The stars bring their music,
so sleep will not come.
Harmony, melody, stars.
The stars bring their sparkle
to grandfather’s yard.
Harmony, melody, light.
Sleep will not come
in my grandfather’s yard.
Harmony, melody, flower.
The night sings its song
with the scent in the air.
Harmony, melody, child.
In my grandfather’s yard,
the sweet joy of sweet-pea—
harmony, melody, love.
The sleep will not come,
while the heart beats its love.
Sweet-pea, melody, and heart-
beat.
first published in The Wild Goose Poetry Review
6 comments
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July 10, 2009 at 1:50 am
Carol Connell
I imagine it would be hard to sleep if you could sniff the air and smell sweet pea. Is this a memory from your childhood?
July 10, 2009 at 9:51 am
helenl
Carol, I don’t remember the smell so much, and I never slept at my grandfather’s house or even tried to. (He lived just over half a mile from our own house, so that wasn’t necessary.) I do remember sweet peas growing on the back yard fence. I imagine my grandmother, who died before my parents even met, planted them there. My grandfather didn’t seem the type to plant flowers. So the flowers are a childhood memory, but the rest is imagined.
July 10, 2009 at 1:14 pm
Karen Hopper
I love this poem. Even though you told Carol part of it was imagination – you have one great imagination Helen. And to be an excellent poet, you do have to have one. So thankful that your offerings are being more exposed. You are deserving.
July 10, 2009 at 1:30 pm
helenl
Thank you, Karen.
July 10, 2009 at 4:06 pm
jessiecarty
i really like this line “Harmony, melody, child”
July 10, 2009 at 4:54 pm
helenl
Interesting, Jessie. I don’t do much with repetition but this was fun.