Day 30: Poetry Keeps Me

Poetry keeps me

Up late at night,

Long after I should

Be asleep.

Poetry keeps me

Inspired, to write

Through shallow crap – dig

Down deep.

Poetry keeps me,

My senses alight,

The fruits of awareness are mine

To reap.

Poetry keeps me

At significant height,

Makes me bolder, dares me

To leap.

Poetry keeps me

And I know it is right

Because poetry, too,

I keep.

Day 29: Bits and Pieces

No real coherent poem today - just bits and pieces.

We practice being

Gentle with flowers

In the garden, but

The only ones I’ll pick for him

Are dandelions – not because

They’re weeds, but because

They’re edible.

~~~~~

For years I have shown

Only half of my skin –

The half I assumed

Others wanted to see –

And locked up the rest behind

Layers of doubt

Until it was hidden even

From me.

Day 28: Sunday Whites

Ten jerseys, laundered last fall,

tugged from the bottoms of drawers

for the first softball practice

of spring.

Two pristine (and short)

skirts of athletic young blondes playing

tennis.

A giant albino

spider on the black tee shirt

of a lanky red-haired teen.

Not one of the dogwood trees

or rhododendrons

in the neighborhood – pink

seems to be more in fashion

these days.

Bills. I always think bills should

Be some other color –

perhaps violet.

A tuxedo shirt, size

16 ½, 34, 35,

still hanging (long dry) in the doorway.

The tops of the pillowy clouds

reflecting the sun.

The shiny magnetic board

above my desk,

inviting poetry

through the rearrangement of

someone else’s words.

My toddler’s budding molars

just beginning to peek through

tender pink gums – visible (unfortunately)

only when he screams.

Trader Joe’s mascarpone,

brought to my desk by my husband

(with mini stroopwafels!)

as food for thought.

The glowing mane of

a daisy with fifty-three

petals – better start with

He loves me.

Day 27: Spring (a sestina)

And so we come at last to Spring

When trees fairly burst into blossom –

When color returns to the world, to play

With shape, and form, and scent and light

With a call to our senses – Awake, awake!

Take joy in the budding young season!

No doubt this is a welcome season,

When nascent life to sun does spring

And all the world seems wide awake

At last! And hope begins to blossom.

Each day brings to the earth more light,

Kids beg to stay out late to play.

Each creature, each plant, is a part of The Play

Of Life – it takes place every season

Across the world, as sure as the light

Returns to the land in the Spring.

Touch each tree, praise every blossom –

Only then are you truly awake.

Awake to the full force of springtime, awake!

You, too, can act in this Play.

You, too, can allow your whole being to blossom,

No matter the time or the season.

Hop to it, come dance, put some step in your Spring!

And of your cares and woes make light.

For there will always be shadow to counter the light –

At times in the dark we all lie awake.

Spring won’t cure that, but here is the thing about Spring –

It’s a time for wild abandon, for play!

So go with the flow and trust in the season –

If you let it, it will help you to blossom.

So take the promise of each blossom

And hold it to the light.

Make it yours, keep it close in every season –

Keep that faith, both asleep and awake.

Then, though each season enacts its own Play,

You’ll carry within you perennial Spring.

The trees are in blossom, the bees are awake,

The light and the heat and the breeze are at play –

So tip your hat to the season, and give thanks for Spring!

Day 26: Find Laughter (a triolet)

Find laughter every place you can

Lest life become a deadly bore.

Share humor with your fellow man!

Find laughter (every place you can!),

For isn’t that much better than

To treat each day as if a chore?

Find laughter every place you can –

Lest life become a deadly bore.

Day 25: The Trouble With Poetry*

The trouble with poetry comes

not in writing but in

letting

go,

In turning the poem

over

to the reader, not

over and over

in the mind.

Nobody will read it

the way you do.

And that’s okay.

*With thanks to Billy Collins for the title. :)

Day 24: Birthday Party

Ain’t got no poems

In me tonight.

Sitting here staring

At this computer screen

Still blank as my mind

Still reeling from the day.

Too many girls,

Too much sugar,

It was bound to fall apart

Sooner or later –

Or both.

Funny, how adults

Don’t let our feelings show

As they happen to us,

