I seem to have a certain season on the mind

I jotted down the first stanza the other day in Christian Moral Principles class...it seemed like a pretty little beginning, but it wound up taking me to places I didn't expect to go, at all! Let me know what you think...are the alternations between free verse and rhyming quatrains too jarring? I went with it because it just seemed to be the natural thing to do at those points in the poem.

***

This year, summer kissed my lips,
And you were a part of summer
(though you did not know it).

A breeze stirred as we stood beneath the cherry tree.
Eyelet Queen Anne's Lace grazed my calves:
Billowing out and folding in,
Blooming open and fading away,
Passing from white to gray
As the sun passed through the clouds.

The gleam in my eyes had a name, too:
Daffodils were dancing there.
Golden dust rolled from my lashes;
It blew back into my hair.

I thought I saw some gold drift out
To your own eyes, and kindle there;
I wasn't sure – those stars were hard
To see, behind the tousled hair.

But I cared not; it mattered not,
For the light and the leaves together
Were turning you to a dappled faun:
I could only think of what a pair we would make,
Running and tumbling among the trees
(No, you did not see this) -

And oh, while you basked against that bark
And mumbled of crowns and contenders;
Finance and consequence -
Honeyed nectar was falling from your mouth
And landing on my tongue
(No, you did not taste it) -

And -
Your hand:

It was a measure of warm, red muslin
Spread firmly against the small of my back,
Drawing me up to fit the stooping shape of your silhouette.

Nature's rhythm has been broken;
Summer has not died in me.
You are the source of such confusion
(though you did not try to be).


Olivia Meldrum 2010

Mourning Doves

Something I wrote down the other day. I feel like it's an idea I would love to expand upon, but at the same time, I like how it's short and comes to a simple conclusion. So...I'll call it a finished piece. For now. :) What do you think?



I hide a thousand Mourning Doves beneath my bed each night.
Though they are nocturnal, their eyes grow wide by light.

All of them are broken; some will surely die -
But someday, I'll release them, and all will surely fly.


Olivia Meldrum 2010