* * *
100523
THE POSSIBLE DREAM
Imagination or reality
(what I’m enamored of)?
How everything—
everything!—
only offers love.
SPRING THRILL
Window open.
Day borning.
Warm under covers
on a cool morning.
100522
NO RETREAT
Enlightenment rebirths us—
each insight, a debut;
each last exhale of old life,
the first inhale of new.
100521
DIFFERENT DATE,
DIFFERENT FATE
Evicted by rain,
worms mounted the roadbed
yesterday
and headed north—
or simply traveled in tandem
away from where they’d been.
I ferried them across.
Today’s refugees
are being escorted by a crow
to a different destination.
[TIDBIT]
Yesterday,
hawk in small tree.
Today, two hawks.
100521
COUNT ME IN
Ten million people are writing
(ten million people or more),
all wanting your attention
(ten-million-one or more).
ABOUT MY CAT
To my touch,
she was at first resistant,
so I took care—
was gentle and persistent.
Now she comes to my caress;
in fact, she is insistent.
CHORES
There’s nothing like
having something to do
to make you want to do
something else.
DEATH’S DEMEANOR
Will it be—
a long surmise?
a quick surprise?
or, as I suspect—
some grand disguise?
CLOWN
I thank God
for sight and smell,
and sound,
and sense—
but, most of all,
for irreverence.
UNFIT FOR SERVICE
Would a poet laureate
write about snot,
or boogers or cooties?
I think not!
Well, cross that off
my list of ambitions—
I have too many alien seditions.
THE WAY OF PLAY
My work
is as a poet
and is,
as it should be,
a work
to work aversive—
a work of truancy.
TAUNTRESS
My muse
is showing off tonight,
strutting her strange stuff—
daring, daring, daring me
to say, enough, enough!
100520
I AM GOING TO THE ZOO (for Lauren)
What I say is truly true:
I have nothing better to do.
I am going to the zoo.
To the zoo — Woo hoo! Woo hoo!!!
100519
ANTS IN YOUR PANTS
Spring rains
have driven ants inside
seeking places to abide.
They’re made to move—
and don’t move slowly.
They’ll hop a toe and take a ride,
then mountaineer a person’s hide.
The lowly ant
is not so lowly!
100518
WRESTLING
Pain has taken a
toe-hold on my body—
well,
a thumb-lock.
100517
THE BETTER PART
Martha—Mary
(prosaic—poetic, earthy—airy).
One weighted with work,
when work would wait.
One who chose a buoyant fate.
100516
BRITISH ACCENT
My partner's in the kitchen
making a pot of tea.
I'd applauded his suggestion:
"taking a spot of tea."
* * *
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Confetti
* * *
100515
WRITER
WORKSHOP
Rain
stops
(now and then)
its patter;
birds,
their chirping;
writers, too,
their chirping pens.
ROLE WITH
THE PUNCHES
I am the writer,
the recorder,
the observer.
Clout? I doubt.
She—let it be—
is the teacher.
PEONIES (for Carrie)
Why peonies?
Why today
white ruffled peonies—
in her email,
in our remembrances
of kleenex flowers
on bobbie-pin stems,
in those two faded flowers on display
at that bookstore counter,
in the first poem encountered now
in Mary Oliver’s book?
[ASIDE: Inspired by a Twitter comment.]
BACK-TO-BARK
Every day is an experiment:
a reaching out
to whatever is reaching back.
This day’s experiment:
place my back to the bark of a tree,
spine to spine,
as close as we can get
and be.
MEDIUM, MESSAGE
Paper is a pleasure
to brush against,
to stroke,
to rub between fingers
until it pop-pop-pops.
CONFETTI
the look of wonder
on an eighty-year-old face
my fat pen
in use again
when it’s given right, let it be
that black line of cloud,
so un-menacing
in retreat
[ASIDE: Leftover bits from writing exercises]
100514
LEARN ME
sights and wonders
places to go
tell me
teach me
take me—
share and show
take me
tell me
teach me—
I so want to know
100513
SCAREDY
I love it
(find it quite exciting)
when lightning blast
and thunder crash
put every cat in hiding.
100512
TRANSIENTS
Thoughts—
catch, then hold them?
No net is that fine.
Thoughts are not me—
are not even mine.
100511
HOW THESE THINGS WORK
It wasn’t even a job offer,
just a statement of pay parameters
and notice of further applicant scrutiny.
I was the applicant.
The pay was low, the commute
and hours long, and the work—well,
unenchanting to someone else
I knew, who knew.
I’d been spoiled.
