gurglewords

Far below, the sounds recede and die –
the grunt of exertion, the called command
the scrape of boot on marble
the clatter of loose stone
I am alone
I sit quite still, roped fast onto the ledge –
someone must wait to bring them up again
not enough rope left
to rig a double belay
so here I stay

Above, below, the silver ladders hang –
spidering the void and linking worlds
up there – blue green and gold
down here – grey black and old
I feel cold

I blow my carbide lamp out now, and feel
cave darkness swirling, smothering my being
mouth-filling, visible, touchable
yet of nothing made
I am afraid

I light my hissing lamp with trembling hands –
the ledge and I leap into sudden life
I still my pounding heart
and wait with courage firm
they will return

HELEN says: I am dedicating this post to all of us in the top of the South Island of Aotearoa NZ. Especially those who have suffered loss and trauma from the recent flooding…and yet the rain keeps coming. I would like to send it somewhere else in the world where it is needed. The irony is that I know that in a few months we might well be wishing for even just one drop of rain. Meanwhile I wish us all calm and resilience. The sort that is demonstrated in the above poem.

Cave Belay is from Carol’s recent book; SIMPLY THAT and she tells me it is is based on the time when as a young adult she belonged to a group of cavers who explored the many caves which lie deep within the Takaka Hill.

Thank you Carol for sharing this poem.

I myself am very grateful that the rain stopped when it did!

Check out the following link about Carol, who is well known in Nelson for her contribution to poetry over many years.

Be safe and well, Arohanui Helen

Today Monday, I decided to look back one decade to see what I had blogged about at the time. This is the poem I found. What serendipity!. Tomorrow, Tuesday 10th October, is World Mental Health Day. And a day when many are looking for hope and peaceful ways of putting it into action. Read the poem carefully and take much hope from its message.

HOPE

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I ‘ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Helen says…This is what I wrote a decade ago.’ Emily Dickinson’s poems are in the public domain. ‘Hope’ is much known and loved but I like the idea of helping to spread hope on the internet.’

‘Hope’ is poem number six in the second series of Emily’s poetry, edited in 1891 by two of her friends, MABEL LOOMIS TODD and T.W. HIGGINSON. To read the preface, which gives a great insight into Emily’s writing go here.

We can all do with a good dose of hope at present. May all who read this poem find it anew.

For information about World mental Health Day go here

Cave Belay by Carol Don Ercolano

Tuesday Poem-Hope by Emily Dickinson