poetryrepairs #204 14.09:104
BETSY E. LISTER : Where Do Beautiful Souls Go
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            Because I am not with you             I am sucked into the foggy maelstrom.   Because I am with you I ask you to pass the salt. You hand it to me.               The magenta,             white and purple flowers you sent             cast shadows             strong as tree limbs against             the wall of our home   You put gas in my car, tell me to come in out of the snow, remind me why I walked into this room.               I think of you and hear the Chieftains             …or is it that I hear the Chieftains, and             think of you…   Because I am with you we talk about the trees of the forest as the back of my hand curls into the palm of yours.               Because I am not with you…             you send me             whispers of your love                             against my shoulders,             the touch of your words                 on my fingertips.

poetryrepairs #204 14.09:104

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ABIGAIL B. CALKIN is previously published at poetryrepairs.com.This five poems are from a prose and poetry collection titled The Wife of…Memoir of a Military Wife.

Myths say that if one sings soulfully and with fervor over the bones of a wolf, she will rise from her bones and walk away full-bodied. Like a modern Indian chanting over buffalo bones, to revive his sacred food, I sing psalms of praise and forgiveness to the wolf; from hot, humid arroyos of Oklahoma where I ran free and above the steep asphalt canyons of L.A. where I am bound by voluntary servitude in glass and steel mountains. The horned owl, the cougar, deer, elk, air and water all need the wolf to make their land wild again. What do I need? I know about raw power creating the mountains, know about water sculpting ridges and gouging out deep canyons. Now I walk over moss-padded boulders, under beards of lichen hanging from ancient trees; lie on river banks watching the future-- primordial water raging toward me, by me, into the past. I need the wolf to rip away layers of asphalt, scratch in my red dirt and howl over my bones to resurrect my natural man.

15 years ago, vMM.09
poetryrepairs #204 14.09:104

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BETSY E. LISTER Where Do Beautiful Souls Go
Where do beautiful souls go when they die; Where is the comfort; where is it they lie? Are they with loved ones and cared for dear; Is an angel with them, or is one near? Lord answer the question Because I need to know Please tell me where Beautiful souls go?

poetryrepairs #204 14.09:104

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition. -- O.E.D.

BETTY E. LISTER's poem seems a rhymed poem. But beyond the A/A/B/B couplets and iambic pentameter of stanza one, doubt creeps in --- with 9 syllables in line 2 surety begins to fail the speaker and with it, the reasoned stanza turns. Stanza 2 if a marvelous complexity. Line 5 and six play with the /on/ and /no/ closed and open sounds to create a kind of slant rhyme "couplet" "C"/c/ a rhyme but slant. Line seven lifts us out of communication with the Lord and returns its readers to the /B/ rhyme of sdtanza 1. As if the poet says to herself, "I'm talking to God; should I be reasoning this out?". Immedidately we return to the c rhyme of lines 5 and 6, with a nearly pure rhyme c/c in line 6 and eight. Without an answer, the poet gives a conflict between reason and faith. But in returning to stanza one we may note the consonents lines 1 and 3 /d/ and /dead/ which hints at the complexity of stanza and which make the rhyme scheme of the second, closer related to that of the first stanza. In effect, reason and faith present as two sides of the same coin. Perhaps there are yet deeper meanings in this simply stated complex poem. --ed.


BETSY E. LISTER : Where Do Beautiful Souls Go

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