Poetry
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Lady of the Brook
This was written as folklore for a novel I’m writing. It’s supposed to be a song. The lady of the brook Sees the moon—he creeps above, Dancing on her surface. O! what could it be but love? The lady of the brook Waits each night for his return, Never knowing that for her His heart…
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autumn’s roses
which holy garden could have been mother to roses of such sheen? slumbering in the promise sweet of a september soon to greet— autumn so painless, they’ll forget the scorching summer lives on yet. see how this flower, clothed in red, yawning, bows her pretty head.
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Life & Flowers
I stepped out today to find all of my flowers had bloomed. Gathering some into a vase, I realized why it’s important to wait for certain things—and to appreciate what’s going on during the wait, even in moments when it seems no change is happening. The flowers are stunning, aren’t they? If I had rushed…
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The Old, Grieving Garden
Wildflowers spring to life where they will As, above, the sun sets on my sorrow. I didn’t think that I had tears to cry still. This sadness will last well into the morrow. The flashes of blue and dots of white Dancing in patches of summer dirt Nod sympathetically to my plight, As if they…
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Starlight & Streetlight
With stars and Streetlights Guiding me, I got lost all the same. Searching for The sunrise, I Heard whispers Of my name. Heavenly Dance slows for Nobody, Poets and sleepers alike. Starlight and Streetlight will Keep their shine Long into the night.
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Time & Space
Eternity Passes, like Dregs of the Milky Way Trickling through Space. Cosmic Light fades in The heat of Ancient Sun.
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The Grudge
What am I going to do when the season ends and my flowers begin to die? How will I cope when I go outside in the morning and, instead of seeing a new darling has bloomed, I find the stalks becoming dry and crinkly—these gentle plants that brought butterflies and bees and joy to my…
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How Books Resemble Flowers
Writing a story is like growing a flower in the sense that you can’t rush it. The plant won’t bloom if you don’t give it the care it requires: some need more water, others wither if you give them too much. I learned through gardening and writing that it’s best not to control things too…
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On Robert Frost and the Rise of Poetry
We are fortunate to be living in a time when poetry is once again becoming popular. Instagram poetry is on the rise; it’s easy to post our work for thousands to see. If we learn the use of hashtags and posting times, we can build an impressive following. It is a breath of relief, since…
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A Place of Light
This is another excerpt from my journal that I would like to share. It needs editing, but I liked it, and hope you will too! There’s a lot of light in this place. It’s a haven of pure air and high spirits. It makes me feel like there’s no darkness left in my reality; by…
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On Storytelling
What does it mean to be a storyteller? Stories are places of refuge for people frightened by the realities of this world. They provide rest when we are too weak to dwell on reality. Story is salve for the wounds inflicted by life. A well-told story comforts us. We seek depth and meaning. We find…
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12/22/2017
i believe in honesty – x is x and y is y – like frost on snowy days, and also in the off-key notes that every artist plays, half-developed photographs, barely thought out rhymes, and in the bizarre colors that you see when you take time.
Mariella Hunt & the Tearoom 