Thursday, December 1, 2022

Bright fish

Food for the body is not enough. There must be food for the soul.
~Dorothy Day

Happy Poetry Friday! Hope you are enjoying all the poetry to be found.

by John McCullough

It’s true: there is a light at the centre of my body.

If I could, I would lift aside a curtain of this flesh

and demonstrate, but for now it is my private neon.

It is closest to the air at certain moments,

like when buttercups repair a morning’s jagged edge.

Other times, a flock of days descends

and my soul flickers, goes to ground.

Without light, I’m all membrane; each part

becomes a gate. I pour across each margin

and nothing has enough hands to catch me,

my teeth knocking so fast I daren’t hold any piece

of myself near in case I start a banquet.

I’m only eased by accident. On the drenched path,

I pick up snails and transport them to safer earth

then feel a stirring. I watch as rain streams

from lopped-back elms, my face teeming with water

and―hello stranger―my soul glides to my surface

like it, too, belongs there; like a bright fish rising to feed.


Reading to the Core has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Catherine!


Bridget Magee said...

Thank you for sharing John McCullough soulful truth, Tabatha. May we all share our 'private neons'... Preston's is shining through in his relaxing pic. :)

Irene Latham said...

One of my favorite meditations starts with the light in the center of your heart and expands out to include the whole universe...poetry indeed! And yay for Preston's adorableness. xo

Janice Scully said...

Tabatha, I love this poem, and the idea of inner light coming to the surface when stirred by nature, "like a bright fish rising to feed." A poem to keep. Thank you for sharing it.

Linda B said...

Beautiful, to me, a poem of hope, Tabatha, as we all meander through our days. Thank you!


Exquisite poem, Tabatha. I've printed to sit with this further. I had read recently about the Inner Self and this feels like an ode. Thank you!

Heidi Mordhorst said...

Oh my oh my...
"Without light, I’m all membrane; each part
becomes a gate. I pour across each margin
and nothing has enough hands to catch me"--
oh my.
Like Patricia, I will be printing this one out.

Linda Mitchell said...

"like when buttercups repair a morning's jagged edge" What a wonderful, positive and uplifting like Joan. Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem of hers.

Linda Mitchell said...

Well, look at that! I saw J-O-H-N and read, Jone. Whoops! John, I sincerely enjoyed your poem. My apologies.

author amok said...

This was the poem I needed today -- the rawness of being alive, the light at the center of our bodies.

Mary Lee said...

This is one to read and re-read. What a wonder!

Jone said...

This was much needed today. Thank you for reminding me of inner light. Preston is a cutie.

Michelle Kogan said...

Beautiful, rushing-forth imagery, you can taste the wet-water, thanks Tabatha!

Catherine Flynn said...

I think I've read and reread this poem ten times and have found something new to marvel at each time. But I keep returning to the "light at the centre of my body." Exquisite. Thank you for sharing, Tabatha!