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Archive for October, 2015

In the Book of Two

reading the afterward first—

still choosing to start with you

on page one

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Last week, the last lunch menu of the Titanic sold for a whole heap of money at auction, inspiring this poem published today on New Verse News. You never know what might have some value …

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In the Maze Again

It’s not shame itself we want to lose

but the shame about our shame.

Shame itself is as innocent

as bliss or love or joy, only

we seldom want it to linger.

A woman walks through rows of corn

and knows her own shadow.

She does not lament its shape,

but uses it to guide her.

There is teacher in everything,

even the corn dried on the stalk. Even

the wanting to push shame away.

Even the arm that rises up

to embrace our own shadow,

impossible as it is.

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carrying that sled

uphill for so long, I forgot

it was for riding

*

shedding the roof

when the house no longer fits—

now nothing between us and the stars

*

but I miss the weight

say the hands, too free after

setting down the stone chest

*

running full speed

into my own fear, I ricochet

into the arms of god

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One Fragrance

around us, so much dying

still, it’s inevitable, falling in love

with one yellow rose

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and exhausted from pushing and not getting anywhere?

Today, a fabulous poetry site, “A Year of Being Here,” published a poem of mine about just this experience.

I love this site, love reading the poems daily and going back through the archives. You can find it here: A Year of Being Here: Trommer

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Two Foolishnesses

two hands holding

a vase, even the loveliest vase,

can’t open a door

*

trying to contain

the sea in a cup—

it’s not been done before, but …

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I thread song through night—

silence follows each note,

unstitches every one

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The baby black swift is born behind a waterfall.
It never leaves its nest until one autumn day
it leaves the damp familiar and starts to fly.

Though it has never flown before, it will not land
until it reaches Brazil, thousands of miles away.

There is, perhaps, a wing inside forgiveness.
Just because it has never flown before,
just because it’s never seen beyond the watery veil
does not mean that it won’t instantly learn
what it can do.

Like the baby black swift, it has no idea
what it’s flying toward. It only knows
that it must fly and not stop until it is time to stop.

It sounds so miraculous, so nearly impossible.

It is not a matter of courage. It is simply
what rises up to be done, the urge to follow
some inaudible call that says now, now.

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Doesn’t matter if you’ve written one or ten-thousand poems–I hope you can join me in a class devoted to the pure pleasure of writing, reading and sharing poetry.

The class, Just Playing With Words, will be held in Ridgway, CO, on October 18 from 10-4.

To register, go to the link above or call 970-318-0150 for more information.

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