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Posts Tagged ‘poem’

The Gnoissienne 2 Speaks

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on November 17, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

yet another poem inspired by this composition by Erik Satie

 

 

You wonder why I haunt you

like moonlight, why I come to you

like morning fog, dream thick and cool,

why I steep myself into your thoughts

like bergamot in black tea.

You wonder why I seldom leave you,

why I slip into your silences

the way rye darkly slips into bread.

 

It is my work to give you shivers,

make you tremble, make you still.

It is my work to make you fall in love

with the darkness inside yourself. It is my work

to be the unexpected black swan, and you,

it is your work to be the night pond.

 

 

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Wellspring of Imagination

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on November 15, 2019| Leave a Comment »

IMG_5225

 

 

Truth serum cannot be made alone. We will begin with stories

in which there are red flowers, white flowers, maggots, gold.

Add walks in the woods where the walls of the gorge

still remember when they were plateau. Hours

of listening to the other voices of ourselves speaking.

Bright chime of a singing bowl. Scent of burnt toast.

Taste of wild muscadine. Snaps and laughter and scratch

of pen on paper. Acorns and snake skin and hazelwood.

There is truth here to be found, but no one

can serve it to you. You must choose it. And it’s slippery–

like your own handwriting that you later can’t read,

like wet leaves on a hill, like the sun that enters the grove,

then is gone.

 

*

Check out this great program here

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Especially When It Seems Impossible

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 14, 2019| 5 Comments »

 

 

Try to praise the mutilated world

            —Adam Zagajewski

 

 

The cratered earth

and the blood stained shirts

and the men with guns

and the hate sharp words

and the sour rooms

that never see sun

and the rashes, the cancers

the blackened lungs

 

and still, there are paths

in Ohio woods

where upended trees

show elaborate roots

and the water seeps

in the ancient gorge,

and dead leaves fuel

whole dominions of soil

 

and though beauty

can be hard to reconcile,

worse to ignore it,

worse to look away,

worse in this mutilated world

to pretend we don’t have

ten thousand times ten thousand

reasons to praise.

 

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One Almost Miss

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on November 14, 2019| 1 Comment »

 

 

catching the plane—

five hours later this heart

still rushing to the gate

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Re-Seeing the Obvious

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on November 12, 2019| 2 Comments »

 

 

When pregnant, it was clear

I was along for the ride with a miracle.

Sure, I could eat organic broccoli,

walk and eschew caffeine,

but that was just taking care

of the vessel. Life itself

was doing the real work.

 

Imagine my surprise today

to realize I’m still along for the ride.

How did I ever kid myself

that I was in charge?

And oh, the bliss today

to notice anew these hands,

these eyes, these feet!

What joy to see them again

as the miracle they are,

to offer them in service to life.

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Walking at Night

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on November 11, 2019| 6 Comments »

 

 

One way to open your eyes is to ask yourself, “What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?

            —Rachel Carson

 

 

And so I memorize how it is

that the cheeks nearly freeze

but the body’s so warm,

how the river informs every measure

but the thoughts sift to silence,

how the body thrills

in its ability to swing one foot

in front of the other, how

walking is just another name

for recovering from falling,

how strange it seems now

that I was once afraid of the dark.

 

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When It Comes to Ideas

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on November 11, 2019| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

I am perhaps like the mama sheep

who rejects the lamb that is not her own—

snorts at it, won’t let it suckle,

shoves it away with her nose.

Though her own lamb was born lifeless,

though her teats are full to leaking,

she will have nothing to do with the alien.

It’s not the lamb’s fault it has the wrong scent,

just as it’s not the idea’s fault it was born

in another’s mind. It’s likely a good idea,

just needing a bit of nourishment.

 

But there are skilled herders who know the art

of grafting, who make of the dead lamb’s skin

a jacket and wrap it around the alien lamb,

tricking the ewe into taking it on as her own.

Then it’s a matter of bonding.

 

Don’t think I didn’t see you as you stripped the skin.

Don’t think I’m unaware of what you’ve done.

The truth is, I wanted to foster it, to claim it

as my own, to see it frolic in these fields of sage.

I was made for nurturing. It’s just that loss is difficult.

It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to say yes.

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One Disentanglement

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 10, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

casting a broken net—

I catch no fish,

but oh, the pull of the sea

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When the Impulse Is to Grieve

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on November 9, 2019| 2 Comments »

 

 

 

Now dried and brown

the cinquefoil where once

bees danced in gold flowers—

 

recalibrating the heart

to find in brittle clusters

another invitation to dance.

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To Whoever Gave Me the Crystal Elephant

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 7, 2019| 5 Comments »

 

 

In the box from eBay,

a green crystal elephant

and not one clue

as to who might have sent it.

 

There are days

when I am amazed

by the goodness of people,

how we are marked by generosity

 

There are days

when I whisper thank you,

though I don’t know to whom,

and I revel in the mystery.

 

 

 

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Making Applesauce

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 6, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

Wash the apple. Quarter the apple.

Seed and thinly slice the apple.

A whole morning can pass this way—

holding the apples, slicing them through,

making small v’s in the quarters

to remove the seeds.

And how many times in four hours

do I notice how perfectly the apple

fits in the palm of one hand—

as if it were made to be held.

How seldom did I dance

beyond efficiency to notice

how the skin resists the knife,

but the flesh is so sweet, so willing.

