I don’t usually explain my poems unless someone asks about something specific. When that happens I always answer as honestly as I can. This first poem, however, has a pretty cool story behind it.
I was a speaker at the Type-A conference in June & told the audience about my friend & former sister-in-law Cate Peterson. Cate asked me about it on Twitter after the event and I replied, “you were a part of my speech.” At this point Laura Hope-Gill, an Asheville poet & writer, said that I needed to write a poem using that line. So often we say things that we don’t realize are profound if looked at from a different perspective. I thanked Laura for pointing this out to me & jumped at the opportunity to do the line justice. I hope that I have done just that.
This poem isn’t about the conference, Cate or Laura. However all three helped to bring about its creation. There are others who are points of inspiration in both of the poems below, some are already aware and some never will be. Still, the intention of my writing is always the same. I hope that I can make you, the reader, think, feel and understand the people I write about. Sometimes the girl in the poem is me, sometimes she’s not, but my goal is always to entertain or enlighten you and I appreciate every person who reads my words.
Thank you to Joseph Barcia for always giving me his brain and his ears. He was essential to strengthening & clarifying the story I wanted to tell.
You were a part of my speech.,
the unexplained break in my voice.
You wrote the song in my head,
and I promise this wasn’t my choice.
You were the spin of the stars,
the sweet chaos of all I could see.
You haven’t uncovered the truth
of the wonder and magic of me.
You were the start of a thought
that I was too cautious to think.
Unable to fend off your charms,
you lured my heart to the brink.
You were a part of my speech.
A whisper too loud to ignore.
The voice that coaxed me to sleep,
the one this poem is for.
A few moments every season,
lost in one compelling gaze.
A slight graze on the cheek
can fill a mind for days.
So much yet unknown,
caught in the fickle web of self.
The fantasies and wayward dreams
tucked safely on a shelf.
And nothing’s ever offered.
There is no goal to be attained.
With no logic to the longing….
It can never be explained.
written by barbie angell. copyright august 2011.