Or sometimes at all,

The way kids do.

We forget how immediate

Self-expression can be,

And probably should be.

We bottle it up, scared

To serve it raw.

But kids haven’t learned

How to stew like that –

Raw is all they have.

And so it comes.

And, just as suddenly, it goes.

She’s seven,

The party resumes.

Day 23: When I Grow Up

At seven, I was sure

I would be a ballerina.

No surprises there.

At ten, I set my sights

On Miss America,

But didn’t tell a soul.

All my life, it seems,

I’ve had these fleeting dreams

But never any concrete answer

To the constant question asked.

Now here I sit, all grown up,

Wondering when the question changed

From: What do you want to be?

To: What do you do?

Wondering why we as adults

Define and confine ourselves so

By what we do

And seldom stop to ask ourselves

Who we want to be.

Day 22: The News

Raise your hand if

You’re glued to the news

Every day

Hooked on the adrenaline

Of tragedy

Happening (hopefully) someplace else

Convinced that

You’re one of the lucky ones

Reflecting that maybe

Your life isn’t so bad after all

But just to be sure

You watch, you listen again

Tomorrow.

What if, for one day,

Newspapers couldn’t print –

News anchors, radio news hosts couldn’t say –

The words death, tragedy, disaster?

What news would come forward

To take the place

Of constant catastrophe?

Would people even read, watch, listen

To stories of

Kindness, peace, civility?

For myself,

I might actually pay attention to the news

If it were filled with

Inspiring stories of compassion,

Generosity, good will, cooperation,

People working together to create

A better life, a better world.

NaPoWriMo Day 21: Passing Day

Swami Kriyananda, a wonderful man and spiritual leader, died early this morning. I will always be grateful that I was able to meet him and to be touched by his life.

Passing Day

For Swamiji

A day for candles to be lit

And placed on the altar

Of gratitude

A day for songs to be sung

Through tears, but still

In gratitude

A day for vows to be renewed

With dedication, and

With gratitude

A day for letting go

With peace, serenity

And gratitude

A day for remembering

And honoring a life

Both lived and left

With gratitude

Day 20: Just Be Who You Are

The trouble with perfectionism

Is living up to your own reputation

After life and adulthood catch up to you

And you know you can’t be perfect anymore.

It’s not a self-fulfilling prophecy,

It doesn’t win you many friends.

You look around one day,

After years of putting on a show

And realize they were all audience,

That now the show is over –

The stage is struck, the curtains drawn –

The theater is empty

And you’re walking home alone.

What is there that’s real in this life?

How much imperfection is enough

To make you human?

How do you make friends,

Anyway, without feeling like

It’s just another show?

Where do you find the people

Who will tell you:

You don’t have to be

Wonderful here.

You can just be who you are.

NaPoWriMo Day 19: Personal Ads

The prompt from NaPoWriMo.net today was to write a personal ad in the form of a poem. Here are a couple.

Me: High-powered exec,

Bored out of my mind.

Looking for something new –

Could it be you?

Tall, strong-willed, intelligent,

Blue eyes and auburn hair,

Never at a loss for words,

Never a moment to spare.

You: a cowboy, perhaps?

A painter? A clown?

You can make me laugh,

Help me slow my life down.

We’ll live in the country,

Two cats and a dog.

Does this sound like a plan?

Well, perhaps you’re my man.

Zen minimalist

Seeks punk rock cowgirl “pardner”

For fun and friendship

NaPoWriMo Day 18: Thursday

Hello?

Oh, hi there! How are you?

I’m alright, thanks for asking.

Well, I guess there’s one thing

that's been preying on my mind.

It’s nothing, really, and I may not

have my facts quite straight, but, well –

You know that hype about the ozone hole?

I heard it’s causing acid rain

in South America, did you?

Yeah, so all these oil giants

are deforestating all the trees

to combat overpopulation –

No, I’m not sure how it really works.

The problem is that that is causing

polar ice cap melting, which

obviously gets folks scared and then,

well, then they turn to terrorism

and you know what happens then –

            Exactly: we have mass extinction on our hands.

The honeybee population just can’t

take it anymore, and so

the soil isn’t fertilized the way it ought to be.

Anyway, there’s more, but here’s the thing:

