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This is an assignment Plato did for our Writing 101 class. I was a little shy about reblogging it here so I never did. But Fimnora Westcaw of Quantum Hermit was asking about it today, so here it is after all this time… But please do stop by Plato’s Groove and listen to him read the poem. I thought it was fabulous! (But then I might be just a smidge prejudiced. 😀 ) (Thanks my Groovy Dude friend. And ditto. ❤ )

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The Gift

Day Six: Today’s Prompt: Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’ve met this year?

When I read this prompt I was not excited.  Not because I have not met interesting, meaningful people this year but because I have.  And I have already put that energy into a piece I called the Gift.  It is about a beautiful soul who I have met across time and space but she is a part of my existence now.  There are others who have also become a part of me and I so look forward to reading their work and interacting with them, but she was the first.  She is brilliant in her ability to notice things and people who are often overlooked.  Her genius is in what she notices and what she does with it.  She is open to those who are different from her and she gives them grace.  She is ever trying to learn and grow, a woman of courage. She is dedicated to those whom she loves and is fierce on their behalf.  I love her writing.  I could not do what she does, ever.  It is like good bread and the fragrance of fresh cut grass, nourishing for body and soul.  Thank you Calensariel for noticing.  And thank you for opening the door for me and introducing me to some of the coolest smartest people I have ever known.  She is somebody worth spending your time with.  You will have missed a treasure in your life if you don’t stop in and chat with her.  Be Groovy!

The poem that follows is my attempt to give her a small token for a debt much too large to repay.  The Gift.


The gift was not in Her doing but in being, Herself

I was desolate

Lying still among the debris

In desperation I wrote, seeking

Needing some response, some touch, some signal from the universe

All was void

Perishing for lack of me

Her genius, Her magic lies in her attention, what she sees

Dying ember

Her heart noticed

A bruised reed She would not break

A smoldering wick She would not snuff out

She saw beauty in the brokenness and as a child would She clapped for joy

She did not attempt to brace up the reed or give it instruction

She found wonder in the ember as it was

And as she clapped her hands it fanned a fire

Her mere interest helped the reed straighten it’s Self

Her gift was not in the doing

It was in the being of Herself

And in the recognition of the beauty found in ashes

She is my hero