Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Released

for Antira


The flat, thin envelope bears the news:
Nineteen birds have flown their cages,
Each singing more beautifully
Than the last,
Winging it for the light
That comes
After the longest night.
Bird number twenty
Shall dance
To greet the dawn.

Friday, June 6, 2014

Air and Water


last night I dreamed
that I
alone was responsible
for providing air and water
to a festival of people
who were clueless
that these things were not provided
as effortlessly as the music
that played all night.
I overslept my 5am alarm -
I panicked
when I woke – I
blamed nobody,
because nobody
told me it was my job
to ensure the survival
of this species,
nobody.
somehow I found
the person in charge
(I don’t remember her name now, but
she was very calm), saying
don’t worry
all you have to do
is –
and she walked with me
from one pavilion to the next
showing me how to give
what everybody takes
for granted –
so freely
that nobody ever knows
the difference.

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Day 30: Here's to Us! (Reverso)

This is a reverso I wrote in honor of the group of friends I have been sharing poetry with this month. A reverso is two poems in one - one read top to bottom, the other read bottom to top. Both are presented below, so you don't need to rotate your screen. :)



Bravo!
Over 400 poems
we have written
together,
this month alone –
What a fine use of words!
Poems
about life, about spring (or fall), about
Poetry.
“Time” was,
perhaps,
“Once upon a time” –
Yes, we wrote our own stories.
Naked, truthful.
All we had to give
we shared with each other –
Alone
in April,
together in poetry.


~~ and in reverse ~~


Together in poetry
(in April
alone)
we shared with each other
all we had to give –
naked, truthful.
Yes, we wrote our own stories.
Once upon a time,
perhaps,
Time was
Poetry –
about life, about spring (or fall), about
Poems.
What a fine use of words!
This month alone,
together,
we have written
over 400 poems.
Bravo!

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Day 29: Poetic Counsel


In the inkpot of life, the poet’s quill dips deep.
Fear not the rise and fall of time,
Of passion, of ego, of loss – Feel
Until you are like to burst with the feeling of it.
Then write, and feel again.

Poetry will keep you awake at night,
If you let it. Let it. There is no better bedfellow.
May the night tease your secret
Words from you like a lover, asking – no, demanding –
All you have to give. Give it.
And demand the same in return.

They say that you have truly learned
A language when you think,
When you dream, wholly within it.
May you learn the language
Of poetry this well,
And swim in its waters like a fish
Glinting in the sunlight.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Day 28: Once And For All


Whenever I think of you
I wish I hadn’t.
You are a chapter in my history book
I wish I somebody had torn out
Before I read it;
A short song
With an unfortunate chorus
That repeats itself unbidden
In my inner ear
When no one else is listening;
A darkened door
Far behind me
Down a bright corridor –
I want to forget what’s behind it.
I want back all those minutes
You have stolen from my peace,
All those thoughts I’ve wasted
Trying not to think about you.
Let these words now
Lay your memory to rest –
I am tired of thinking of you
And wishing I hadn’t.

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Day 27: Disillusionment


Today,
pulling books at random
from the untidy shelves, searching
for some inspiration, somewhere,
I came across a child’s ring.
Plastic, purple, gawdy and horrible,
a giant violet rose perched on a broken band –
Twist and it lights up red!
I shuddered at the thought
of what children love these days,
then slipped it on my finger
as if it could make me invisible,
make time slow down,
restore my innocence,
or at least help me crack a smile.
But no.
It just sat there,
glowing annoyingly,
heavy on my finger and my mind.
I sighed and took it off again,
tossed it in the bin
and went on with the afternoon,
still fully visible.

Saturday, April 26, 2014

Day 26: When The Poet Sleeps


When the poet sleeps,
what then?
The other mind picks up
The pen,
Dips into the ink,
And then….

Chaos, ALL
the letters      a-jumble, no
Rhyme-or-Reason
(but a whole lot of rep-rep-rep-
etition)
The meter is empty, the metaphor
Has  f l o w n  the coop –
And where have all the chickens gone?