Two months earlier, I had interviewed
with the company for the job—
the one I really wanted.
But nothing had come of that.
I contrasted the two scenarios to my husband,
a multi-tasker who continued browsing the web,
scanning emails, and checking phone messages
as I spoke. Then he turned to me with a smirk.
“What?” I asked, irritated.
“You need to know how these thing work,”
he coached, handing me the phone.
“Call for you. It’s the company.”
THE MAGICAL KINGDOM
Serendipity.
Wish fulfillment.
Placebos.
Self-fulfilling prophecies.
Superstitions.
Delusions of power.
Beware of magical thinking,
children, artists, and
dreamers are cautioned.
But think about it:
isn’t all thinking magical?
OPTIONAL
Take
an ordinary
sentence;
break it into bits;
run it
down the page
and, voilà!
a poem
(title optional).
100510
SUN STROKE OF LUCK
After an afternoon sunbath,
I moved to a set of worn
west-facing wooden steps and
continued warming myself there.
Close by,
yellow-headed
dandelions bloomed
The nearest caught my attention.
While I stared, completely absorbed,
background greenery
went glittery, then monochrome
(black, white, silver, gray)
as the blossom intensified
its yellow—like a radiant sun
against a lucent nighttime sky.
How did I chance
to witness that?
* * *
100515
WRITER
WORKSHOP
Rain
stops
(now and then)
its patter;
birds,
their chirping;
writers, too,
their chirping pens.
ROLE WITH
THE PUNCHES
I am the writer,
the recorder,
the observer.
Clout? I doubt.
She—let it be—
is the teacher.
PEONIES (for Carrie)
Why peonies?
Why today
white ruffled peonies—
in her email,
in our remembrances
of kleenex flowers
on bobbie-pin stems,
in those two faded flowers on display
at that bookstore counter,
in the first poem encountered now
in Mary Oliver’s book?
[ASIDE: Inspired by a Twitter comment.]
BACK-TO-BARK
Every day is an experiment:
a reaching out
to whatever is reaching back.
This day’s experiment:
place my back to the bark of a tree,
spine to spine,
as close as we can get
and be.
MEDIUM, MESSAGE
Paper is a pleasure
to brush against,
to stroke,
to rub between fingers
until it pop-pop-pops.
CONFETTI
the look of wonder
on an eighty-year-old face
my fat pen
in use again
when it’s given right, let it be
that black line of cloud,
so un-menacing
in retreat
[ASIDE: Leftover bits from writing exercises]
100514
LEARN ME
sights and wonders
places to go
tell me
teach me
take me—
share and show
take me
tell me
teach me—
I so want to know
100513
SCAREDY
I love it
(find it quite exciting)
when lightning blast
and thunder crash
put every cat in hiding.
100512
TRANSIENTS
Thoughts—
catch, then hold them?
No net is that fine.
Thoughts are not me—
are not even mine.
100511
HOW THESE THINGS WORK
It wasn’t even a job offer,
just a statement of pay parameters
and notice of further applicant scrutiny.
I was the applicant.
The pay was low, the commute
and hours long, and the work—well,
unenchanting to someone else
I knew, who knew.
I’d been spoiled.
Two months earlier, I had interviewed
with the company for the job—
the one I really wanted.
But nothing had come of that.
I contrasted the two scenarios to my husband,
a multi-tasker who continued browsing the web,
scanning emails, and checking phone messages
as I spoke. Then he turned to me with a smirk.
“What?” I asked, irritated.
“You need to know how these thing work,”
he coached, handing me the phone.
“Call for you. It’s the company.”
THE MAGICAL KINGDOM
Serendipity.
Wish fulfillment.
Placebos.
Self-fulfilling prophecies.
Superstitions.
Delusions of power.
Beware of magical thinking,
children, artists, and
dreamers are cautioned.
But think about it:
isn’t all thinking magical?
OPTIONAL
Take
an ordinary
sentence;
break it into bits;
run it
down the page
and, voilà!
a poem
(title optional).
100510
SUN STROKE OF LUCK
After an afternoon sunbath,
I moved to a set of worn
west-facing wooden steps and
continued warming myself there.
Close by,
yellow-headed
dandelions bloomed
The nearest caught my attention.
While I stared, completely absorbed,
background greenery
went glittery, then monochrome
(black, white, silver, gray)
as the blossom intensified
its yellow—like a radiant sun
against a lucent nighttime sky.
How did I chance
to witness that?
* * *
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mother's Day & Oddities
* * *
100509
WHAT’S IN A NAME (for Mary Lee)
Jo is her middle name
and she came to prefer it.
