Where You Will Find Her

18 Apr

You’d have to look past
the surface of my skin
which the sun has
made itself at home in
and you’d have to ignore
the wisdom highlights I wear
like a crackerjack medal of honor
and there are scars
inside and out
but not where you’d think

and though all else
on my surface is average
you’d have to look past my nose
which tells a story
of 10 tribes scattered
a rotten inquisition
ships sailing across the ocean
generations upselling themselves
until the tables stopped turning.

you’d have to close your eyes
and if you are astute,
generous, and willing to indulge
you will see her
embracing the wind
in the place between the fjords
she will be singing
and dancing
and waiting to hear
all your stories.

 

Self portrait

Self portrait

I Think I Figured it Out

18 Apr

Zeroes and ones
yes or no?
you’re either on or off
dead or alive
either you love me,
or you don’t
there’s no in between
no gray area to muck things up
it’s like this:
if you flick that switch
I can see you
and if you don’t
we’re absolutely
wasting time in the dark.

image

 

I have had this poem in drafts for a while. I haven’t been too inspired lately to write poetry, and even the prompts for NaPoWriMo haven’t given me much inspiration. So, I decided to look through my drafts to see if I could find something to finish and publish, just to keep the ball rolling. I hope this dry spell ends soon!

Frequently Asked Questions

14 Apr

Why do the nations rage?
and the people meditate emptiness?
Do not those who plan evil go astray?
How would a young man cleanse his path?
Who does find a capable wife?
Who has gone up to heaven and come down?
Whose hands have gathered up the wind?
Who has wrapped up the waters in a cloak?
Who has established all the ends of the earth?
What is his name, and what is his son’s name?
Who would rise up for me, against evil doers?
Who would rise up for me, against workers of wickedness?
He who planted the ear, does he not hear?
He who formed the eye, does he not see?

Who does dwell in your tent?
Who does dwell in your set-apart mountain?
One who has innocent hands and a clean heart
and did not bring their life to naught.

image

I love the prompt for today’s NaPoWriMo, where we are challenged to write a poem consisting entirely of questions, except for the last line. As a mother of 5, I am bombarded with questions every day, and my first thought was to somehow harness that into something fun and creative. I might still do that at some point, but my mind is on weightier matters today. Coincidentally, today happens to be the Feast of Passover, so I decided to look to Scripture for questions for my poem. I gleaned these questions from several psalms and a couple of proverbs.

In Other Words

13 Apr

You are my
deep sigh inducer
partly due to those two
cups of hot chocolate
I just want to dive into
and that pillowy hammock
you occasionally string up
and unknowingly tempt me with.
But, I would also attribute
your engine revving effect
to your strong cedar boughs
and solid trunk, that make me
seriously consider
hugging a tree.
Let me not forget to mention
your 10 cheek doodlers
and the effect of your muscular
get away sticks
on my central processing unit
when you flex them
ever so slightly
in my direction.
In other words
you set
my compass needle
spinning wildly
and it’s now oriented
towards your magnetic
true north.

image

Today, thanks to the Day 13 prompt for NaPoWriMo I am exploring the world of kennings. My ancestors were Vikings, so this should come naturally, but in fact it’s a challenge! A few weeks ago on Dverse, Bjorn gave us the same challenge, so I am happy to finally get a chance to try them out.

What Have I Got to Lose?

9 Apr

Time to say goodbye
you don’t have to cry
many rivers to cross
(it’s a shame about Ray)
But … here’s where the story ends.

Golden mixed tape

Golden mixed tape.

NaPoWriMo Day 9! Today’s prompt was to chose the next five random songs on a music playlist and make a poem out of it. I chose one of my Spotify playlists, that I titled “What Have I Got to Lose” and made it the title of my poem, too. It’s a line from a Crosby, Stills, and Nash song, “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.”

The songs are by the following artists (in order): Il Divo, Crosby, Stills, & Nash, Jimmy Cliff, The Lemonheads, and The Sundays.

I like this idea, which is similar to the found poetry using book titles that I have done before. Here’s a link to my Spotify playlist: What have I got to lose?