They’re scratching at the ground
Searching for words

While the poet sleeps

Friday, April 25, 2014

Day 25: You Ask When I Knew I Loved You*


When
I
Saw you
I knew you –
I knew I loved you,
And somehow I got the feeling
That our souls were meant to meet and become intertwined.

 *This particular form is called a Fibonacci poem, as demonstrated by the number of syllables in each subsequent line. 

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Day 24: Confession


I will admit it,
I was a welfare mother once –
As recently as
Yesterday morning, when I surrendered
My last voucher for bread,
Milk, cereal, cheese to feed my son,
Then swiped away the final dollars that remained
Of this month’s food stamps
To feed us all.

I’ve come to terms with shopping this way –
Painstaking list-making;
Checking and double-checking the glossy brochure
That shows which varieties of cereal are “approved,”
(Wondering why the so-called nutrition program
Condones so much sugar consumption)
Before reaching, yet again, for the plain, boring bran flakes;
Meticulous organization of cart contents, then
Loading everything onto the belt in proper groups by voucher;
Suppressing the flush that rises unbidden
When I hand the cashier
That tell-tale, tattered white card
And he checks the signature
Then steals a glance at the boy
Who is happily swiping the first of three
Methods of payment (none of which we have earned),
Over and over again.

It’s not easy, nor is it fun.
It’s simply necessary.
I am not glad, nor am I proud.
I am simply, deeply, grateful.

Yes, I will admit it –
Yesterday I was a welfare mother.
But tomorrow the first paycheck arrives,
Even more welcome
Than all of those blessed vouchers combined
Because it means we can finally start
Giving back.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Day 23: Stand Upon World


I decided to play with The Blitz Poem form today...

Take a chance
Take a stand
Stand for peace
Stand for hope
Hope for sun
Hope for rain
Rain all night
Rain falls down
Down with power
Down to earth
Earth cracks open
Earth smells rich
Rich as a king
Rich in pennies
Pennies on the dollar
Pennies to spare
Spare change
Spare a life
Life is precious
Life goes on
On and on
On a roll
Roll with the punches
Roll with me
Me not I
Me not you
You are me
You in the mirror
Mirror my sorrow
Mirror my joy
Joy be with you
Joy to the world
World is waiting
World is watching
Watching humanity
Watching time
Time does not wait
Time is forever
Forever is a long time
Forever is not enough
Enough of this nonsense
Enough with silence
Silence destroys
Silence begins
Begins with a prayer
Begins a new world
World of hopes
World is changing
Changing
Hopes

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Day 22: That Kind of Mother


I don’t want to be
A last-minute mother,
Ever on the go,
Always rushed and bothered.

I don’t want to be
A make-do mother,
Maintaining “good enough”
‘Cause it’s the best I can muster.

I don’t want to be
A righteous mother,
Getting all indignant,
Blaming others when I suffer.

I don’t want to be
A high-and-mighty mother,
Judging “that mom over there”
As though I stand above her.

No, I think I’d like to be
A calm, creative mom –
A mom who’s fun to be around,
A mother full of song.

Monday, April 21, 2014

Day 21(b): Lost


I have turned this house
upside-down –
unrolled the cuffs,
emptied the pockets,
and shaken it –
and still
I have not found
your car keys.

Day 21(a): To Do


Today is a day
For writing myself one of my famously long to-do lists
Filled with
Easy
Things to do
So I can
Cross them off
As I go
And feel as if
I’ve actually
Accomplished
Something
Worthwhile.

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Day 20: First Thing


Some days it is books,
some days it is tractors,
some days the first thing you want
is to let the light in through the curtains,
just a “tiny bit”
and to see if it is foggy, or sunny, or wet.
Every day it is milk – that warm
gentle wakeup I always imagine
you will savor and enjoy,
but which you suck down with an urgency
so profound it is “all gone”
by the time the curtains are drawn.
Today, however,
is different.
Curtains, sure, whatever;
books can wait;
you don’t have patience for this diaper business
(not that you ever do);
you have no interest in tractors;
and you even pass up the milk
sitting expectantly by your door,
warm and inviting in its familiar green bottle.
The kitchen is calling you –
the toy of all toys –
and it’s time to make breakfast.