Jo,
chosen by her mother,
when her mother was a girl.
Jo ,
for dear one, beloved,
“John Anderson, my Jo”.
Jo,
the mother-gift of mother-love
to an entire family,
for each person knows, “You are
my dear one, my beloved, my Jo.”
[ASIDE: Mother's Day poem derived from a self-obituary
writing exercise conducted this week by Karen Zacharias,
author of "Will Jesus Buy Me A Double-Wide?:
Cause I Need More Room for My Plasma TV"]
100508
SELF, NON-SELF
One a horse, ranging wide.
One a rider, along for the ride.
Each awake to own.
Each asleep to other.
One will never get out.
One, though it may have tried,
will never get inside.
100507
SHEEPISH
The sheep were sheep.
Some would feed,
some would sleep,
and some would sleep
very deep... counting sheep.
[ASIDE: Wisdom House challenge on Twitter:
Create a work beginning with the words,
“The sheep were… “]
ALARM
The sheep were screaming,
but no one could hear.
The wind was calm.
The day was clear.
The shepherd was absent;
at least, couldn't hear.
The sheep were screaming,
but no one could hear—
no one, that is,
except what drew near.
[ASIDE: Wisdom House challenge on Facebook:
Create a work beginning with the words,
“The sheep were screaming… “ Facebook didn’t
truncate the instructions.]
100506
YOU CALLED? (For Denise)
"Boo-hoo!
Had it. Lost it.
Now I want it back.
Lost my mojo;
lost the knack.
Want my mojo back!"
"Yoo-hoo!
Mo' Jo? Here's Jo,
ready and at hand.
You want mo' Jo?—
that's just grand!
Glad I'm in demand!
[ASIDE: Response to a Facebook comment.]
100505
THOTS
shld i hv bot
what i sot?
what i got
was not so hot—
thats why i fot,
but all i wrot
came 2 not.
[ASIDE: Amused by some
Twitter condensations of words.]
100504
NOW THAT’S A MEDIOCRE POEM
It’s so hard to keep up with a quota;
to resign to the mediocre,
to short-change the more promising.
But without the quota,
without the mediocrity,
no promise would be realized.
[ASIDE: This is how poems often start out,
before editing. I think this one may be beyond hope.]
* * *
100509
WHAT’S IN A NAME (for Mary Lee)
Jo is her middle name
and she came to prefer it.
Jo,
chosen by her mother,
when her mother was a girl.
Jo ,
for dear one, beloved,
“John Anderson, my Jo”.
Jo,
the mother-gift of mother-love
to an entire family,
for each person knows, “You are
my dear one, my beloved, my Jo.”
[ASIDE: Mother's Day poem derived from a self-obituary
writing exercise conducted this week by Karen Zacharias,
author of "Will Jesus Buy Me A Double-Wide?:
Cause I Need More Room for My Plasma TV"]
100508
SELF, NON-SELF
One a horse, ranging wide.
One a rider, along for the ride.
Each awake to own.
Each asleep to other.
One will never get out.
One, though it may have tried,
will never get inside.
100507
SHEEPISH
The sheep were sheep.
Some would feed,
some would sleep,
and some would sleep
very deep... counting sheep.
[ASIDE: Wisdom House challenge on Twitter:
Create a work beginning with the words,
“The sheep were… “]
ALARM
The sheep were screaming,
but no one could hear.
The wind was calm.
The day was clear.
The shepherd was absent;
at least, couldn't hear.
The sheep were screaming,
but no one could hear—
no one, that is,
except what drew near.
[ASIDE: Wisdom House challenge on Facebook:
Create a work beginning with the words,
“The sheep were screaming… “ Facebook didn’t
truncate the instructions.]
100506
YOU CALLED? (For Denise)
"Boo-hoo!
Had it. Lost it.
Now I want it back.
Lost my mojo;
lost the knack.
Want my mojo back!"
"Yoo-hoo!
Mo' Jo? Here's Jo,
ready and at hand.
You want mo' Jo?—
that's just grand!
Glad I'm in demand!
[ASIDE: Response to a Facebook comment.]
100505
THOTS
shld i hv bot
what i sot?
what i got
was not so hot—
thats why i fot,
but all i wrot
came 2 not.
[ASIDE: Amused by some
Twitter condensations of words.]
100504
NOW THAT’S A MEDIOCRE POEM
It’s so hard to keep up with a quota;
to resign to the mediocre,
to short-change the more promising.
But without the quota,
without the mediocrity,
no promise would be realized.
[ASIDE: This is how poems often start out,
before editing. I think this one may be beyond hope.]
