Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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Unturned stones

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‘This window needs cleaning,’ I think to myself.

Silent Saturday morning unfolds
before me.
Autumn makes her presence known,
a haphazard scatter, gold
leaves upon verdant lawn …

 


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday

Find the complete version here.

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©2020 Christine Kelly All Rights Reserved

Photo by Ewa Stepkowska on Unsplash

 

Little Sparrow

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The thought
perches upon my shoulder,
like a sparrow,
quietly undemanding,
yet claiming my attention.

It’s softness and patience
unmoors me,
as time races
past the point I felt certain I’d reach,
the person I’d become …


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday

Find the complete version here.

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© 2020 Christine Kelly All Rights Reserved

Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash


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A breath, taken

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Let me
breathe
this once
without thinking, no tears
falling from scrunched up eyes
or lips salty with memory and regret,
the waves having crested …


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday

Find the complete version here.

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© 2020 Christine Kelly All Rights Reserved

Photograph: my own

 


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How I Became the Heroine of My Own Peaceful “Ever After”

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We were never a model couple, until we divorced.

Recently I was told that my ex-husband and I were the perfect examples of how to do divorce right, as if doing it ‘right’ made it more palatable. I’m not sure divorce is ever ‘done right,’ but I admit our uncoupling turned out to be less painful, arduous, and angry than I ever believed it would be. Collaborative divorce was the gateway to this peaceful coexistence.

From day one, the tenure and tenor of our marriage were acrimonious. I had contemplated divorce on several occasions, but never felt it would be the final resolution.

I entered marriage with the highest of hopes after a long-distance courtship that was romantic and replete with long letters and phone calls. Despite its romantic beginnings, my marriage was a difficult one. I was hopeful and maybe little naïve, but I never expected it to be a bed of roses — and it wasn’t, except for the thorns …

 


Published on Medium: Recovering After a Divorce

Find the complete version here.

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©Christine Kelly 2020

Photo by Evan Lee on Unsplash


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Awaiting discovery

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Autumn color displays

its soul, complex and deep.

Eyes feast upon intricacies,

drama against sullen sky.

November’s grip, winter

chasing sun

sky threatening

eruption, emotion held

to its breast,

since spring came and went.

Intense hue

a taste, pungent;

how it lies upon my tongue

awaiting discovery.

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Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208

 


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And the rains came

A year has passed

since that August morn,

yet it feels like yesterday.

A day beginning like every other day,

only it wasn’t.

I woke, alone,

at peace with the silence and soft

entrance to the day.

I lay there, thinking,

contemplating the end;

twenty-three years of a life

accompanied but not shared.

A half-life,

existing,

stasis all I knew.

A single day bringing all that to an end.

Changes would mount, swiftly,

a hurricane gathering shape

and strength

offshore.

I girded myself for the storm,

open arms and an upturned face

waiting

for the rains to come.

A stinging kiss to remind me

I am alive.

Transformation found in droplet

and deluge

alike.

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Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph by Lynne Gee via Flickr


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No regrets

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an end that came too soon

full stop on a sentence

beginnings

a storied introduction

mix of joy and pain

knowledge found in a glance

soul an open book

eyes

reflections of this woman

needs, desires

unknown, unacknowledged

without exploration, risk

a voice would have remained

still

silent

no regrets in chances

taken, a belonging

monotone shadow lived

beneath

cast off

each day painted vivid hues

continue to resonate

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Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


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New ones

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They will go without me, to this place I grew to love. Rugged and wild, it spoke to my deep-seated need to be by the sea; to feel her power and her fury, watching her in awe from a distance.

My children will hike to the top of Bray Head and sit and marvel at the Irish Sea, knowing I am across the water looking back at them from my own perch. But I will miss that hike, through the woods, cool and dark but dappled with occasional sunlight. Eventually we’d make our way out into the open, looking down at the town and looking up to see the cross at the very top of the mountain. A place of pilgrimage.

These memories are vivid, stacked upon each other from each year we created them. A tradition. Each visit different and yet the same. The path was well-worn and my feet knew every inch of it. I never looked down to see where I was going, my eyes were far too busy looking around me to see if anything had changed; drinking in the view as if it were the last time. Two years ago it was. I knew it then and every moment was bittersweet. I devoured those days and I hold them close now. I might return, but not in the same way. This year I will not sit high atop that mountain with the sea hundreds of feet below me. Draped in blessed silence and reverence. White tipped waves rushing over the blue green like horses. I will not take the path along the cliff walk to Greystones, my heart swelling with every step as I am bracketed by the sea to my left and verdant hills alive with gorse on my right.

I will not make those memories this year. I will make new ones. My own.

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Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

 Photographs taken by SirenSong1208

 

 


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Only one voice

‘This is not a funeral,’ she said,

‘though I’m drowning in carnations.’

There are no condolence cards

or whiskey toasts

to memory,

only the sad nod of head

as a story becomes too familiar to all

and an end that happened long ago

becomes the final chapter

in a story that was told

with only one voice.

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©SirenSong1208 ~ 2018

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced


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The lure to ride the waves

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I wish to be on a board in the sun.

The swells of the sea undulating beneath my open thighs

As I scan the horizon

It’s peaceful

And yet exhilarating

My memory is strong

Three summers gone

The board is long

And unwieldy

As I am not used to its length

Or weight

It was purple and white

I recall an intense feeling of excitement

Building within

One for the bucket list

A girl of the sea

I had always been

But had never taken the plunge

And ridden the waves before

At least

Not on my feet

The adrenaline that I feel

Being tossed and turned by

The ocean’s current

Should frighten me

Make me more cautious

But I’m addicted to that high

The way it makes me feel

Invincible

When I emerge from the surf

Smiling

And breathless

But balancing upon fiberglass

And the power of the sea

That was a new test

As with everything new

I was focused

As well as thrilled and nervous

But I was all in

And all in it turned out to be

I’d ride the waves to the shoreline

Flying off into the water

Before I made land

Laughing and paddling out to try once more

Except for that last time…

Like every other attempt

 I caught the swell

And rode the wave to shore

But that final time it came faster

The surging current swiftly moving inland

Like a bullet train

And I was caught off guard

My board hit the sand

Flinging me off

Pitching me face first into the sand

A horrifying sight I’m sure

To those sitting there

I managed to stand up

Sand in my mouth

And my head ringing from the impact

Not realizing the damage I had done

The wounds caused

And just how lucky I had been

But despite the danger

Despite what happened

The lure to ride those waves again

Tugs at me

As the ocean does to the shore

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*Continuing with my (apparent) aquatic theme, this is not new but from two summers past. And the lure still tugs at me.

©SirenSong1208

Photo taken from Pinterest