the ocean always dreamed blue dreams

Yes, I like to write poetry. I hope it isn't too boring.

I started back to school this week. I teach. I hope I learn, too, but teaching is my job. I had been really dreading it, but it was O.K. There is going to be tons of paperwork; I don't know why they think that will make things better, but that appears to be the case. I got to look at my class rosters and it looks like I will have a fair number of students that I had last year, which is good. They were sweet and bright and funny and we had a great time together. I'm excited to see them.

I made a poster, a collage, which turned out quite pretty, to illustrate a quote I came across which I like a great deal. It is the epitaph of Nils Lofgren I believe, and it reads, "The journey is all."

I also brought to my classroom a small print by Vincent Van Gogh, "Roses," but I decided I needed to bring "Starry Night " instead; I need some strong color against the white that will be behind it. Anyway, ubiquitous as it is, "Starry Night" was the inspiration for the poem that follows.

Now for the poem.

Starry Babe

Holding my baby I wander in the moonlight
He waves his sturdy limbs, stirring eddies
of muted laughter from the fairy hollows
his small face glows lily white among the rustling leaves
he laughs
I raise him over my head, turning around and around
jingling like coins in my pocket his laughter floats on the night air
and he follows, floating from my hands into the air,
the becalmed winds hold their breath
Like a silvery bubble he floats,
somersaulting, head forward, a spinning ball
then with arms splayed, backward,
a dreamer in slow motion;
he falls forward again where he finds his sea legs
Spinning faster, a ball of light with
fluorescent trails wagging behind him
he flickers, he glimmers
delighted flakes of laughter sift around me,
settling on my shoulders, my head like a lacy veil and shawl
I run after him, my starry babe,
my arms lifted, waiting for his return
but he disappears into the starry night

Qimissung


Starry Babe

Holding my baby I wander in the moonlight
He waves his sturdy limbs, stirring eddies
of muted laughter from the fairy hollows
his small face glows lily white among the rustling leaves
he laughs
I raise him over my head, turning around and around
jingling like coins in my pocket his laughter floats on the night air
and he follows, floating from my hands into the air,
the becalmed winds hold their breath
Like a silvery bubble he floats,
somersaulting, head forward, a spinning ball
then with arms splayed, backward,
a dreamer in slow motion;
he falls forward again where he finds his sea legs
Spinning faster, a ball of light with
fluorescent trails wagging behind him
he flickers, he glimmers
delighted flakes of laughter sift around me,
a happy snowfall of sound,
and soon, having worn himself out, my baby, too,
drifts slowly earthward, to land,
softly sleeping, into my waiting arms

When I started this I intended to write it with a different ending. What that would have been, I don't know. The baby was in the air, and I thought perhaps he should stay there. After all, children do grow up and go away, don't they?

So, faithful readers, and PrinceMyshkin, which ending do you like better?