* * *
Monday, May 3, 2010
Cheese and Crackers
* * *
100503
RETICENT
The neighbor’s garden
is at my disposal.
I feel richer in what I don’t take
than in what I do.
Is there a cure for this?
LITTLE HOLES
When the bread has little holes
and hasn’t been soaked overnight,
I dip each slice quickly and put it
in the pan. Then I spoon-feed the
excess egg mixture slowly and gently
over the pores of its upper surface.
By the time I’m done spooning, it’s
ready to be flipped anyway. Some-
times fleshing out a poem is like that:
lingering attentively, filling in gaps.
100502
NATURE WALK NATURE
I do the thing
to be alone;
to think, or not;
and, as I roam,
to breathe fresh air—
breathe freely too.
What will change,
if I’m with you?
[ASIDE: The syntax is wrong,
but I don't like "What would change"
or "when I'm with."]
100501
ENABLER
When your cat pees
on your bed or rug,
you clean things up.
What else can you do?
Then your cat pees
(uncontrite and smug)
in that same place
the moment that you’re through.
100430
[CHALLENGE POEMS]
Take a newspaper article and black out words
to leave a coherent poem of the remaining words
in their original sequence. I tried this twice.
GRANDMOTHERS
The author said,
"I fell wildly in love with this child."
Completely unprepared for this new role,
she made plans to write a memoir
of not just her own experience
but those of other writers;
all the hidden pleasures and perils
of being a grandmother.
She wanted it to be true,
convinced that all baby boomers
are traveling in uncharted waters
as grandparents.
If there's anything she's learned,
it's this: "You need to be supportive
and keep your mouth shut."
NEW ROLE
Author speaks Sunday
about her reaction
to the birth of her first granddaughter.
"Completely unprepared,
heartbroken, furious, devastated."
Asked to write an essay
about being a grandparent,
she didn't change names or anything.
"It provoked feelings in me,
not all of them charitable.
There's something scary
about being a grandparent."
Copies will be available for purchase
at the Sunday event.
100429
P.M. POEM
Are you that overwhelmed?
Has it lost its allure?
(A near-midnight start
for this pome du jour.)
100428
HEALTH-FOOD SLACKERS
Cheese and crackers,
cheese and crackers,
cheese and cheese,
and cheese and crackers.
Fruits and veggies have no backers
in this house of cheese and crackers;
have no home among these slackers.
100427
EVERYDAY POET
even I
of privileged
eye
often fail
to see:
the ease
the deep
the friendly
of the common
100426
TEXAS SPICE
Poorly-painted red words
on poorly-painted white boards
advertise a roadside stand:
"jams" "jellies" "peaches" "tomatoes"
The largest sign recommends:
"RELISH"
"SALSA"
Thanks to a stint in Texas, I do.
[ASIDE: On this one, Fay Jean Royce commented:
"An Arkie lass with Texas sass!"]
100425
THINGS
In your vicinity,
at your approach,
things shift.
If alert,
you may notice
a flutter of wings,
a scurrying,
a sudden splash.
Further ahead,
the more sensitive,
shy, and subtle
have already taken
their leave, leaving only
a toe-track,
a scent,
a broken twig.
Further yet,
other things—possibly—
disappear so quickly
and thoroughly
we don’t even suspect
they exist.
100424
NO ACCOUNT
What have I really done
for this world;
what have I really done?
Whom have I saved or salved
in this world;
whom, when, why—
and what from?
100423
GOING TO POT-BELLY
“Do you think your skin
holds your innards in?”
“Fat chance it does—
because my face has turned to scowls and jowls;
because each thigh’s the size my waist once was;
because my upper arms (once like a girl’s)
now flap just like a flying squirrel’s.
Do I think my skin
holds my innards in?
Not one bit, because—
I have witnessed tears and boobies drop.
Plus, my belly slops over undie tops.”
100422
AMEN TO THAT
As I take this food, I choose:
health, delight, and gratitude.
100421
ATTENDANCE
Three;
three to learn.
One to teach.
One to observe;
one to learn
to teach.
* * *
100503
RETICENT
The neighbor’s garden
is at my disposal.
I feel richer in what I don’t take
than in what I do.
Is there a cure for this?
LITTLE HOLES
When the bread has little holes
and hasn’t been soaked overnight,
I dip each slice quickly and put it
in the pan. Then I spoon-feed the
excess egg mixture slowly and gently
over the pores of its upper surface.
By the time I’m done spooning, it’s
ready to be flipped anyway. Some-
times fleshing out a poem is like that:
lingering attentively, filling in gaps.
