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Archive for April, 2019

Four Recents

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on April 30, 2019| Leave a Comment »

Dear Poetry Friends,

 

as you can tell from my lack of recent postings (and the last haikuling in this series) I am struggling with my computer, still. I hope to be back up and running by next Monday. In the meantime, I’ll post in small bouquets. Hugs to you all,

rosemerry

 

 

One Release

 

laughter

my favorite

erosional force

 

*

 

 

One Collaborative

 

all of us

notes

in one ecstatic song

 

 

*

 

One Avalanche

 

at thirty feet up

these old growth trees snapped

like hope

 

*

 

One Technology Reset

 

useful as a talking stick now

this dead computer

my stories inside

Read Full Post »

Meeting the Truth

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 26, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

The Truth and What-I-Want-to-Hear

sidle up to me like two old drunks,

one wearing a heavy coat and the other

stark naked.

 

“You know,” says the one,

leaning in to whisper,

“You know you are doing thish

perfectly. You are the besht mother

there ever was. Your children

are sho lucky to have you ash their mom.

You desherve a medal. Really. A medal.”

She hiccups at the end.

 

“Don’t lishen to her,”

says the other, grabbing

my arm and tugging me strong.

“You get it wrong a lot. And even

when you do your besht,

there’sh always more to do.

You fuck it up even when you’re trying

to get it right. It’s jusht what mothersh do.”

 

And we walk like that through the alley.

And we walk like that through the store.

And we walk like that through the living room.

And we walk like that to the car.

 

And the naked one laughs like a maniac

as she tugs on my arm again.

“But you love them, don’t you,

You love them chillens. Love is never

enough. And it’s all we have.”

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Chaise Lounge, Rocking Chair, Sofa

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 26, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

Consider the generosity of the chair,

sitting there with its arms open, its back straight,

its seat ever ready to hold you.

 

Consider how it was made to support you—

how its legs take all your weight.

Perhaps it is beautiful, artful, handsome.

 

Perhaps it exists for function alone.

When is the last time you knew yourself

as that useful? When is the last time

 

you gave yourself so completely to another,

said to them, Sit, please. As long as you wish.

I am here for you. I am here.

 

 

Read Full Post »

In Matthias Hall

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 26, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

Years later I wake in the night and remember

the way he banged on my bedroom door.

He was drunk and he begged me to let him in.

 

I was in my dorm room bed, and my best friend

was visiting. The interruption angered her

and she hissed in the dark, Don’t you dare.

 

I told him to go away. He didn’t.

He pounded and begged and shouted.

Please, he said, before I heard him crumple

 

at the base of the door where I believe

he fell asleep. By morning, he was gone.

It wasn’t only my door I had closed,

 

it was my heart. I didn’t understand then

that I was too frightened to let him in.

I didn’t comprehend how our fear

 

makes us small. Years later, I want

to open the door. I want to meet him

before the drunken night and tell him, I hear you.

 

I want to thank him for bringing me his heart.

I want to tell myself, You are capable

of sharing difficult feelings. I want

 

to write a new night and walk with him

through the dark, the only pounding

our fragile hearts.

Read Full Post »

First Lie

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on April 26, 2019| 4 Comments »

 

 

 

inside the lie

was a beautiful truth

that grew a white beard

and a giant belly

and though it preferred

to go barefoot

it stepped into shiny black boots

and moved north—

so far north that no one

could find it—

and buried itself

in snow and surrounded

itself with elves and candy

and increasingly elaborate stories,

stories so lovely that for a while

the lie began to believe itself,

until one day

a girl walked right up to it

and said to it,

Tell me the truth

and the snow melted

and the beard fell out

and the elves turned back

into evergreen trees

and the boots did their best

to erase their tracks,

and the truth stood there

naked and said,

There is so much joy

in giving,

and the girl cried

and cried,

longing for the lie.

I just want there to be real magic,

she said.

And the truth

held out its

beautiful hand

and said,

This, too, is magic.

It was years

before the girl

could listen.

Read Full Post »

One Wild Ride

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on April 26, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

inside the heart

is a river bank full

and a boat

with no oars

no map

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Upcoming Events: Two Classes, Two Concerts and a Podcast!

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 22, 2019| Leave a Comment »

Dear Friends,

If you live nearby, I am offering a free class for mothers this week, and a free 2-hour writing class for anyone, both at Wilkinson Public Library. (info below)

And please listen to the new Emerging Form Podcast, “When is Quitting the Best Thing to Do,” with fabulous guest Pam Houston. If you’ve ever beaten yourself up for quitting a creative project, or if you’re wondering right now if the project you’re working on is really the best fit for you, this episode is right up your alley!

