Creative expressions is a space for local poets and writers to share their work. Creative expressions is edited by Richard Schmidt and Diana Liebe. For information or to submit your original work, e-mail rvschmidt2@gmail.com.
Book Lights
By Georgina Marie
Everything is going to be ok
when you walk into the room
and you feel like a poet
And Oliver, Frost and Ginsberg
are looking at you
from the past
or the current
Because words are never lost, they are
perpetually written
squid stains
ink stepping on the hardwood floors
that creak
as people creep into the
light emitting wood room of
both the dead and the living
writers who write to save their lives,
to save themselves from the peril
of being human
Daffodil
By Mary McMillan
If she could speak
as she drives her bloom
to open, would she tell us of
the roots beneath her,
who were digging alone all winter
in frozen soil, sending out
moaning tendrils reaching into
the unknown, each one
sensing in dreams what’s needed
by the big one, who’s working
at the surface, chatting and dividing
in maternal bliss, her big bulb bumping into
what is already known?
Would she tell of each
tough rope of root muscling below
to find water, sucking and storing,
offending gophers, outwitting moles?
I doubt it. The bloom knows
her source, but she doesn’t speak
its language. Her voice celebrates
the silk of longer warmer days,
announces, in her yellow voice, It is time
to heave away
the heavy coat of winter,
worn out now, and open windows.
She clamps her neck to her fierce
rigid stem, who whispers into her throat
his message from below: Dear, our time is ending.
It means nothing. We will begin.
Begin to let go.