I’m worried my tomatoes won’t do well this year

and I won’t win that blue ribbon at the fair.

Any advice?

No? Well, it’s been great chatting

But if you’ll excuse me now,

I have to go and trim my toenails.

Why? Because it’s Thursday.

I knew you’d understand.

NaPoWriMo Day 17: Good Fortune

My neighbor’s garden has a patch

of four-leafed clovers, some are five.

My impulse is to pick them all,

count them, mount them, show them off -

But then what? I’d have a fistful

of wilted clovers pretty soon,

which don’t bring joy to anyone.

And so I leave them where they grow

for others to discover, too.

Good fortune is sweetest when shared.

NaPoWriMo Day 16: Grown-Up Chores

Remember back when grown-up chores were fun?

We washed the car by climbing on the top!

We hosed it (and each other) ‘til it shone

And Mom insisted it was time to stop.

Kitchen work was tasty, as a whole -

Need help to bake that cake, Mom? I’m your kid.

And whenever chance arose to lick the bowl

You bet your shiny Kitchen-Aid we did!

Even laundry was a kind of pleasure

When we put quarters into the machine -

Push them in - ka-chink - then at our leisure

Did bugger-all until the clothes were clean.

So, let’s return to how things used to be

And rescue grown-up chores from drudgery!

NaPoWriMo Day 15: Halfway Through April

A swarm of bees fills the garden with motion

Ten minutes later, all is quiet again.

White blossoms against inky clouds – thunder!

A thirty-second hailstorm rages –

White blossoms on the grass.

Down the street, children swarm the playground

In the afternoon sunshine.

Is it just me, or could it be spring at last?

NaPoWriMo Day 14: Excuses

Excuses?

I’m full of ‘em.

Good ones, too –

I’ll bet

I have better excuses

Than you.

My dog was sick,

My cat got lost,

My car ran out of gas.

My stove caught fire,

My printer broke,

I lost my transit pass.

I tripped and fell,

I skinned my knee,

I got a speeding ticket.

I got caught

In a mob of folks

Downtown starting to picket.

I missed my bus,

My bike tire’s flat,

My cell phone failed to ring.

My iPad didn’t

Charge last night

So I can’t do a thing.

I lost my flash drive,

Searched the house –

I’ve got no backups handy.

I stubbed my toe,

I bit my lip,

No, all’s NOT fine and dandy.

Excuses?

I’m full of ‘em.

What else is new?

Now it’s past

My bedtime,

So good night, adieu.

NaPoWriMo Day 13: Molly Bloom

Curled up lightly

Against the back of a well-loved velvet armchair

In a well-loved bookshop

Was a sleek black cat

Keeping a placid yellow eye on things –

Molly Bloom.

My son, just past his first birthday,

Toddled up to the chair

And grabbed it to steady himself.

Then he saw the cat sitting there.

He looked at the cat

Then he looked at me

With that melt-my-heart look

Of utter joy on his face:

“Really, Mom?

Is that for Me?”

I smiled, nodded, and he stood

As tall as he could on his tippy-toes

And reached

As far as he could across the chair

And gave Miss Molly Bloom the gentlest of pats.

NaPoWriMo Day 12: Her Leaving

Her Leaving

As sudden as a summer rain,

Steam still rising off the streets –

Her leaving took him by surprise.

Coffee still warm on the counter,

She left no note,

Asked no pardon –

Left him sleeping next to her shadow,

Left the dishes in the sink.

All his regrets, all of his faults,

Irrevocable words both spoken and unsaid –

Raced through him with no space for breath,

Hit him hard in the chest.

He sat to sip her still-warm coffee

Black (though he preferred it white)

Just to see if he could get inside her head,

Meet her lips on the edge of the cup,

Ask the only question –

Wait for a reply.

The lukewarm liquid met his lips

And he knew why.

In his haste to make

The world revolve around himself

He had forgotten (his mistake) –

She had to work early today.

NaPoWriMo Day 11: Untitled Cento

(Note: If parts of this poem sound familiar, they probably are: a cento is a poem comprised entirely of lines from the works of other poets. I have added two words in the third line, and changed line-end punctuation in a few cases, but other than that the original poets' words are unchanged.)

My wife is not afraid of dirt,

With the authority of age and tremendous size

(that a) king on his throne might envy.

Unwashed feet, so much like mine.

She can’t keep the outside from coming in –

Just onions, eggplants, peppers, peas.

She made a list of wishes and crossed them out,

Cracked up by life.