 

*

 

Free Poetry Class on Wednesday for Mothers

Lost in Motherland: Writing to Discover Who We Are(n’t)

Wednesday, April 24

Wilkinson Public Library, 10 a.m. – 2 p.m.   FREE

Motherhood changes things Amidst the blessings and the challenges, we transform. Whether your child is in utero, in diapers, in junior high, or an adult long out of the home, and chances are that things have not gone as you expected. Chances are you have frustrations, joys, disappointments, elations. This is not a class for writing about our kids, though. It’s a chance to write about yourself, to explore how mothering has informed who you are.

Mother and poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer leads other mothers in this practice of writing, reading and listening. What happens when we ask, “Who am I?” As Ramana Maharshi says, “The purpose of that question is not to find an answer but to dissolve the questioner.” What’s that supposed to mean? Come play.

All mothers welcome—grandmothers, step-mothers, adoptive mothers, mothers-to-be. No previous writing experience necessary. For those who have taken this workshop previously, the material will be all new.

*

 

Thursday, April 25

Writing for the Fun of It

Wilkinson Public Library, 6-8 p.m.

Telluride, CO

Join Rosemerry for this free monthly writing group. Writing is such a solitary act, but when we do it together, there’s a fabulous synergy, a juicy energetic charge. Let’s play.  Theme: Generosity. Just show up!

 

*

 

April 26-27

Shared Visions 2, a concert by the Ars Nova Singers

Friday, April 26,  7:30pm – Bethany Lutheran Church, 4500 E. Hampden, Cherry Hills Village

Saturday, April 27, 7:30pm – St. John’s Episcopal Church, 1419 Pine Street, Boulder

The Ars Nova Singers will be performing works by four Colorado composers. Three of the pieces selected will be set to poems written by Rosemerry. One poem was inspired by the artwork of Grace Gee Ajemian will be set to music by Jeff Nytch, another poem was inspired by the art of John Bonath and will be set to music by Paul Fowler. The third was inspired by work by Wewer Keohane and was set to music by Paul Fowler. For more info, http://www.arsnovasingers.org/

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Almost Back!

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on April 22, 2019| 3 Comments »

Dear Poetry Friends,

Thank you so much for the sweet notes I received while I was on vacation letting me know you missed the daily poems. I should have mentioned ahead of time that I would be taking a break from nightly sending. Then, yesterday, the motherboard on my computer went out and I understand it will be at least a week before I have it back … so we will be on a limited posting schedule again until my computer returns. Luckily, through the grace of iCloud (how is this possible) my poems from our trip still exist on my phone. What a great technological twist to a story about a technological bummer!

AND NOW FOR TWO WEEK’S WORTH OF POEMS!

 

Bouquet of Poems from Florida Keys

 

changing blues in the water

trying to name them as if this way

I will remember

*

riding rusty bikes

every pedal an invitation

to sing along

*

after facing new monsters:

the ankle grabbing bubba, the dunka—

the swimming pool safe at last

*

between domino spots

infinite space

for laughter

*

drinking lemon drops

with my mother—

afternoon sunshine

*

sea breeze so strong

it makes of all my thoughts

a kite

*

training to believe in luck—

at Boondocks mini golf

hole in one

*

once swimming in the waves

how soon I forget

stench of beached seaweed

*

how quietly they become

part of everything—

all those dropped petals

*

on silent streets

walking with midnight—

never once feeling lonely

*

what shall I listen to—

from far away

a song on the wind

*

after thousands of years

what new is there to say

about waiting

 

 

Bouquet of Poems from Washington DC

 

unable to see stars

I find a tree about to leaf

wish on a greening bud

(at Yoko Ono’s “Wishing Tree” in the Hirshhorn Sculpture Garden)

 

*

we wade into the black

sea of names, deeper, deeper—

salt water on our cheeks

(at the Vietnam Memorial)

*

above the wall of the dead

a field of tiny blue self-seeding flowers—

how peace begins

(at the Vietnam Memorial)

*

night of a thousand sirens—

meanwhile, above the orchestra pit,

the Russian ballerina bows

(at the Kennedy Center, Mariinsky Ballet, “Le Corsair”)

*

surrounded by beauty

he finds only reasons to complain—

rain of cherry blossoms

(beside the Tidal Pool)

*

beside the empty cherry tree

the message of Martin Luther King

still blooming

(at the MLK Memorial)

*

in a room of Rothko

I find it inside—

my horizon

(at the Phillips Museum)

*

Lincoln’s giant marble fist—

staring at it until my own fist

opens

(at the Lincoln Memorial)

Read Full Post »

From the Front Row

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 5, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

She watched herself on stage,

and though she wept for the sad parts,

she didn’t wish them away—

they made the story better.

She easily laughed every time she forgot her lines.

And several times, though the play wasn’t done,

she gave herself an ovation.

Why not, she thought. I’m doing

a damn good job up there.

I wonder what took me so long

to see I got the lead. I can’t wait to see

where this play is going.

Read Full Post »

One Heroic

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on April 4, 2019| 2 Comments »

 

for Phyllis

 

 

in the long darkness

she makes lanterns of poems

guides us one light at a time

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