Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Birthright, help, poem, poetry on August 16, 2018| Leave a Comment »
Don’t say, don’t say
that no one can help us now—
there are hands all around us,
all of them reaching,
in every corner appears
bright wings,
and, like a miracle
that’s always been waiting
to happen, out of the stump
of yourself emerges
your own open hand.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged invitation, party, poem, poetry on August 15, 2018| Leave a Comment »
Today, a party, and the whole world
is invited. No written invitations,
but the occasion? It’s Wednesday.
And here we are, all of us, in the same place
at the same time. Might as well
get to know the person standing
next to you—learn their name,
shake their hand, discover
all you have in common—
the party goes on tomorrow, too.
Bring your own. Bring something
to share. No RSVP, just show up.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged interview, poetry, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer on August 14, 2018| 2 Comments »
Yesterday, I had an interview come out in Writing to be Read, a blog about writers and Writing. We talked about inspiration and creative habits and the art of performing … and a whole lot more. You can read it all here.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged books, poem, poetry, transformation, words on August 14, 2018| Leave a Comment »
The words that will change us
remember, perhaps,
when they were first found
by the person willing
to serve them—
they carry in their serifs
a willingness to wait,
late nights of wrestling silence,
the wing of receiving, the joy
in sharing the gift.
When we read them, they enter us
like tiny notes in a score we never knew
we were part of until one day
there is music everywhere
and we are the ones being sung.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Book Review, Jazz Jaeschke, Naked for Tea, poem, poetry on August 13, 2018| Leave a Comment »
Hello Poetry Friends!
Today I got word that Jazz Jaeschke at Story Circle Book Reviews did a wonderful (positive!) review of my most recent book, Naked for Tea.
“Trommer’s poems run the gamut from the sensual to the sublime,” she writes, calling the voice in the book “wise, practical yet whimsical.”
You can read the whole review here.
You can buy the collection here. at the publisher’s website, or on Amazon.
And if you have read the book, will you please consider writing a brief review of your own and putting it on Amazon here.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fiction, obstacles, poem, poetry, tension on August 12, 2018| Leave a Comment »
I’m learning to write tension in my scenes,
to add desire, danger and distress,
to focus on what my character wants
and all the forces keeping her from getting
it—a train arrives too early to be caught,
she doesn’t get the job she wants,
she doesn’t have the funds to pay her rent,
she loses her cat in the city again—
I am trying to let bad things happen.
Otherwise there is no tension,
and, as the book on writing says,
No tension equals boring. Think
obstacle, it instructs. Think grief and
shame and fear. But all I want to do
is make my character cheerful,
happy, glad. I want to immediately fix
all the problems I won’t let her have.
I want to make her life easier—
give her security, friendship,
great sex, true love. Is it so wrong
to want to serve her everything
I want? Create opposition, says the book,
and I try, I do, to write in her weaknesses,
let her mess up, struggle on every page.
But oh, to make her life not just happily
ever after but happily all along the way,
perfect and boring, the kind of life
that no one has, the kind of life
that no one wants to read about,
the dream job offers streaming in, the lover
ever attentive, handsome, adoring,
the sun shining as she thoughtfully sips her tea.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged clothes, find holiness in the everyday, poem, poetry, wardrobe on August 11, 2018| Leave a Comment »
They hang in the closet,
their shoulders fading, all these
clothes I can’t bear to take
to the Second Chance.
The black cocktail dress with the plunging neck
its bodice snug, its open back,
made for a sassy uptown evening
with cosmopolitans and canapes,
and the deep red jacket, more
froth than cloth, artsy and hand stitched,
perfect for Madame Butterfly at The Met.
The silvery coat that fits
like snake skin, just right for
an art opening or a wedding
on yacht in the Mediterranean.
And I can imagine wearing the long
silvery skirt on a beach in France
while the wind gently tugs it
as the sheer fabric gathers the light of the setting sun.
Perhaps I could wear with it the long strands
of pearls that curl into a blue velvet bag in the drawer
keeping company with the blush
I bought five years ago and never put on.
Every day I walk to the same plastic hanger
in the middle of the closet and pull off the same
black cotton dress, somewhat shapeless,
perfect for pulling dandelions in the garden
or going to the grocery store to buy some eggs, or
driving my son to math camp or hiking on Bear Creek Trail.
Every day I choose it, every day, and why not, when it’s
equally well suited for paying the electric bill and washing the breakfast dishes
and dusting the unplayed piano. Just right for waiting on hold
for the insurance company to answer my call
or writing an article about the history of kitchens or
changing the water in the fish tank, or, for that matter,
cleaning the closet as I look again at all those
beautiful clothes, and choose to leave them
for some other woman I used to look like,
let them hang there,
right there where they are.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cleaning, humor, mr. clean, poem, poetry on August 10, 2018| Leave a Comment »
want to find him in my kitchen
with his big muscled arms
and his spotless white shirt.
Call me James, he’ll say, as I
pour him a glass of sauvignon blanc.
He’ll pull out a permanent marker
and write his name on the glass.
What are you doing? I will gasp,
and he’ll say, When I’m around,
there’s a world of crafty possibilities.
He’ll pull out his trusty white magic eraser
and wipe the glass clean,
then give me a spin and say,
Open for me your oven door.
Oh James, I’ll say, you don’t mean …
and he’ll say … that I will bring
my legendary clean
to your oven glass? Why yes,
Rosemerry, I can lift away
grease buildup from hard to clean places,
and he’ll smile as he gives me a flex.
Kitchen sink next? he’ll say
with a wink, and he’ll swagger
across the room. I’ll swoon.
I never knew you’d be so, so,
so … I’ll search for the words,
… adept at sticky residue, he will suggest,
and I’ll guide his hand to my
faucet. Say good bye to water spots,
he’ll say with a grin, his teeth
glistening like new white backsplash tile,
like unused linoleum,
and we’ll dance together on the sparkling floor,
our sponges in hand, drawn to whatever is dirty.
The room smells of meadows and rain.
And oh darling, he’ll say, we’ve only just begun.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged heart, love, mandolin, music, poem, poetry, practice on August 9, 2018| 4 Comments »
In my heart, a mandolin
just waiting to be played—
there are music sheets,
ignore them. Doesn’t matter
if you know how to play.
What matters is you try.
What matters is you practice
tuning the strings
until you find the way
to make them sing.
What matters is that
we both know there’s
music in there just waiting
to be found and
your hands are curious,
tender.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged drought, inner resources, poem, poetry, pond on August 9, 2018| 2 Comments »
in the relentless drought,
finding inside me
a pond somehow still present,
an unstoppable,
insistent spring
