Tag Archives: “Lavender Song” by Karen Kelsay

WIZ announcements and link bric-a-brac

Frequent WIZ contributor Karen Kelsay’s new book of poetry, Lavender Song, is out and available for sale here.   Karen’s formalist poetry is a well-kept garden of lovely sensibilities.  For samples of her work published on WIZ, go here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.

Writers: The deadline for Torrey House Press’s creative non-fiction contest is coming faster than you might think: September 30th.  Entries can run pretty long, 2,000 to 10,000 words, and first place prize is $1,000.  An entry fee of $25 is required, but that’s a standard amount for this kind of competition.

Over at Our Mother’s Keeper, Jason Brown has a wonderful piece on the Sacred Grove that I think qualifies as recommended reading.  Jason’s  writing demonstrates depth of perception.  But more than that, he seems to have a sense for the dynamism and sensitivity of language’s teeming environment and engages well in it.  I appreciate the care his words show.

This story is just so cool I had to link to it.  I have a (very very) soft spot in my heart for chelonians.

A fascinating and thought-provoking story out of India with stunning photos of an enraged leopard waging war against a village.   I hope more information comes out about this incident.  I’m sure there’s more to the story than shows through in print.

Lavender Song by Karen Kelsay

cello_player

When Lily plays the cello, it is holy.
Like lavender that strays from garden walls
and necklaces of evergreens that slowly
curl across the meadows, along the halls

her wreath of somber notes is softly borne.
She wings the bow; I hear my mother’s voice,
recall a lover’s crying flame. I mourn
and then, with silent chanting tongue, rejoice.

Each memory is coaxed aloud across
a grassy bottomland of time, the marrow
and the porous pith revealed. The loss,
half-opened flowers, flutters of a sparrow.

She plays the cello, slowly—and the night
becomes an aperture of grace. All lowly
thoughts swirl into quiet, purple light.
When Lily plays the cello, it is holy.

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For more of Karen’s poetry and her bio, go here, here, here, and here.