a little luminescence

a little luminescence - poems and artwork by Elena Botts, published in 2012.
$15, includes shipping, with Young Voices K-12 poetry anthology $22.

A recent interview with her Get Lit With Literature - 14 minutes
&
To find out what Elena is up to nowadays:

https://sites.google.com/view/elenabotts

https://mourning-dove.bandcamp.com/

https://theunknownsoundcollective.bandcamp.com/

Botts1 (2)

“High school is not too early to be writing poetry that can be valued as literature. That is what
elena botts’ book, a little luminescence, is. Marvel at this girl’s excitingly original imagistic
language-- “moon washed up / in light-seeped sunrise /a gleaming shell on celestial shore;
her delicacy with words like those describing love that moves through / the everyday / never mentioned /
coming along beside us / silently; and her spiritual awareness -- notes of a soul / in this breathing body
resounding.” ~Maxwell Corydon Wheat Jr., First Poet Laureate Nassau County, New York

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Soft Rain
It is raining
in my head--
a slight drizzle
enough to be fanciful,
to stir the atmosphere,
to stop the stillness
of the air
and turn it into moisture.
It falls steadily
in all places
like quiet melancholy,
like an unknown passion,
love that moves through
the everyday
never mentioned
coming along beside us
silently.

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sunrise
moon washed up
in light-seeped sunrise
a gleaming shell on celestial shore

the wind, so like the tide

the foamed clouds,
the burning star-fire
made apparent

slanted trees,
knotted roots
resounding in light

one spoken word and he realized

seeped up in sunrise
over mountains quiet love spoke so loud in the
echoes

* * * *

oh and yet
if I had any destination
there is no chance I think of reaching
there are no words as could
ring in full
what do they do but float away
echoes of echoes
along the road there are no signposts
the gun-powder grey buildings
have been torn apart
by the wind
their remains are ashen sparks
carried on and on and on
through dismal reaches
a last breath
that seems a futility
so complete as never to have begun

* * * *