Day's Last Light

Our opinions about ourselves and what we are and are not capable of are often self-fulfilling prophecies. When in doubt, believe in the good, the noble, the valiant. And remember that even small victories are still victories. Kathy Richards

So..... last night, in a fit of 'do something different', I wrote my post for today and scheduled it for posting this morning. It is not my normal way. My normal way is to get up in the morning, meditate, read and then write, letting my words flow from my meditation.

But last night, I read Maureen's poem, Where Laughing Gulls Hover, over at Writing without Paper, and was inspired to write a poem based on the prompt at Carry on Tuesdays, write a poem using the opening lines of Salman Rushdie's The Enchantress of Florence: A Novel: In the day's last light. . . .

And so, I wrote my poem. Scheduled it for posting this morning and that was that.

Wrong.

The demons of technology strike again!

I awoke this morning to no saved poem. No scheduled posting in my blog list.

And to add insult to injury, I didn't copy and paste my poem in Word -- which is what I normally do.

My poem is gone.

Which, given that after years of abstinence, I've only started to indulge myself in poetry writing, it hurts even more!

So it was a good thing I read Kat's quote on her blog today, Victory or Death. It's a pretty inspiring post and I invite you to link on over and check it out. Sports fan or not, you might also enjoy Billy Coffey's guest post yesterday, Perfect Game, about pitcher, Armando Galarraga's, perfect game in which he faced twenty-seven batters and recorded twenty-seven consecutive outs, giving up no hits, no runs, no walks, and no errors.

Like my post, it wasn't to be. Not because of something he did, but because someone else made a mistake.

We all make mistakes. May we all, like Armanda Galarraga, learn to accept, with grace, the curve balls life throws us.

For me, my realization of cyberland's mistake started with the thought -- I can't write my poem again. I don't remember it. I can't do it. -- these are my limiting beliefs and as Kathy's quote suggests -- they become my self-fulfilling prophecy when I buy into them.

So, I've decided to 'believe in the good'.

I don't remember my poem from last night. What I remember is the act of writing it. The joy in playing with words, dancing with vowels and consonants streaming onto the page in fat and juicy words and images that stirred up my imagination and set my soul on fire.

So, I decided to take a page from Galarraga's book, accept that mistake's happen and step back up on the mound and get ready to pitch a new game.

The poem is part of Carry on Tuesday - an online invitation to write a poem based on a word or phrase prompt. Anyone can participate. I invite you to pitch in and make magic happen.

Soul Spun Whispers

In the day's
last light
tumbles
into darkness
descending upon
dreams scattered
across faded memory
of love
filling in the gaps
between hope rising
on dawn's promise
lurking
in the day's
last light.

Last light
fades
into dusk
pushing back
dreams
of love
falling
into the siren's call
to come
tread the light fantastic
on the stairway to heaven
rising up
into the last light
of day's falling
into night.

Light
lasts
longer
at the edge of night
seeping
into the darkness
of dreams
never lived
in love's last light
waiting to die
on the soul spun
whispers of promises
never kept
lost
and found
in the dawn
awakening
in the day's
last light.