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Day 19: The Postman


I wonder if the postman knows
everybody’s birthdays on the block –
whether their grandparents are still alive
by the number of illegible envelopes that arrive
on a particular Tuesday.

I wonder how many dogs bark
at his footfall six days a week –
whether he counts –
and what that does for
his self-esteem.

I wonder if he spends his Sundays
thinking of the lovebirds
whose heart-encrusted notecards
he delivered on Saturday;
wondering if Mr. Mays will
pay his electricity bill
on time this month
and avoid another yellow envelope;
or wishing he could visit
one of the exotic-looking islands
he delivered to my mailbox
the day before.

Friday, April 18, 2014

Day 18: The Trees


The trees, as you say, go
“all the way up”
to the sky,
as well as down – all the way
to the earth –
and you stretch your hands high
and low to show me
that you, too,
can so easily ascend to the heavens
and return again to my side.
I had never really thought about trees
that way before
yet somehow now
you are all the more precious
to me.

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Day 17: Love on the Big Road


I was a bulldog
Out on the big road,
Ridin’ my double nickel in the granny lane.
She was a triple-digit ride,
Driving by braille with a hot load
In the hammer lane,
Burnin’ to get somewhere.
Don’t ask me how we found ourselves
Greasy side up in a pickle park
In the Bikini State,
The motion lotion flooding our tanks
And a clean shot ahead.
I told her maybe
I’d catch her on the flip flop
But she left me in the breakdown lane –
Blew my doors off and put it in Georgia overdrive,
Lit out down the zipper lane and
Out of sight – left me
Running on sail boat fuel with
Nothing between my swindle sheets.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Day 16: Phyllis


Today, I honor Phyllis – a dog
I never knew – because
She was a part of you for so long and
Today, you had to let her go.
Her puppyhood distemper raised
Its terrible head once more,
And senility caught up with her
All at once, it seemed –
When she bit you yesterday it was clear
The choice was made for you.
Sometimes it is easier that way,
Though it is never truly easy.

And so this morning
You said
Goodbye
To your companion
Of twelve years
Who no longer even
Recognized you
And it was hard,
So hard.
What now?

Your children still play, because you told them
Phyllis has gone to heaven,
And that is enough.
You still bring them inside and cook their dinner,
Because that is what you do,
And that is enough.
But after you sing them to sleep tonight,
Then –
You can finally honor
That hollow place in your heart with tears
Though that can never truly be enough.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Day 15: The Sin of Spring (the full sestina)


If Autumn is the age of gluttony
‘Twixt Winter’s sloth and Summer’s glorious pride,
No sin, you think, can sully childlike Spring
For there is nothing on which vice can feed –
This is the season soil brings forth the seed.
Oh, but the sin of Spring is surely Greed!

Give me more, more, more! says Greed
My eyes are bigger than my garden. Gluttony
Whispers from the left, just one more seed;
And from the right – bold, over-ruling Pride
Encourages me: feed, feed, feed.
I can’t deny my plant lust in the spring.

Oh, what a joyous revolution, Spring!
This season when I have the luxury of Greed –
It finally seems possible to feed
My frame and fancy both. (Note: Gluttony
Begets the fall oft credited to Pride,
For nothing grows well when I crowd the seed.)

So strong, and yet so delicate, the seed
That pushes through the cold dark earth to spring
In one great burst for sunlight, as if pride
Were felt as well by plants as men. No greed
Can grow enough for Autumn’s gluttony –
I have a perennially hungry soul to feed.

But first comes learning how to feed
The soil, which must then nourish the seed
With its insatiable hunger (is this gluttony?)
I feel I must know everything in Spring –
A thirst for wisdom, too, can be deemed greed
If in my knowing I take undue pride.

