Winter’s Final Note-Revised

Winters Final Note In sleet and snow the land stretched below and the cold earth moaned a mournful cry The skies overhead bleed in white – drops fall beneath a sinking sky, harrowing unspoken sighs Running rivers rest in silver … Continue reading

To Wear Our Scars?

 

There is a scar
that covers about three inches of skin
on soft tissue,
just above your breast,
it runs a jagged line
it reminds me of a flower vine
creeping up your neck,
faded in time
a silver tattoo left,

Does it feel different on the tongue?
I run my lips across the serrated point
Quickening with every lick,
Each mark holds a depth untold
I feel a beating pulse within –
more than just a hollow organ;
a heart of its own
flowing in feelings.

This scar that is visible
carried upon your chest
weighing too heavy
for you to undress
like a photograph –
a moment never forgotten.
A permanent welt.
A visible form.

If the scar wasn’t there to remind you?
Could you forget it?

Thoughts

It’s been on my mind –the idea of a scar. We all have scars. Some are visible, some hidden and those buried so deeply, that we are ourselves are shocked to find they are there.

Does wearing our scars in different ways affect our-self?
Do we carry them for everyone to see?
Or hide them so deeply, that we forgot them, for a time.

Because even if we bury our burdens, they have a way of resurfacing.
Is it better to wear our scars?

WRITTEN BY J.CALVERT 2016

ALL PHOTOGRAPHS BELONG TO TALENTED PHOTOGRAPHER ANNA O.PHOTOGRAPHY 2015

Evening Primrose

stock-photo-112306111

Portrait of sadness by Agnieszka Lorek

Before the light of day
slips behind the moon
the maple tree glows red,
In tendrils of spidery webs
my fingers caress the earth,
Overcome by
the delicate aroma of evening primrose,
blossoms exposed on dusk.
The warmth of the sun fading –
the cool air weighs
heavily around my shoulders,
the lace shawl a slip across my vulnerability.
The beetles scuttle across the grass below,
Searching for a place to call their own.
I, a shapeless shadow,
disguised by the comfort of night
white stargazer lilies
upon the burial site,
a stagnant boulder
my eyes aching in
fits of weeping,
red rimmed and creasing,
hysteria took my heed.
Taken to the ground
my tears and
all my days gone,
Dawdling,
an ancient story
buried below,
Untold,
Goodbye my love.
Unfold my limbs across
our final resting place
Under the sun and
Clouded night.

I’ll lie with you all my days.

J.CALVERT 2016