Welcome to where I am, where my kitchen's always messy, a pot's (or a poet) always about to boil over, a dog is always begging to be fed. Drafts of poems on the counter. Windows filled with leaves. Wind. Clouds moving over the mountains. If you like poetry, books, and music--especially dog howls when a siren unwinds down the hill-- you'll like it here.


MY NEW AUTHOR'S SITE, KATHRYNSTRIPLINGBYER.COM, THAT I MYSELF SET UP THROUGH WEEBLY.COM, IS NOW UP. I HAD FUN CREATING THIS SITE AND WOULD RECOMMEND WEEBLY.COM TO ANYONE INTERESTED IN SETTING UP A WEBSITE. I INVITE YOU TO VISIT MY NEW SITE TO KEEP UP WITH EVENTS RELATED TO MY NEW BOOK.


MY NC POET LAUREATE BLOG, MY LAUREATE'S LASSO, WILL REMAIN UP AS AN ARCHIVE OF NC POETS, GRADES K-INFINITY! I INVITE YOU TO VISIT WHEN YOU FEEL THE NEED TO READ SOME GOOD POEMS.

VISIT MY NEW BLOG, MOUNTAIN WOMAN, WHERE YOU WILL FIND UPDATES ON WHAT'S HAPPENING IN MY KITCHEN, IN THE ENVIRONMENT, IN MY IMAGINATION, IN MY GARDEN, AND AMONG MY MOUNTAIN WOMEN FRIENDS.




Saturday, April 3, 2010

LASTING: Magpie Tales

(Thanks again to Magpie Tales for the prompt!)



Lasting

---Easter Afternoon


From tiny holes, my German great-aunts

blew the yolks from their eggs

to craft miniature worlds within.

I marveled at how they made

something so fragile

hold fast. How long did those eggs last,

displayed on a shelf? Kept under glass?


How long will we last,

I don’t ask, drinking wine

with my husband.

How long this tree

we sit under?

The earth we ride?

Blue as an egg being raised

from its dye cup, the sky

knows I can’t crack its shell

to see what’s on the other side.


20 comments:

Suz said...

beautiful
and yes the key is
don't ask

spacedlaw said...

Lovely.

Kathryn Magendie said...

where my thoughts have been lately, too - that fragility, wonderment, where we go when we aren't here, the single thread of life we're all attached to even if it seems we are not.

But, I always like a little mystery, yes *smiling*

Jessie Carty said...

really, really love this piece. I always marvel at people who can do such delicate artwork. I also like to leave a bit of it to magic :)

Helen said...

I love your poem ... simply love it!

Peter Goulding said...

I don't think we realise how delicate is this painted egg we live on.
But as Suz says, better not to ask.

Catalyst said...

Kathryn, beautiful as always.

willow said...

I love the notion of the blue sky being cracked to see what's on the other side. Beautiful piece, Kay.

Angie Muresan said...

I've spent half my life wondering what's on the other side.

Martin H. said...

The unanswerable question. Lasting is about as mysterious as what's on the other side of the sky.

Vicki Lane said...

Oh, Kay! That's a beauty of a poem!

The sky as an eggshell ... breathtaking!

As my mother-in-law said in her last days, when asked about her preferences for funeral arrangements, "Surprise me."

Kathryn Stripling Byer said...

Suz, the key, yes you are right. Don't ask, just sit under the tree, sip wine, love the time you are in..
Kat, I love the single thread of life we're attached to even if it seems we're not. Invisible, so often.
Thank you for visiting!
Jessie, those eggs were amazing. I wondered at the time they spent doing such delicate, precise work.
Helen, thank you for like the poem. I began it while walking to the p.O. Friday.

joanny said...

Just when we are tempted to think every thing about the day is ordinary, something extra ordinary happens to remind us ---"the sky knows I can’t crack its shell"

Lovely,
Joanny

Joan Tucker said...

Oh yes beautiful, jt

The Bug said...

This brings to mind part of the Episcopal service: "this fragile earth, our island home." Would that we all treated it like a painted eggshell!

Brian Miller said...

wonderful magpie! how long will be last, every fragile as the egg...

Queenmothermamaw said...

Lovely very profound. I love this prompt. Blessings
QMM

Kathryn Stripling Byer said...

Joany, the temptation is always there, to think the day ordinary. I walked out at twilight last night and just buried my face in the daffodils, wishing I could make the moment last.
Joan and Dana, thank you. The Episcopalian service is so much more poetic than the Presbyterian I grew up hearing, but I always had the KJV to fall back on!
Brian, I began this poem thinking about how much I disliked hard-boiled eggs as a kid. I always wanted big chocolate eggs. And that led me to the eggshell image. (Now I love hard-boiled eggs.)
Queen Mother, that gorgeous egg of Willow's really got something going didn't it. I hope you have a lovely April.

steviewren said...

I like the idea of the sky cracking to reveal what's on the other side.

poetpeteet said...

"The earth we ride"as Janisse Ray writes"feet firmly planted,side by side";such serendipity to find this poem and prompt while your middle name has the echos of this poem/song I collaborated on in my head too.Hope you don't mind the length,it actually is much longer and Joanne makes it a beautiful song.
Jordan and Joanne Rand with Peter Peteet

It is a law
from long ago
that sturdy legs must leave the crib
that readied beaks must break the small
vast wall of white silence
and prod the cowlicked wings
until they fly.
It is an oath
that mighty muscled babies recite
to flattering mirrors in the wee forelight
that they will meet the sweltering noon
with a chiseled jaw of firm delight
enjoying the pains of manhood.
Oh, how I’d like
to forever be
--if I were possibly able—
a dangle of lank on the whole world’s knee
a stripling in the cradle.
But all the simple yolk is gone
and I will starve if I don’t go on.
To claim the pains of manhood
Put on the chains of manhood
I WANT TO FLY; I WANT TO CRY
I AM POUNDING AT THE GREAT WHITE DARKNESS & CANNOT SEE THE SKY