From the Garden and Frenzy by Anne Sexton

It's not officially Autumn in my brain until the first Spider Lilies appear with their pretty orange/red spidery legs all upside down---or maybe they're right side up. These bloomed just yesterday and already the weather is cooler. It's like they hold the cool weather in their blooms and release it upon opening.

I'm beginning to feel wistful about the year(s) passing so swiftly. I remember when my kids were young, time seemed to slide by like pure cane syrup, slooooowwwly and oh, so golden! Now it's more like a runaway train with no brakes, all full-tilt-boogie headed for _______. You fill in the blank.

So, I'm in an Anne Sexton mood on this overcast, day of bruised clouds and not even a gossipy whisper of a breeze. I'll never forget the first time I read her poetry. I'm pretty sure my mouth fell open in surprise that a woman had finally spoken the truth from her soul. And that makes me think of this quote by Muriel Rukeyser: "What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open."

On that note, wishing you all a happy Friday and a blessed, peaceful weekend. ~Marion~







From the Garden
By Anne Sexton


Come, my beloved,
consider the lilies.
We are of little faith.
We talk too much.
Put your mouthful of words away
and come with me to watch
the lilies open in such a field,
growing there like yachts,
slowly steering their petals
without nurses or clocks.
Let us consider the view:
a house where white clouds
decorate the muddy halls.
Oh, put away your good words
and your bad words. Spit out
your words like stones!
Come here! Come here!
Come eat my pleasant fruits.


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Frenzy
By Anne Sexton


I am not lazy.
I am on the amphetamine
of the soul.
I am, each day,
typing out the God
my typewriter believes in.
Very quick. Very intense,
like a wolf at a live heart.
Not lazy. When a lazy
man, they say,
looks toward heaven,
the angels close the windows.


Oh angels,
keep the windows open
so that I may reach in
and steal each object,
objects that tell me the sea is not dying,
objects that tell me the dirt has a life-wish,
that the Christ who walked for me,
walked on true ground
and that this frenzy,
like bees stinging the heart all morning,
will keep the angels
with their windows open,
wide as an English bathtub.


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