Tag: letting go

Poem Up at Blue Heron Review

~ Lynne Burnett ~ 9 Comments

LYNNE BURNETT

Back in Puerto Vallarta

We arrive at the hotel like royalty—
remembered, waved through
the sea breeze of halls and floors
to our room, a welcome platter
of fruit, chilled bottle of wine,
a card—that’s all it takes to
pull off our clothes, shower,
sit on the balcony white-robed,
watch the waves rolling toward us
until they roll all the way in and
we let go the body that struggles,
let anything and everything swim
out of us, follow a dark fin far
and away from the old shore,
the sea surging, filling my mouth
with its need to be tasted—salt lick,
tongue slick with the eloquence
of stars.

I’m so happy to have this poem appear in Blue Heron Review’s Issue 16, whose theme was Sanctuaries & Places of Peace, along with almost 50 others! Big thanks to editor Cristina Norcross! I’ve pasted my poem here for ease of reading (since my poem is nine from the end) but here is the link to the whole issue, so many nourishing poems to enjoy: https://blueheronreview.com/bhr-issue-16-spring-2023/

Back In Puerto Vallarta

~ Lynne Burnett ~ 10 Comments

20170908_171328048_iOS

We arrive at the hotel like royalty—
remembered, waved through
the sea breeze of halls and floors
to our room, a welcome platter
of fruit, chilled bottle of wine,
a card—that’s all it takes to
pull off our clothes, shower,
sit on the balcony white-robed,
watch the waves rolling toward us
until they roll all the way in and
we let go the body that struggles,
let anything and everything swim
out of us, follow a dark fin far
and away from the old shore,
the sea surging, filling my mouth
with its need to be tasted—salt lick,
tongue slick with the eloquence
of stars.

I finally decided to start posting some of my Mexico poems, seeing as how I’m one month into a 3 month holiday here – not at the hotel above but in a condo right next door.

Autumn Flow

~ Lynne Burnett ~ 2 Comments
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Photo by michael podger on Unsplash

The west windows of the house cannot open
far enough to hear the backyard river
but the one east window, by which I sleep,
lets every murmur in, brimming on the early
morning tide with night’s collected songs
and a wind for dreams to sail on, in red and
yellow and green boats, past the branches
of the only trees they know, to land on the
shores of an earth that needs them, my earth.

To go forth into the day
in the wide pull of that current,
belonging deeply to the world.

The chill of autumn is in the air today. Made me think of this poem, first published in North Shore Magazine way back in 2005!