100502
NATURE WALK NATURE
I do the thing
to be alone;
to think, or not;
and, as I roam,
to breathe fresh air—
breathe freely too.
What will change,
if I’m with you?
[ASIDE: The syntax is wrong,
but I don't like "What would change"
or "when I'm with."]
100501
ENABLER
When your cat pees
on your bed or rug,
you clean things up.
What else can you do?
Then your cat pees
(uncontrite and smug)
in that same place
the moment that you’re through.
100430
[CHALLENGE POEMS]
Take a newspaper article and black out words
to leave a coherent poem of the remaining words
in their original sequence. I tried this twice.
GRANDMOTHERS
The author said,
"I fell wildly in love with this child."
Completely unprepared for this new role,
she made plans to write a memoir
of not just her own experience
but those of other writers;
all the hidden pleasures and perils
of being a grandmother.
She wanted it to be true,
convinced that all baby boomers
are traveling in uncharted waters
as grandparents.
If there's anything she's learned,
it's this: "You need to be supportive
and keep your mouth shut."
NEW ROLE
Author speaks Sunday
about her reaction
to the birth of her first granddaughter.
"Completely unprepared,
heartbroken, furious, devastated."
Asked to write an essay
about being a grandparent,
she didn't change names or anything.
"It provoked feelings in me,
not all of them charitable.
There's something scary
about being a grandparent."
Copies will be available for purchase
at the Sunday event.
100429
P.M. POEM
Are you that overwhelmed?
Has it lost its allure?
(A near-midnight start
for this pome du jour.)
100428
HEALTH-FOOD SLACKERS
Cheese and crackers,
cheese and crackers,
cheese and cheese,
and cheese and crackers.
Fruits and veggies have no backers
in this house of cheese and crackers;
have no home among these slackers.
100427
EVERYDAY POET
even I
of privileged
eye
often fail
to see:
the ease
the deep
the friendly
of the common
100426
TEXAS SPICE
Poorly-painted red words
on poorly-painted white boards
advertise a roadside stand:
"jams" "jellies" "peaches" "tomatoes"
The largest sign recommends:
"RELISH"
"SALSA"
Thanks to a stint in Texas, I do.
[ASIDE: On this one, Fay Jean Royce commented:
"An Arkie lass with Texas sass!"]
100425
THINGS
In your vicinity,
at your approach,
things shift.
If alert,
you may notice
a flutter of wings,
a scurrying,
a sudden splash.
Further ahead,
the more sensitive,
shy, and subtle
have already taken
their leave, leaving only
a toe-track,
a scent,
a broken twig.
Further yet,
other things—possibly—
disappear so quickly
and thoroughly
we don’t even suspect
they exist.
100424
NO ACCOUNT
What have I really done
for this world;
what have I really done?
Whom have I saved or salved
in this world;
whom, when, why—
and what from?
100423
GOING TO POT-BELLY
“Do you think your skin
holds your innards in?”
“Fat chance it does—
because my face has turned to scowls and jowls;
because each thigh’s the size my waist once was;
because my upper arms (once like a girl’s)
now flap just like a flying squirrel’s.
Do I think my skin
holds my innards in?
Not one bit, because—
I have witnessed tears and boobies drop.
Plus, my belly slops over undie tops.”
100422
AMEN TO THAT
As I take this food, I choose:
health, delight, and gratitude.
100421
ATTENDANCE
Three;
three to learn.
One to teach.
One to observe;
one to learn
to teach.
* * *
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Floral Scented Potpourri
* * *
100420
READING BETWEEN THE LIONS
Stopped in my tracks
by dandelions—
yellow circles coming into flower,
white spheres going into seed—
I start to track
the over-long overlooked;
that missing phase between.
100419
BIZARRE BAZAAR
Well, Mr. Omnipotent,
I hope you’ve enjoyed
your little game.
About what to believe,
about how to behave—
you’ve stumped me.
I give up.
100418
OCCUPIED
You know the kind:
immersed in passions
at which they flounder.
Critics pan.
Leeches pander.
Life and livelihood get sucked in.
Do they mind?
Nah—happy as clams.
100417
FINAL TANDEM
Not fallen petals
carpeting the orchard,
mirroring pink above with pink below,
but branches pruned at winter’s end—
they flower now in final tandem
with former fellows
reprieved short weeks ago.
100416
SEPARATE WORLDS
Do you want the left world
or the right? the up or down?
the dark or light?
Take whichever pleases you.
I don’t want to fight.
100415
MOST FAVORED
Book or pen,
pen or book?
