Tag: truth

Lost Imaginings

~ Lynne Burnett ~ 13 Comments
Photo by Julia Volk

As I walked through the frost-covered hills at dawn
I was you, and you, in your dreams, were me.
Only the veil of a lifetime tried to keep us from meeting …

Shadows of a truth prevailed:
the formless secret moved, and vague forms—we—
we embraced the heart-shaped clues.

 And there, not on grey-breasted hills,
we met, and danced the briefest dance
before shades of a vision quieted our feet.

 But we did dance.
And the still pool I passed
still reflects lost imaginings.

This poem was first published in April of 1976, along with three others of mine, in Vol. 10, Issue 13 of a magazine called either The Seneca or The Senca. I can’t find evidence online of what I noted but it’s legit as I have the actual page cut out. Anyway, now that I’m back from summer boating and in the wake of quite a few rejections, I thought I’d post some of these older poems. It’s always interesting rediscovering one’s poetic first steps. And I like to think that my time away from the internet (because of remote anchorages) enhances my “inner net” though I am thankful this method of communication is available again. Happy Fall to you all!

Eagle

~ Lynne Burnett ~ 5 Comments

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Happy to say this little poem has just been published in the 2020 print edition of “Crosswinds Poetry Journal” along with other finalists and winners of its annual contest. The poem was inspired by an eagle seen flying at sunset the last day of September and the boating memory of another eagle which was carrying a 3 foot long snake home for dinner. 

 

Spoon, Knife, Fork

~ Lynne Burnett ~ 8 Comments

The truth bends
into a spoon
with which you feed yourself
until the bowl
you put it in
is empty.
Then you look
for other bowls
with equally measured offerings.
Meanwhile, life
comes to your table
in platters,
heaped with bite.

The truth is razor sharp.
It slices and divides
until everyone
has a piece of a piece
of the pie.
It is not fair and
not always palatable.
It is forgettable,
dulled when lied about,
the dangerous blade now
of betrayal,
unable to penetrate
a thick skin.

The truth is a telling
fork in the road:
go left,
but if it is not right,
you will catch hold
of nothing.  You will
keep searching,
and never arrive.
Take the path
that is right
and there will be
nowhere left
to go.

This poem first appeared in Northshore Magazine in 2006. An old favourite.