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 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 »
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
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindness, news, poem, poetry on August 27, 2017| Leave a Comment »
And even as the countries aim their missiles at each other
and dangle threats and hurl names, the woman
in the hair salon gives you a deal because
in an hour you’ve shared dreams, shared fears.
And the bus driver helps you find your way.
And the tall man in the grocery store sees you reaching
for a box on the top shelf and offers to hand it to you.
Even as the congress argues and quarrels and stalls,
the little blonde boy you barely know snuggles into your lap
and tells you he loves you. Kindness continues to thrive,
Kindness breeds more kindnesses. Kindness
reminds you again that wherever you are,
you are home, that the world you most want
to live in is right here at the kitchen table,
right here on the noisy, crowded street.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged human equality, lice, poem, poetry on August 24, 2017| 2 Comments »
Sure, you might be all crystal goblets, all ruby sunsets
and soft violins. You might be high rise and Bugatti
and caviar. But baby, you haven’t made it
anywhere that the lice can’t find you. It’s not
about your hygiene, honey, it’s about your hair follicles.
Can’t drown ’em in your infinity pool. Can’t
smother them with your fine spa mud.
They’ve evolved to find you, to suck your blood,
to romp on your scalp, to lay their nearly invisible eggs
and glue them to strands of your hair.
You’d like to pretend they aren’t there. But
they are. It’s the age-old story of lice and men.
Says right here in Scientific American
that “Sucking lice have been sucking primate blood
for at least 25 million years.” Doesn’t seem too likely
they’ll stop their thirsting habits for you.
No pair of lice lost on account of your bling.
They won’t be dissuaded by your Gucci belt nor deterred
by your Chanel. They’re the great human equalizers,
these lousy little beasts. They care nothing for race.
For gender. For creed. They see us all the same—
as fine warm hosts. Perhaps they’ve something
to teach us right now, now when we need
the lesson most. Darling, are you itching yet?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Colorado Independent, peace, poem, poetry, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer on August 22, 2017| 5 Comments »
…in a time seemingly hellbent on hate? That’s what Phil Woods and I both explored through poems last week in our responses to Charlottesville. Please check out the poems today in the Colorado Independent. To read them, click news poetry. And please, if you are up for it, write a response. We need more conversations about what’s happening.
All the best,
Rosemerry
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, parent, poem, poetry, song on August 22, 2017| Leave a Comment »
One When My Grandfather was Still Alive
in the subway tunnel
the arching notes of Danny Boy
on a violin—
I walk slower to meet the train
I arrive twelve years ago
One Courage
hearing the moan on the other side
or is it a low laugh—
still choosing to open the door
One Near Totality
eclipse behind the clouds
so much beauty we never see—
sunflower blooming in a distant field
One New Time Signature
my father a song
I used to think I knew—
this morning, I hear
the same song with new ears,
or is it that the tune has changed—
all day I hum it,
all day I feel lucky
to hear him humming back
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, grief, poem, poetry, suicide on August 19, 2017| 6 Comments »
Before the sadness comes the shock,
like snow falling on sunflowers,
like nightfall at noon. And then
the tears catch up. And then
the wondering, What could I have done?
The urge to hold her now that I cannot.
The ache to hold her daughter, to hold
her son the way that she once held
my children when they were young.
What is there to do now but cradle
each other, to cry, to recover, and again
to shudder, to cry. To say to each other
that this day it hurts to be alive.
To notice that despite grief,
the larkspur are in full blue.
The river curls notes around the rocks.
The bees immerse their bodies
in snapdragon blooms.
How it’s never been more important
to know this—that the world
is beautiful. That even as we’re held
by tragedy, here is tenderness.
Here, always waiting to be opened,
the invitation to love.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged monsoon, poem, poetry, surrender on August 19, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Here is his ferocity—
how it opens him like a monsoon
here is your umbrella
fling it in the rain
let the flood rearrange you
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged milky way, poem, poetry, stars on August 17, 2017| 2 Comments »
In China they call the Milky Way
the silver river, and tonight
at the top of the drive I launch
my starry canoe into swirl of it.
I notice I forgot a map. I notice
there’s more song out here
than I thought there’d be.
No edge in sight.
Please, you come, too?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, night, parenting, poem, poetry on August 16, 2017| Leave a Comment »
The night is enormous—
big enough to hold us both
in a way that make us
seem close.
This is why I speak to you
through the stars—
not because I think
that they can hear,
but because I pray
you can.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged chanterelles, hope, mushroom hunting, poem, poetry on August 15, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Just as you give up,
there, through the trees,
you see a clearing
and though it’s exhausting
to be hopeful again
when there’s so little
to show for your hope,
you walk to the clearing
and there in the moss,
hundreds of chanterelles.
When you leave
to reenter the broken world,
some of the hope
sticks to you like tiny burrs,
able to seed themselves
anywhere you carry them.
By noon, nearly everything
seems possible.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hire a poetry teacher, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, Shelley Widhalm on August 15, 2017| 3 Comments »
If you’re considering a poetry practice, please, read this blog post written by Shelley Widhalm. Shelley is a writer and editor who participated in a poetry playshop I led in Loveland two weekends ago, and I couldn’t be more thrilled about the way she took up the challenge to write poems for 30 days as a daily practice. And I love how she pulls details from what other participants said, from what I said, and from her own experience.
If you are interested in guidance and encouragement for your own poetry practice, let me know. I will be taking two new students in September. You can read more about these poetry one-on-one conversations here.