NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day 19
Cave of Knowing
Perched on a rock at edge of
the cave of my knowing,
wondering if these words
tossed over edge will even be heard
by an understanding ear.
Suppose one could compose a legend
of a gray-haired woman
choosing to live alone in her finally
owned wilderness, letting loose her truths
into unknown Universe.
Instead, watch moon and stars
occasionally glisten, as they lean in
to listen to these prayers quietly penned
by gnarled but willingly bent
fingers.
Elizabeth Crawford 4/19/2019
Process Notes: Image is a pen and ink sketch used to decorate a long ago self-published chapbook titled “Singing Over the Bones”. When I saw it this morning, I immediately heard the words “cave of knowing”, so posted it. Saw a poster on Facebook about gray-haired women which had me searching for a song, heard only once, over thirty years ago, but never forgotten. Only remember the catch phrase to the song, “She’s a gray-haired woman, coming into her own.” Couldn’t find it but was humming it for hours. And finally a conversation with another poet about ‘fingers’. And yes, I do believe that poems are, more often than not, prayers, or most often accompanied by such.
Soul's Music 
One of my favs of your’s. Love how you gathered the ingredients from the garden…and created a splendid piece of writing!! xoxoxo
Thank you, Annell. I never know what will appear here on any given day. Flying by the seat of my pants, but like your analogy of the garden. Brings back a memory of working out in the garden, looking up to see small private plane above me, so waved. It circled back and toggled its wings, and I laughed out loud, and blew a kiss. It circled again and dipped a bit to catch what I offered.
Elizabeth
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Wonderful little slice of life!!
I find that these present poems are coming together from the ordinary things that each day brings. I spoke of flying, and you spoke of a garden and the two things came together in that memory which still makes me grin all these years later. And these poems are coming together from just such occurrences. Making art from the ordinary is fun.
Elizabeth
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I especially love your middle stanza, Elizabeth, and “the legend of a gray-haired woman, choosing to live alone in her finally owned wilderness, letting loose her truths into unknown Universe.” It’s absolutely spectacular! With so many layers of meaning. Trying to think of the song you mentioned about the gray haired woman. It reminded me of Cat Stevens’ song, “Hard-Headed Woman!”
Hi Marianne. I heard it only once, back in college in the mid ’80’s. Two women performing in an alcove wing above the coffee shop. One was doing pastel poster-sized drawings, while the other played an instrument and sang songs. After the performance, I walked up and asked the sketch artist if I could purchase the image of the Gray-Haired Woman. When I asked her how much, she said, “Whatever you think.” I brought the image home and taped it to the ceiling above my bed. She watched over me for many years. I don’t believe the song was ever published, and the woman who sang it was the author. I have searched for it many times over the years and have never found it. The only part of it that I know is that catch phrase from the chorus. I did write another poem about it in 2011. You can find it here: https://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2011/05/06/gray-haired-woman/ She, they left a lasting impression.
Elizabeth
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One of my favourites of yours, too. I cant tell you how much I love it, I would have to quote the whole poem back to you. I am another grey-headed one, tapping the keys, sending poems out into the universe for whoever might happen upon them.
We certainly seem to be a matched pair, or trio when we add Marianne to our number. Annell makes four, that solid based number. And we are growing. Not just gray hair, but so much knowing. And the poems keep growing right along with us.
Elizabeth
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Elizabeth,
So much knowing and truth in this. I am waiting for those days. I like my solitude.
I see as per our conversation, today I avoided writing about my fingers. 😉
Excellent writing, my friend.
Love,
Pamela
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