Shamrock'd You (LIKE A HURRICANE!) omg READ THIS in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...

So I cannot begin to explain this. I plan to. There’s an entry dedicated to Katrina. It’s been percolating in my head for months now. Since I first started writing here. She has been a fixture in my life for over a decade. And I’m blessed that she’s accepted me back into her life as a friend. We’ve had so many rocky moments. So many. I could not begin to explain, but she’s the best writer I have ever met.

I mean that. She is brilliant. Just such a tremendously gifted writer. I met her on OD back in the day, and we’ve collaborated on 4 poems.

This is our fifth poem.

The last? 2006.

So this poem is a decade almost in the making.. and I could not tell you how elated I am to be able to write with her. Hell, just to read her writing again. But to be her friend? When I did so many stupid things?

I’m lucky.

So lucky.

Anyway, yes, I knew her before the storm. That’s how we refer to the hurricane down here. There is “Before the storm” and “After the storm.”

She was before, and she’s been rocking my world ever since.

You’ll hear about her plenty soon enough.

Hope you guys like it.. and tell me your favorite parts!

Please! Cause it’s pretty much always something she wrote. lol.

Which is fitting. As I said, she’s the best writer I know. Far better than I, and I pretty much never admit to that.

Ahem. Okay. Without further rambling..

And sometimes the inspiration comes from the places and faces that colour your heart, that own your quiet…

“Celtic Clover”

My hands are a sprawling
field of clover;
the palms you once held
you still turn over.
The hourglass never waits,
sands falling hard like rain,
the weather is your grace
I cannot escape!
Oh, my kindred love;
our history, the battlefield –
you my soldier.
I hear you in the wind;
my heart-in-your-hands
precious holder.
I feel you the closest
when the gusting breath
of Mother Nature picks up,
and she blows colder.

So go on, night,
and bring us fate.
So go on, night,
we cannot wait.
And if your mind cannot
name me, then make it up.
And if your heart cannot
have me, then cherish the start.
My hands in your hands,
begging some luck.
My hands in your hands,
never enough.
The palms you once held
you still turn over;
you wake up smelling of dirt,
your fists filled with clover.

© Persephone’s Girlhood
© Brian Milici
May 11, 2015

Feedback, as always, is truly adored.

May you always find your smile.

I’m sooo happy. :)

Last updated October 01, 2015