It had taken her this long to become human.

Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

All my wooing is done.

Or does it matter?

The way you expect the sun

At its perfect imperial distance –

“there is no darkness I cannot eat.”

I could listen to you for hours.

Happiness. I try to hoist it –

A word billowing enough,

More green now than any other.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

Earth and on through the bedrock, the mantle, the core –

Feel my own weight and density!

The grass agrees to gather us,

Barefoot at the end, if that’s what it takes.

God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there.

NaPoWriMo Day 10: Skeletons in the Closet (Pantoum)

They say people keep skeletons in their closets,

But all I’ve found are coat hangers

Tinkling emptily in the breeze of an opened door

And a roll of toilet paper in the john.

All I’ve found are coat hangers,

Thirty years old, telling stories of the past

And a roll of toilet paper in the john.

Thank goodness, at least, for that.

Thirty years old, telling stories of the past –

Already I have aged beyond my years.

Thank goodness, at least, for that

Which holds my own body to my bones.

Already I have aged beyond my years,

Searching for a home with child inside,

Which holds my own body to my bones

When all else seems fragile and unknown.

Searching for a home, with child inside –

In my mind’s eye the future burns so bright

When all else seems fragile and unknown.

But this home has history I’ll never guess.

In my mind’s eye the future burns so bright –

We’ve finally found a house to call our own!

But this home has history I’ll never guess –

Empty hangers keep their secrets close.

We’ve finally found a house to call our own,

The aged hangers have new clothes to wear.

Empty hangers keep their secrets close

And we seldom think to ask ourselves why.

The aged hangers have new clothes to wear.

That roll of toilet paper, long ago replaced.

And we seldom think to ask ourselves why

They say people keep skeletons in their closets.

NaPoWriMo Day 9: One Year Later

My punctual child,

you were born the day you were due -

Easter Sunday morning.

Not that you didn’t put me through the ringer

for two days prior

just to prove a point.

I’ve been told that, like your wedding day

you never remember

your labor

the way it actually happened,

but I do. I know

the way it happened to me,

even though my eyes were closed

so I couldn’t see

the way it happened to others.

Strangely, birthing the baby

wasn’t the hard part.

Twenty four hours

to try to start labor.

Twenty seven hours in it.

We finally went to the hospital -

they put me in a wheelchair,

took the express lane to Labor and Delivery.

I remember when my tailbone exploded.

It still hasn’t healed.

But that wasn’t the hard part.

The hard part was when they cut your cord -

cut your oxygen supply,

cut the lifeline between us

and took you away to resuscitate you.

The hard part was when

Daddy sang you to life

while I lay helpless on the other side of the room

not even knowing whether you were a boy or a girl,

let alone whether you would live.

The hard part was when they gave you to me

and then took you away again

and I couldn’t stop them.

They wouldn’t let me follow you.

They said, your placenta hasn’t been delivered,

we need to find an OB with small hands

to scrape it out.

She reached inside my shrinking uterus

and tore out our ravaged placenta -

that valiant and incredible organ

that sustained you,

ripped from me and shoved

unceremoniously into an orange biohazard bag.

They shot me full of all the drugs

I never wanted to take,

so easy with the IV already in my arm.

They said, your baby is fine,

you’re the one we need to monitor.

Too many complications.

After they took you away

I didn’t have anything left in me

to fight them.

So I grieved and raged in turn,

in silence.

The hard part is

I still do.

NaPoWriMo Day 8: Labor (For Cristie)

She has labored

under many a sky

in many a land

exquisitely excavating

with a trowel and brush

and journal in her hand

She has labored

for many an hour

at a computer screen

fish bones close by

with data, images, theories

filling her brain

She has labored

through these many months

to care for her body

and her growing babe

to build a nest

to start a family

Now let her labor

with ease and with grace

to bring this child in

to light, to love, to family

to the world that awaits.