A Cup of Time

8 Apr

Time is my treasure
served up as
a steaming cup of tea
our friendship brews.
It goes down smooth
the bitter leaves
balanced with honey
kind, comforting
warm, and true.

I savor our cup
of time together
and cradle
in my loving fingers
the delicate porcelain
of our friendship
hoping, with each sip
it will last forever.

image

Konigl pr. Tettau Bavarian antique bone china tea set from the 1940′s.

Today at Dverse Poetics, Mary challenges us to choose a treasured object and write a poem that tells a story about it. I chose one of my antique china tea sets. It is from the 1940′s, and very special to me, because it symbolizes quality time spent drinking tea with my daughters, family, special guests, and friends. Although it is old and delicate, I like to use it as often as I can. It is one of those things that I felt I needed in order to make this house a home, and wherever I go from here it will come with me and do the same.

This is Just to Say

8 Apr

I have written
many poems
about you
on my blog

and which
you were probably
thinking
is not cool

Forgive me
they were fantasy
so sweet
and so irresistible.

Bulletin board in Nantucket

Bulletin board in Nantucket

NaPoWriMo Day 8! I am waay behind again this year, partially because I feel like I lost my muse. Anyway, today’s prompt was to rewrite a famous poem. I chose to rewrite one of my very favorite poems, by William Carlos Williams, which you can read below:

I have eaten
the plums
that were
in the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

The Spectacular Now

3 Apr

Time stopped
it made no sound
but I felt it halt
somewhere between
the sunbeams and
blades of grass tickling
my toes

Time stopped
when I tuned in on a frequency
a clear transmission
of your voice
next to me, on the grass,
telling me about your day
“… And a student asked
‘How long have you been married,
Mr. Tucker?’
’16 years,’
‘Do you still love her as much
as you did then?’”
“Yes,” you recounted,
“I love her just as much …”

Time stopped
but beneath the blades
the ants kept marching
keeping time with the season
and I turned, squinting,
through the sunbeams
as you choked
back some tears
and looked at my eyes,
and declared,
to me this time,
“It’s true, Lupita. I do.”

image

A true story that happened today. I am trying to keep up with NaPoWriMo, and this was in response to yesterday’s prompt to use the title of a song, book, movie, that we like. I have never seen the film, “The Spectacular Now,” but I have always been envious of the title … so I borrowed it and applied it to this poem, which is also written in response to today’s challenge at Dverse, Meeting the Bar.  Claudia asks us to convey emotion using a variety of devices, without actually declaring the emotion felt. I will probably tweak this one a little bit more, but I think it gets the job done :)

Pollen

1 Apr

Pollen rains of March and April
yellow-green impregnating the trees
here I am, lying on the grass again
while ever-present, in my thoughts you reign
as pollen falling, invisible melancholies,
life-granules germinating a sneeze

And still, you are the very air I breathe
spring mingling with each congested breeze
if only I could decongest myself
and flee this desperate scene
pollen falling, memories calling
even those that have not yet been

I hear the wind rustle faintly
through the yellow-green trees
thoughts germinate, there is no escape
my chest with sorrow heaves
red-eyed tears slide down my cheeks
but, if they ask me, “Are you crying?”
I’ll make sure they believe
It’s just the pollen.

image

Silk, Cashmere, Linen

15 Mar

These are my seasons:

Silk
slippery and smooth
it does not stick
no matter how hot,
silent caress on my skin,
weightless, as if I were naked.
Silk is a surprise kiss,
goosebumps along my neck,
dinners and slow dances.

Cashmere
the soft, warm hug
I can wrap myself with
and daydream in
when you are not with me.
Cashmere is leaning back
against your chest,
feeling your heart beat,
fast then slow.

Linen
crisp, fresh breeze
my hair pulled up
off my neck
your hands circling
my hips like a busy bee.
Linen is lemonade,
swinging on a front porch,
our legs intertwined.

Interesting prompt by Brian over a Dverse Poets Pub on Thursday. In his post, Meeting the Bar: The Blind Poet, he encouraged us to write a poem using all of our senses except sight. This is what I came up with.

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