anitalorrainemoore

Musician devoted to Justice, Creativity, and Courage


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Candlelight on a Friday Night

Everyone’s trying to find themselves these days;

seems like the topic of the decade.

Lovers masked behind the text on a screen,

alcohol masking all emotions to be seen.

Our game of tug-of-war between our projections and our shadows,

we stand, stunned in silent stillness, wondering how deep the wound goes.

We’ve forgotten the non-electric world,

between fingers, between addictions, distractions….the absurd.

I’m always on the verge of falling in love… and a desire to be safely furled.

My fear of intimacy may actually be unknowing – can I learn?

Who can teach me?  How do attraction and true love work?

I sit here by candlelight on a cold and dreamy Friday,

wondering if my body’s wasting away.

All the while, imagine the line outside,

hanging my drying lingerie.

 

 


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Poem Prose for this Morning

I arrived in the night in a whirlwind of giggles and tears of reunion.

Awoke in a dark room, warm from the heavy comforter and wool South American blanket designed with a red, black, blue, and cream colored geometric design.

After less sleep than normal, I rise.

Venture to the South facing kitchen for tea and hot water for which to make my compress. Yes, I must sit on hot towels to put my pain at ease, to let loose the goop within me to be HEALed.

Although it is cloudy out, I am happy to be in this home.  Still.  Quiet.  Exactly where I am.

The mail has stacked up since Thanksgiving when I exited last.  There are magazines, bills, advertisements, and letters. Dear sweet letters.  One from my sweetheart, from down South in Georgia.  Three from my dear friends in Chapel Hill and Saxapahaw.  I visited Saxapahaw while home for a swift meeting of the loved ones – perfectly timed as it should be, learning lessons of how sweet it is to fall in love all over again with those whom you’ve loved for centuries.  Learning also to understand the process as well as the means and the ends.  Time seems to stretch out when there is no returning home for a long while.  This is the romance of life and the nectar of true longing and contentment.  To miss and to be, all at once.

I sipped my tea and read those letters and cards this morning, smiling at the uniqueness and love in each of them.  Wondering when I will create time to write back.  Eager to put my pen to paper or keys to paper, whichever it may be.  Typewriting surges me with prose and poems as well.  I do like to sit in a big comfy blanket and read poems, or novels, or Mother Earth News.  Although the times this happens have been few and far between, their occurrence will happen again, I am sure.

To all you dear folks, I send to you love from these mountains.  These streams and trails.  These clouds, and these sunny days to come.  May peace be with you during this time of holidays and I hope you all remember to give back that which you have been so blessed.  Service is the action required to fulfill words and works of faith.

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