Poetry

my head held high 
my stance deliberate 
in order to command upon the sea 
the destination that this vessel seeks 
I wear my confidence arranged and bold 
a Monarch’s gown bound 
tight around my heart 
embellished with embroideries of gold 
with skirts the fall 
to sweep the heavy deck 
I cloak my battle wounds in quarantine 
my thought and plans 
my agonies and tears 
protected by the armor of a Queen 

with silks and linens lifted from my skin 
and my defense undone I disappear 
an Empress only visible adorned 
and no pride for the princess deep within 
my past will soak the pillow and my mind 
will lay there questioning 
how I should dare 
to claim to be an heir inheriting 
the right to name my journey after me 
yet I will point 
my compass on a star 
and dress myself in my authority 

before the night 
there blooms a buoyant day 
behind the sails 
there leans a lusty wind 
beneath the hull the frothy sea is cold 
and there is turmoil in the wake of dreams 
but I possess the garments of a Queen

Martina Franklin Poole 
©2021

I am not breathing on a mountainside.
My hands are not at rest, nor is my mind.
I did not choose this time to step away
from life so I could meditate or pray
or listen to myself in silent thought.

But Monday morning finds me at my desk
and managing my life as best I can,
with bills to pay and groceries to buy;
too much to read and meetings to attend;
colors in my sketchbooks I must blend;
notes to take and journals that need filled,
to document myself in solitude.

For living has become its own retreat.
The lines that mark this lot that holds my home
are those that now define my safest place,
and when I must defy this boundary
a mask obscures the half of every face
and people move out of each other’s way
while longing for the voice of company.

Yet someone I’ve avoided for so long
now stretches and expands inside my skin,
and while she is aware that I have not
pulled back from life in search of clarity
(but life has pulled away outside of me),
she tells me I can use this quiet place
to learn to know myself as I am now.

I’ve met a person I have barely known
and recognized her heartbeat as my own.

Martina Franklin Poole ©2020

Semi sheer in curtained courses hang
fluid narratives of my crusades,
softening the scarred impediment.
Once the daughter of a refugee 
found it a safe and quiet place to play 
and to shelter her identity.
Early morning sun transitioning;
warm already on this cloudless day.
Here I dance within the shadows formed
by the light of this contentment, while 
proving restless by my expertise,
I reconcile anxiety with peace.

All the habits that a lifetime made
faded while the world had stepped aside.
I find little motive to comply
as it pushes back into the race,
striving to advance and to replace
intense pressure of conformity.
Curtained in my fortress of content,
I have found another place to stand
and contemplate the strata of my soul
mirrored in the eyes of lost friend.
Rest allows my mind to look again,
watching as my independent child
turns to face responsibility.
There was never quite enough of me 
and so half of child and half mature,
she will have a head start while I learn;
guiding my own hands as I create -
threads and colors, branches, seedlings, stones,
words and stories told with my own voice -
through transitions only just defined
during the transitions in my mind.

And Oh! I can assemble mighty walls!
Do not force retreat to rise in me!
A woman will be my sweet progeny
for longer than I ever held the child.
Stronger bound by histories we share,
I will change and she will still be there.

Martina Franklin Poole
© 2021