Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ekphrasis, kitchen, love poem, Rattle, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer on August 31, 2017| Leave a Comment »
I love the practice of Ekphrasis–the art of writing poems for other works of art. One of my favorite poetry journals, Rattle, has a monthly Ekphrastic Challenge, in which they invite poets to write poems for a piece of art, which the editors select. This month, one of my poems was selected by the editor, Tim Green. You can find the poem and the artwork by Samantha Gee here . Want to try your own hand at an Ekphrastic poem? It’s fun! You can find the monthly challenge here .
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged boat, metaphor, poem, poetry, sea sickness on August 31, 2017| Leave a Comment »
This is the poem
in which we kick off our boots
and leap barefoot into the boat
and sail away toward the half moon,
singing as we go, eating ripe peaches,
sipping starlight with eager tongues,
and we know it’s a poem
because in real life
I would be sea sick
and vomiting,
but as it is,
all I can do
is smile.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratefulness.org, gratitude, poem, poetry, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer on August 30, 2017| 1 Comment »
No matter how difficult the world may be, how hostile, how ferocious, there is always the invitation for gratitude. Thank you to Gratefulness.org, a site devoted to finding and sharing what’s right in the world, who today posted this poem of mine about finding this invitation–Obeying the Impulse
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged compassion, driving, poem, poetry, road rage on August 30, 2017| 8 Comments »
You idiot, is what you say
to the driver five cars ahead of you
on the two-lane road that winds
through the river canyon.
There is no passing lane,
and you feel the crush
of the minutes as they rub against each other
while the white SUV five cars ahead
does not pull over
in the wide spot on the road
where all conscientious slow drivers know
to pull over to let the other drivers pass.
Idiot, you grumble, and miss
any beauty outside the window—
red rock cliffs and diamonding streams—
focused as you are on the speedometer,
the brake. Once it was you,
a girl of fifteen, who drove so cautiously
the windy roads to church
on a Sunday morning, that first day
with your driver’s permit.
And who was it in the long line
behind you who called the police
to report a drunk driver?
When the police pulled you over,
not one but two squad cars
with blaring red and blue lights,
you didn’t cry when the officers laughed—
there was warmth in their relief
to find that you were not drunk, but young.
No, you cried after they walked away,
cried all the way to mass.
Bless them, the irate ones,
the ones who fume in the back,
the ones who think furious thoughts.
That’s right. Bless yourself,
you, the livid one who even now
is hurling names at the other travelers
on the same paved path.
Settle in. Sixteen miles under the speed limit
will give you time to think about
how we’re all traveling
the same winding road
no matter which route we take—
all of us pilgrims journeying toward
a generous, elusive grace.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged direction, poem, poetry, surrender on August 29, 2017| Leave a Comment »
throwing the compass
into the tall grass—
the feet giddy with possibility
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged first day of school, morning, poem, poetry, sound on August 28, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Before the sun rises the first day of school
the only sounds in the house are the fish tanks
as it bubbles, the rush of the river outside the window,
and the soft motor of the cat as she makes biscuits on my lap.
Even the kitchen is quiet, save the intermittent hum
of the fridge. All day, I will try to remember this,
how quiet it is, how full of peace, a great score
on which any note can be written.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Aphrodite, beets, Eden, myth, poem, poetry on August 27, 2017| 6 Comments »
To increase her appeal, Aphrodite ate beets.
I consider this as I rub the beets with oil
and wrap them in foil and slide them
into the oven to roast. They pulled out
of the garden soil so easily, round and red
and heavy with sugar. It’s not that I believe
the old stories, but I wonder if they perhaps
believe in me and guide my hands as I slice
the warm beets and drizzle dark coils
of thick balsamic vinegar. My hands
move with desire that is mine
and not mine. My lips turn increasingly
crimson, a crimson that cannot be washed away,
essence of the earth, extravagant with myth.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratitude, poem, poetry, recovery, walking on August 27, 2017| Leave a Comment »
walking four blocks with my mother,
every step an arrival,
every step a reason to praise
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, prayer, walking on August 27, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Before you slog the next mile,
God sits beside you
and rubs your feet and ankles,
tells you jokes,
and spills his heart to you—
the next day,
still exhausted,
you find yourself laughing
grateful to have feet.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cat and mouse, poem, poetry, vulnerability on August 27, 2017| Leave a Comment »
(title is a quote from Amy Irvine McHarg)
here kitty, kitty,
she says, crooking her finger,
her mouse heart leaping against her chest