My vegetables will be my garden’s pride –
If only I can grow enough to feed
Both family and wild creatures’ greed,
Then – then – I will have planted enough seed.
I want to live up to this promise (tease) of Spring –
This more, more, more! demand, this gluttony.

With humbled pride, I plant this prayer, this seed –
From this age of Greed, may bounty spring
To feed a family’s autumn gluttony.

Day 14: Tea Party

Gladiolus,
glad to see you,
said the cricket
to the flower.
Hyacinth is
‘round the corner,
Let’s have tea in
half an hour.
(Just don’t slip it
to Narcissus –
she might turn
the party sour.)
Lady Tulip,
barely blooming
might sleep through
the whole affair,
but we’ll show her
photos after
and she’ll wish
she had been there.
Bring your friend
Miss Dahlia –
of course we’ll have
enough to share.
We’ll put our Sunday hats on,
sit demurely on the lawn,
and drink our tea
with petals raised
until it is
all gone.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Day 13: The Sin of Spring (the start of a sestina)*


If Autumn is the age of gluttony
‘Twixt Winter’s sloth and Summer’s glorious pride,
No sin, you think, can sully childlike Spring
For there is nothing on which vice can feed –
This is the season soil brings forth the seed.
Oh, but the sin of spring is surely Greed!


* This is the first stanza of what I hope to flesh out into a full sestina at some point before the month is out. 

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Day 12: Piety in Springtime*


The piety tree is legendary
for its beauty,
unfortunately cultivated primarily for the same –
the fruits of piety are both tart and sweet,
but so few seem to taste them,
preferring instead piety’s showy petals
and bright green leaves.
Piety is found
in almost every part of the country,
its flowers prized for elegance
and likened to the suffering
of Christ – but
who among the many
who adore piety in springtime
find themselves still pious
in the fall?


*This post was in response to the day's prompt from napowrimo.net, which was to write a "replacement poem" - replacing a tangible noun with an intangible one. I chose to replace "dogwood" with "piety."

Friday, April 11, 2014

Day 11: Looking Forward


I wonder when (I hope not if) I will stop
counting the stages of motherhood by
how much I can accomplish during the day
and how much sleep I get (or not) at night.
When I will cease looking forward
in exhausted anticipation
to things like nighttime potty training,
preschool, getting yourself dressed,
and a time when all of the characters
in all of your story books are not,
by sheer force of your will,
named “Dada.”
When I can cease to hover
and let you climb the jungle gym alone;
when “I can’t hear you anymore”
is no longer cause to run and find you
because you’re surely up to something;
when I can sleep in on Saturday morning
because it’s the weekend, and you understand.

By that time, of course, I will look back and wonder
why I was looking forward all those years.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Day 10: Free Verse


One of these days, I think,
I am going to write a poem
with structure –
a sestina, perhaps, or
maybe a villanelle –
something with rhyme or repetition,
something recognizable and
fully formed.

But this requires discipline,
and I have none of that in April
(are you kidding me?)
when I cannot help but heed
the garden’s constant call –
dismantle here, build there, sow these seeds
just so, and all day
bear witness to the glorious riot of springtime.

How can I write a poem with form
when the world is formed anew each day,
each moment?
There is no rhyme or reason to springtime,
certainly no repetition –
only loosely orchestrated chaos, forming itself
(most un-subtly, and in a cornucopia of colors,
sounds, smells, textures)
into free verse.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Day 9: Waiting for April


To wake each day expecting
to find a poem in it, like a treasure:
this is April.
The world is so wide open
And my heart is as big as the sea.
Poetry rises and falls ceaselessly within me,
Tumbling the words, softening the rough edges.
I once found a driftwood question mark on the beach,
and my mother used to keep a jar on the windowsill filled
with brightly colored glass, smooth
and polished by time and waves,
washed ashore when the time was right
(or thrown back to sea if it wasn’t).
These words have always been there, just
waiting for April.