Poetry by Carrie Danaher Hoyt

                ​Timo Newton-Syms CC



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​Poetry’s No Reprieve 

Cage, my Dreaming, lie. 
Music words that might sensation tide.
Fantasy, staunch the longing— strong its feather chains.
Poetry, hold flight to light to see my Dream, 
then release the rolling.

But waves on pages never seam; 
the motion of true oceaning 
moves not in words. 
I write, but do not tide; flap, but do not rise.
I lean into the lines that keep
and need.

The want is worse in sleep. 
I weight, I waste with need.
In sleep the Dream awakes the cry I cry to be
the speak that’s touch, the word that’s me, 
the flood that empties dry 
my need.

Mourning dons my eyes, damps the salty tide, my cheeks 
I dry and rise, and I caffeine;
then, I buzzing try 
to bee— pollinating rot I blossom 
words I think to seed 
to see, to sea, to sky, to free.
I write
the lines
like bars to me! 

Yet in them, music holds 
the opening
doors to fit my Dream
seem too high and far 
for languaging.

Oh the written-spoken’s traitoring!

As day retreats, I wine, I whine, I writhe 
my body 
wording me, bondaging with symbols, falsely free. 

I see that I still need, and drink that swallow bitterly.

Wing and wave I imitate; 
my own I do not know.
Stitched-shut seems my mind to consummate things,
crushed by one-dimension soliding. 
Pen ends flight, flats each rise, where stone-like lies 
my Fearful, scribbling. 

Words! Oh words of me, free!
Unobscure the Dream! 
Bring the rolling 
surf, procure my sing,
until I rise the wave enough to wing—escape the cage of me--
breach the opened doors so you can see 
my Dream 
is all, and what, I mean.

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Carrie Danaher Hoyt lives in New England. She has all kinds of jobs and titles—“Poet” is beloved amongst them. Carrie has poems published in several online journals, three print anthologies & on one wonderful blog. She has had poems nominated for the Pushcart Prize & Best of Net. Find her & her daily verses on Twitter @CDanaherH

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