How hard my life, if I forsook
book or pen, pen or book.
100414
IMPACT
Thunk!
By the time I raced outdoors
the bird was in the jaws of the cat,
who released it to me on request—
a woodpecker.
The long beak,
knocked sideways into the chest
by force of impact,
was plastered with breast feathers.
The breast muscle had been split.
The body was limp and lifeless
except for one eyelid blinking,
one eye roving.
Now—
now that the body, recovered, has flown,
where does the eye rove;
and, over what, the mind?
100413
ONE IOTA FOR MY QUOTA
My five-
dandelion bouquet is three-
fifths faded, my day is four-
and I am more.
One thing left: this poem chore.
DECISIONS, DECISIONS
You can know too much.
At least I can know too much.
Knowing, for instance,
that the least-used restroom stall
is nearest or farthest from the restroom door,
I stop, in spite of urgency, to consider:
which stall do I actually use most often?
Which least? Which did I use last time?
Do I want variety,
so as not to fall into habitual ruts?
Why—if I choose number one this time—
do I do that? am I afraid of something about
numbers two, three, four…?
But let me assure you—
considering my total life experience,
I conclude quickly and accurately about one thing:
any women's stall is more likely to be clean
than any men’s.
100412
BOOK-COVER DESIGN ADVICE (for Cathi)
How much to kern is a matter of concern.
Visual vibration causes consternation.
Fonts should be few; in fact, two will do.
Zap all-caps QUICK in italic or script.
Let images illustrate (not negate or duplicate).
Avoid cliches, plus clip-art way out-of-date,
plus fonts too overused and tame.
Don't use your title as a frame.
[ASIDE: Commenting on a fellow writer's website.]
100411
ODD COUPLE
Raven roved, on the road
from Pittsburgh to Poughkeepsie.
Every time he went away,
that gypsy came back tipsy.
Elephant, his stay-at-home,
was plump from trunk to rump.
She never would be svelte;
at least that's how she felt.
[ASIDE: Wisdom House Books - Challenge:
use the words trunk, svelte, raven, gypsy]
100410
LOOTED
Tempted by a spray of golden forsythia
cascading over a country dirt-road fence,
I draw near, only to find the outermost stems
already snipped off and a cluster of
deer prints in the mud below.
100409
ALL THINGS OLD
MADE NEW AGAIN
Ah, the beauty of the world;
the bounty of our lives!
But Oh—first glimpse, first touch,
first whiff—the beauty of surprise!
100408
HARD TIMES
dandelion bouquet
HARD TIMES
at thrift store;
shopping specials only
HARD TIMES
pondering
less is more
HARD TIMES
in lap of luxury;
then luxury stood up
100407
DEPTH PERCEPTION
In dreams or visions,
what does mind's-eye know?
And does it see things plane
or in stereo?
100406
HER OWN SELF (for Annette)
Frida wore a nose and mouth;
that is how God made her.
Frida wore a unibrow;
no one could dissuade her.
* * *
100420
READING BETWEEN THE LIONS
Stopped in my tracks
by dandelions—
yellow circles coming into flower,
white spheres going into seed—
I start to track
the over-long overlooked;
that missing phase between.
100419
BIZARRE BAZAAR
Well, Mr. Omnipotent,
I hope you’ve enjoyed
your little game.
About what to believe,
about how to behave—
you’ve stumped me.
I give up.
100418
OCCUPIED
You know the kind:
immersed in passions
at which they flounder.
Critics pan.
Leeches pander.
Life and livelihood get sucked in.
Do they mind?
Nah—happy as clams.
100417
FINAL TANDEM
Not fallen petals
carpeting the orchard,
mirroring pink above with pink below,
but branches pruned at winter’s end—
they flower now in final tandem
with former fellows
reprieved short weeks ago.
100416
SEPARATE WORLDS
Do you want the left world
or the right? the up or down?
the dark or light?
Take whichever pleases you.
I don’t want to fight.
100415
MOST FAVORED
Book or pen,
pen or book?
How hard my life, if I forsook
book or pen, pen or book.
100414
IMPACT
Thunk!
By the time I raced outdoors
the bird was in the jaws of the cat,
who released it to me on request—
a woodpecker.
The long beak,
knocked sideways into the chest
by force of impact,
was plastered with breast feathers.
The breast muscle had been split.
The body was limp and lifeless
except for one eyelid blinking,
one eye roving.
Now—
now that the body, recovered, has flown,
where does the eye rove;
and, over what, the mind?
100413
ONE IOTA FOR MY QUOTA
My five-
dandelion bouquet is three-
fifths faded, my day is four-
and I am more.
