Poetry in Motion

There is a season for everything

and a time for every purpose.

In this season of flashing flowers

flaunted by every bush and tree;

bees busily busking at blossoms;

as daylight stretches the hours

and diminishes

this hemisphere’s dark;

it’s a strange discord to be

in want.

Yet, I have not found words

to express the longing

for a settled love;

hope for a future that peers decades

ahead with life abundant

and hope fledging,

like a bluebird aloft.

And perhaps because I cannot

find the words, the longing has

migrated to my restless feet.

The bouncing beats of an

earlier time, brassy and innocent,

I dive into the swing-out

and attempt to surrender

my single-minded way,

the narrow view.

Oh, let the poetry live in the way

our hands link,

in the focused attention,

moving to the swelling saxophone

and the clear clarinet.

Let the bass line move us past

feeling burdened and break open

vibrant joy, motion meant

to love and serve.

To risk everything.

Because every day

is the season for loving.

Every true poem is born

from our motion.

©️Laurie Lynn Newman