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Chiseled Soul, a Poem

Updated on February 20, 2013

Chiseled Rock and Wood

Ingrained, in granite, soapstone,

my Mother's will.

intent on making caveman marks

on the earth's womb,

grinding, leveling, sanding,

turned from side to side,

old walrus spring forth,

and child owls too-

a woman with a concave womb,

her breasts wounds on

her polished body,

telling her story,

stories in wood, burls

lovingly crafted, baroque,

Mother listening to the wood,

as she used to lean

towards a tree, and listen

to the life within...

waiting, bemused, silent

maybe for years

before the grain and crossgrain

were worked and

reworked under her

knarled hands...


Mother is sanding still,

first, with diamond paper,

then the finest grain,

sprinkling the sandstone

with special oil,

to refine the brilliance

of the green,

blue, rust and white,

in the sandstone,

applying tung to diamond willow,

to black diamond willow,

so rare, impossible to find now...

such ancient gifts

repose in me too.


Here now, Mother,

I am here now,

turning with lathe

all the things

that pass before me.

Grinding, carving, sanding,

sometimes waiting years

to see a thing...

to have the words,


Thru the long years,

wounds have appeared

on each upturned palm,

that slowly give blood,

magic blood,

and that blood,

that blood

is poetry,




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    • Hyphenbird profile image

      Brenda Barnes 4 years ago from America-Broken But Still Beautiful

      We all are thankful that you use that lifeblood to write words. You do it so well. Bless you my friend. Hy

    • epigramman profile image

      epigramman 4 years ago

      Lovely narrative writing Lily and yet there is STILL no one who writes quite like you - I am so very proud of what you have accomplished here at the Hub dear friend - sending you warm wishes from Colin and his cats at lake erie time canada 2:38pm on a sunny but cold day

    • ALUR profile image

      ALUR 4 years ago from USA

      So timely as I bid mother adieu after a long estrangement. My favorite part "Thru the long years,

      wounds have appeared

      on each upturned palm," and indeed the bloody palms are signs of suffering...

      You're welcome to check out my hubs as well:)

    • ALUR profile image

      ALUR 4 years ago from USA

      So timely as I bid mother adieu after a long estrangement. My favorite part "Thru the long years,

      wounds have appeared

      on each upturned palm," and indeed the bloody palms are signs of suffering...

      You're welcome to check out my hubs as well:)

    • lilyfly profile image
      Author

      Lillian K. Staats 4 years ago from Wasilla, Alaska

      Vincent , that is a beautiful testimony to my Mother. I imagine sometimes she reads what we write. I sincerely hope she reads your words. Thank you, much love, lily

    • profile image

      Vincent Moore 4 years ago

      I can see an old woman working with her hands, listening to the winds in the trees, gathering up her tools and creating her treasures of history to be left behind for those of us to wondery why? So much beauty in this work, I see the artist, I feel her beauty as she works with knarled hands and shapes ugly into beauty, such as you do with your poetry my poet.

    • lilyfly profile image
      Author

      Lillian K. Staats 4 years ago from Wasilla, Alaska

      Thanks Martin! Love yaz, lily

    • Mhatter99 profile image

      Martin Kloess 4 years ago from San Francisco

      Thank you for this.Good or bad would martin be martin without that mother?