One thing left: this poem chore.
DECISIONS, DECISIONS
You can know too much.
At least I can know too much.
Knowing, for instance,
that the least-used restroom stall
is nearest or farthest from the restroom door,
I stop, in spite of urgency, to consider:
which stall do I actually use most often?
Which least? Which did I use last time?
Do I want variety,
so as not to fall into habitual ruts?
Why—if I choose number one this time—
do I do that? am I afraid of something about
numbers two, three, four…?
But let me assure you—
considering my total life experience,
I conclude quickly and accurately about one thing:
any women's stall is more likely to be clean
than any men’s.
100412
BOOK-COVER DESIGN ADVICE (for Cathi)
How much to kern is a matter of concern.
Visual vibration causes consternation.
Fonts should be few; in fact, two will do.
Zap all-caps QUICK in italic or script.
Let images illustrate (not negate or duplicate).
Avoid cliches, plus clip-art way out-of-date,
plus fonts too overused and tame.
Don't use your title as a frame.
[ASIDE: Commenting on a fellow writer's website.]
100411
ODD COUPLE
Raven roved, on the road
from Pittsburgh to Poughkeepsie.
Every time he went away,
that gypsy came back tipsy.
Elephant, his stay-at-home,
was plump from trunk to rump.
She never would be svelte;
at least that's how she felt.
[ASIDE: Wisdom House Books - Challenge:
use the words trunk, svelte, raven, gypsy]
100410
LOOTED
Tempted by a spray of golden forsythia
cascading over a country dirt-road fence,
I draw near, only to find the outermost stems
already snipped off and a cluster of
deer prints in the mud below.
100409
ALL THINGS OLD
MADE NEW AGAIN
Ah, the beauty of the world;
the bounty of our lives!
But Oh—first glimpse, first touch,
first whiff—the beauty of surprise!
100408
HARD TIMES
dandelion bouquet
HARD TIMES
at thrift store;
shopping specials only
HARD TIMES
pondering
less is more
HARD TIMES
in lap of luxury;
then luxury stood up
100407
DEPTH PERCEPTION
In dreams or visions,
what does mind's-eye know?
And does it see things plane
or in stereo?
100406
HER OWN SELF (for Annette)
Frida wore a nose and mouth;
that is how God made her.
Frida wore a unibrow;
no one could dissuade her.
* * *
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Intimations of Mortality
* * *
100405
DRIFTER
Where the road ends—
where ceaseless waves of water
and waterlogged debris, suspended,
drift in and out, out and in—
someone faces the wind, chilling;
clouds, darkening;
day, dying;
someone stands immobile,
but for easeless waves of air
breathed in and out, out and in.
100404
WHY?
Doesn't it seem
that people's suffering
is out of all proportion
to any harm they've done—
or even
might have done
in purported prior lives?
What gives?
Who set this up?
If it’s all a game, who’s laughing?
MAD CHATTER
Don’t tell me you don’t have a thousand
voices in your head clamoring, ranting,
fuming, lampooning, and issuing commentary
via a thousand points of view. Don’t tell me you
don’t squelch them rather than belch them, or,
if warranted and you’re in the mood, invite them
to stay for tea or a similar heart-to-heart.
100403
LIMERICKS ON FREELANCE WRITING
There once was an Everyday Poet
who said, “I write well; let me show it.”
Her lance—like her fee
and her spirit—were free,
so soon she went broke, don’t you know it?
There twice was a writer who freelanced.
The first time he quit, his affianced
insisted he do.
Bad clients (time two)
showed him how, with his free lance, to be lanced.
And my favorite...
“Writer for Hire” is my trade.
Of blood, sweat and tears, I have made
my very life’s ink—
but freedom, I think,
is worth all the dues that I’ve paid.
100402
BUMMED
Want work an’ money, like other folk—
tired o’ bein’ so dam broke.
100401
PERSONAL FAVE
Chocolate cake—I gave a look.
Carrot cake—I partook.
Chocolate cake I can decline.
Carrot cake is too sublime.
100331
SWING SHIFT
woke up
half an hour early
rolled over
(big mistake)
showed up
groggy, surly—
half an hour late
100330
GLIMMERS
OF SUCCESS
Holey moley—,
‘bout damn time!
(Making progress slowly.)
100329
ASPIRING POETS—
You want to write right, right?
You want to read, read, read.
ELSEWHERE (for Carrie)
Missed the party;
don't know how.
All that fun!
All that chow!
