on the earth. She knew that the sordid people who crept hard-scaled and separate on the face of the world’s corruption were living still, that the rainbow was arched in their blood and would quiver to life in their spirit, that they would cast off their horny covering of disintegration, that new, clean, naked bodies would issue to a new germination, to a new growth, rising to the light and the wind and the clean rain of heaven.

She saw in the rainbow the earth’s new architecture, the old, brittle corruption of houses and factories swept away, the world built up in a living fabric of Truth, fitting to the over-arching heaven.

D. H. Lawrence

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