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The Half Century Caper

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

 

 

I thought I was Nancy Drew,

a girl who stumbled into mysteries

and solved them. A girl proficient

at picking up clues. A girl who knew

her mission. It felt good to crack

the codes, to decipher the signs.

It felt good to know who was bad.

It felt good to know I was good.

 

And then I learned some signs

have multiple meanings. That sometimes

a mission gets in life’s way. That

bad people are also good,

and good people are also bad.

And that the solution is seldom

as elegant as the mystery—

secrets unfolding in the shadows.

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For Your Thoughts?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 5, 2019| 6 Comments »

 

 

 

This year it costs 1.8 cents to make a penny.

It is, perhaps, similar to spending an hour

on an eleven-line poem that very few people

will read. And still, they mint the penny.

And still, I write the poem. Because

tradition. Because poems and pennies

are easy to spend. Because sometimes

the small things make life better—

something to wish on, something

valuable beyond its surface, something

humble to catch the light.

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Still Learning About My Mother

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on November 3, 2019| 4 Comments »

 

 

It surprises me she is fragile,

this woman who labored for eighteen hours

 

to birth me, this woman who cared for me

every time I was sick, who coached

 

my soccer team, who led my Girl Scout troupe.

This woman who went hunting and fishing

 

and still often comes home with the biggest

catch. This woman who walked ten miles

 

to raise money for hunger. This woman

who prays for everyone, everyone.

 

And so tonight when I walk her

to her room and she needs to stop

 

a moment to catch her breath,

I marvel at how human she is,

 

this woman who has been more

than human to me my whole life—

 

a super hero, a champion, a star.

And somehow, knowing this, and

 

understanding that it’s been true all along,

I fall even more deeply in love with her

 

as she leans back on the bed, lets out

a long sigh, closes her eyes, and smiles.

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November 2, 2019

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 3, 2019| 2 Comments »

 

 

This solar year, you will actually become the one you wished for. 

            —Holiday Mathis, horoscope

 

 

And so when Holiday Mathis tells me

that this is the year I will become

the one I wished for, I decide to believe her.

If it’s true, I will become sky, become river,

become aspen. Peace in my actions, truth

in my words, love in my every breath.

And though I’m unsure about horoscopes,

I decide to do everything I can to prove

her right, my thoughts already perhaps

a bit more fluid, a bit more blue.

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On the Eve of My 50th Birthday

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on November 2, 2019| 5 Comments »

 

 

 

I wake up happy, as if the happiness

were already seeded before I woke.

As if all I have to do to love the day

is breathe. So I breathe. And love

meets me right where I am.

There are days we know we are lucky—

lucky just to wake. Perhaps it’s because

we have known dismal days when

just rising felt like strike three.

But today,I rise with happiness as present

as the dark before the dawn—not

because I deserve it, but because

it’s as natural as the milky way

spilled across the sky, as

normal as the night itself

stretched out like a blanket

to warm the sleeping world.

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Ruth Dreams Me Safe

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on October 31, 2019| 4 Comments »

 

 

 

She’s in a thrift store in her dream,

and though her daughter

suggests it’s too big,

Ruth buys me a men’s suit coat,

something to keep me warm.

Later she tells me the real reason

she bought it: she knows

I need the arms around me.

Into one of the pockets,

she slips a check for $100,

then asks her daughter

to give it to me.

 

I find the coat in a message

Ruth sends me on Facebook,

where the pixels warm me

more than any wool, more

than any fleece, any down.

How easy it is to be generous,

sharing our dreams, our thoughts,

our hope. All night I stick my hands

in the coat pockets. They are deep,

warm, full of surprises.

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One Orienteering

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

 

 

 

in love’s hands

the compass needle

spins around the rose

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On the Last Day of the World

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 30, 2019| 9 Comments »

 

 

On the last day of the world, I would want to plant a tree.

            —W. S. Merwin

 

 

On the last day of the world, I would want

to feed you. Raspberries. Thin slices of apple.

Peaches so ripe they drip down our chins,

down our necks. I would want to sit with you

beneath a tree, no we’ll climb a tree, no

we’ll plant a tree, yes all of these. On the last

day of the world, I want to give myself permission

to feel exactly what I feel, to be exactly who I am,

to shed every layer of should and meet you

that way. Knowing we have only hours left,

could we put down our arguments with ourselves

and each other and find no energy to pick them up again?

On that day, I want us to write the last poem

together and let the writing undo us, let it teach us

how to get out of the way, how to obey what emerges.

Let’s run outside, no matter the weather, and praise

the light till the light is gone, and then praise the dark.

 

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A Small Bouquet from Grand Staircase-Escalante and Salida

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 28, 2019| 2 Comments »

Hi friends, I was off camping in the desert for a few days, then travelled to the glorious little town of Salida for a reading, and finally back home … here are a few small poems from the last few days … 

 

 

hell’s backbone grill—

the mouth begins to thrill

from two-hundred ten miles away

 

*

 

in the slot canyon—

knowing myself as water

moving through these walls

 

*

 

wind storm in the desert—

even my thoughts

fill with sand

 

*

 

this revolving door—

certainty, uncertainty, certainty

uncertainty

 

*

 

she sweeps the leaves

from the walk—

red carpet in reverse

 

*

 

waking in a blizzard

while in my ears, my scalp

still red sand

 

 

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