* * *
100405
DRIFTER
Where the road ends—
where ceaseless waves of water
and waterlogged debris, suspended,
drift in and out, out and in—
someone faces the wind, chilling;
clouds, darkening;
day, dying;
someone stands immobile,
but for easeless waves of air
breathed in and out, out and in.
100404
WHY?
Doesn't it seem
that people's suffering
is out of all proportion
to any harm they've done—
or even
might have done
in purported prior lives?
What gives?
Who set this up?
If it’s all a game, who’s laughing?
MAD CHATTER
Don’t tell me you don’t have a thousand
voices in your head clamoring, ranting,
fuming, lampooning, and issuing commentary
via a thousand points of view. Don’t tell me you
don’t squelch them rather than belch them, or,
if warranted and you’re in the mood, invite them
to stay for tea or a similar heart-to-heart.
100403
LIMERICKS ON FREELANCE WRITING
There once was an Everyday Poet
who said, “I write well; let me show it.”
Her lance—like her fee
and her spirit—were free,
so soon she went broke, don’t you know it?
There twice was a writer who freelanced.
The first time he quit, his affianced
insisted he do.
Bad clients (time two)
showed him how, with his free lance, to be lanced.
And my favorite...
“Writer for Hire” is my trade.
Of blood, sweat and tears, I have made
my very life’s ink—
but freedom, I think,
is worth all the dues that I’ve paid.
100402
BUMMED
Want work an’ money, like other folk—
tired o’ bein’ so dam broke.
100401
PERSONAL FAVE
Chocolate cake—I gave a look.
Carrot cake—I partook.
Chocolate cake I can decline.
Carrot cake is too sublime.
100331
SWING SHIFT
woke up
half an hour early
rolled over
(big mistake)
showed up
groggy, surly—
half an hour late
100330
GLIMMERS
OF SUCCESS
Holey moley—,
‘bout damn time!
(Making progress slowly.)
100329
ASPIRING POETS—
You want to write right, right?
You want to read, read, read.
ELSEWHERE (for Carrie)
Missed the party;
don't know how.
All that fun!
All that chow!
* * *
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Purple Prose and Poetry
* * *
100328
WRITERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE—
Ornate excess, clichés, and slang
overload the whole shebang.
Who can tame the purple page?
Who can spur your words to fly?
When you just can’t get the hang,
hang out with the Zane Grey gang—
masters of the purple sage;
sage “Guest Writers in the Sky."
100328
SURFACE FLAWS
With the touch of a wand
in those anti-wrinkle ads,
facial lines appear or disappear
to age or rejuvenate a face.
While personhood remains intact
behind placid model eyes,
skin conditions
condition perceptions.
Thankfully, the peekaboo
reveals how easily
even these mistakes can be undone;
with the touch of a wand.
100327
SHARED LUNCH
I knew what was up
the minute he proposed shopping
at straight-up noon.
Braum’s is the kind of place
where you can get
bananas and bread
along with your burgers and fries.
Half a loaf
went to the ducks
at the pond by the library.
The geese, Canadians,
barely deigned to sample.
The mallards grazed
but didn’t gobble.
It’s spring—
they have other things
on their minds.
100326
WHAT A DEAL!
I do my part;
he does his.
Mine involves
the shopping list.
ANSWER
There is an answer.
There is always an answer.
The only time
there is no answer
is when you pre-conclude
there is no answer.
* * *
100328
WRITERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE—
Ornate excess, clichés, and slang
overload the whole shebang.
Who can tame the purple page?
Who can spur your words to fly?
When you just can’t get the hang,
hang out with the Zane Grey gang—
masters of the purple sage;
sage “Guest Writers in the Sky."
100328
SURFACE FLAWS
With the touch of a wand
in those anti-wrinkle ads,
facial lines appear or disappear
to age or rejuvenate a face.
While personhood remains intact
behind placid model eyes,
skin conditions
condition perceptions.
Thankfully, the peekaboo
reveals how easily
even these mistakes can be undone;
with the touch of a wand.
100327
SHARED LUNCH
I knew what was up
the minute he proposed shopping
at straight-up noon.
Braum’s is the kind of place
where you can get
bananas and bread
along with your burgers and fries.
Half a loaf
went to the ducks
at the pond by the library.
The geese, Canadians,
barely deigned to sample.
The mallards grazed
but didn’t gobble.
It’s spring—
they have other things
on their minds.
100326
WHAT A DEAL!
I do my part;
he does his.
Mine involves
the shopping list.
ANSWER
There is an answer.
There is always an answer.
The only time
there is no answer
is when you pre-conclude
there is no answer.
* * *
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