News Worthy

22 Oct

Setting: a table
kitchen, cafe, conference room
I’ll lend you my ear
let’s synchronize our lives,
bring each other up
to date with what’s yours
and what’s mine, all
summed up in a stolen
moment of irresistible time
its so good to see
your smiling face, so pull up
a chair, dear friend, for right now
you are home, with me.

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Community bulletin board in Nantucket

Whiling away the early morning hours in Orlando International Airport, I decided to take a crack at today’s prompt over at Dverse Poets Pub. Mary asks us to write a poem about news, could be current events or personal news. What inspired this poem was the idea brought forth in the comments about us all gathering around a sort of international kitchen table each week, sharing our stories through poetry with each other. I am about to embark on a trip to my homeland, and will have the opportunity to briefly reconnect with dear friends, the thought of which warms my heart. Check out some of the other poems written in response to the prompt: www.dversepoets.com

Revive!

17 Oct

A found poem from Sukkot

Revive!
follow your heart
I just gotta dance
shofar, so good
stand with Israel
you can’t block my shine

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Tarry

17 Oct

I want to live in Tarrytown,
on the banks of the Hudson.
I’d tarry there, with you,
while the sun shifts
restless, casting long shadows,
ships steaming north,
traffic stacking on the Tappan Zee.

On lingering afternoons we’ll tarry,
mesmerized by diamonds on the river,
kicking our stones downhill, clearing a path,
sharing a soundless conversation
of meaningful looks and glances.

I’d tarry there all day with you,
holding hands while balancing
along the train tracks, then
jumping off and feeling
the Hudson line rumble away,
just to turn, at the right moment, and catch
that twinkle in your eye.

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Nautical flags flying.

Fall

12 Oct

Poems happen
because words
come flowing, like wine
crushed from my fingers,
your smile, a sunset, promising
tomorrow, a fragrance, phrasing
like music, unplayed
but, a tune I can name
in 5 notes, or less.
Today, like yesterday,
only better.

An invitation, or a command?

An invitation, or a command?

A Walk by the Ocean

27 Sep

Loving you
is a walk by the ocean
your dashing presence
invincible, unconquerable,
whispering me closer
caressing my legs
trying to pull me in
by my feet, but
I dance away, breathless,
knowing what happens
when I lift my skirt
to wade in, and end up
waist-deep.

I want to wrap
my arms around you
and carry you home
in brimming buckets
just to feel your coolness
awaken my skin
each morning, and taste
your saltiness that keeps me
ever thirsty, but you
are a mighty ocean
that my fingers can’t hold
so I walk along, careful
to not be swept away.

Loving you
is a walk along the ocean
you fill my mind,
my lungs, and yes, my heart.
But, though I may dive in
for a temporary frolic
I’m just a girl
who loves the ocean,
understanding that
we are forever,
together,
apart.

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This is as close as it will get.

I wrote this poem this morning for Dverse open link night. I haven’t written anything worth sharing in almost a month. It is a different take on my poem called Aspiraciones, about the ocean and unrequited love.

Let Me Tell You A Story

10 Sep

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The Dead Republic
Getting Unstuck
Full of Bull
Rewriting History
Justice for None
Are You Kidding Me?
Who Says Elephants Can’t Dance?

Paint by Numbers

19 Aug

1 mighty ocean
3 million grains of sand
11 towels dotting the shoreline
30 feet from the lifeguard stand

2 lifeguards, gabbing
1 expectant mother, resting
2 prayers said for husband at
1 interview that morning

1 brand new cell phone
15 times checked
0 calls or messages
from 1 husband, missing

1 engine roaring
8 beeps while backing up
2 tires crunching
2 victims, surviving

1 mighty ocean
3 million grains of sand
11 witnesses, yelling
1 ambulance, wailing
all prayers, answered.

My lifeguard stand.

My lifeguard stand.

The Lifeguard

14 Aug

You struck me
as a guy’s guy
when you stopped by
to shoot the breeze
with another victim, not me
you did most of the talking
and I caught every word
as they drifted downwind
past my towel, where
I was trying to take a nap
but, perhaps that
was a lifesaver?

I heard all about your workout
the strength of your arms
and about some chick, who
impossibly was immune
to your charms, you swore
every other word, and
while inwardly I rolled my eyes
at your alpha stud guise
you jumped in your truck
kicked your back tires in the sand
and you struck me.

A different lifeguard, on a different beach, different day.

A different lifeguard, on a different beach, different day.

Ser y estar

13 Aug

Fuistes, y fuimos
soy, y no somos
pero, si algun día
seremos de nuevo
entonces nunca
dejamos de ser.

Song of the tides.

Song of the tides.

In the Grip of Grace

3 Aug

There wasn’t a set time or place
no way to predict, could have been day or night
when I found myself, in the grip of grace.

The engine got louder, something was off base
he was cutting a corner, it didn’t sound right
there wasn’t a set time or place

Under the weight of the wheels, I felt myself brace
but in my weakness, I relied on His might
as I found myself, in the grip of grace

I can still remember the lifeguard’s face
I told him, “I’m pregnant!”; I forgave his slight
(there wasn’t a better time or place)

I asked for his help with my particular case
and he listened to me, there wasn’t a fight
then I surrendered myself, to the grip of grace

He helped me sit up, as the ambulance raced
“the Lord is my shepherd,” I began to recite
There isn’t a set time or place
To find yourself, in the grip of grace.

My lifeguard stand.

My lifeguard stand.

This poem is in drafts right now, as I am still working on it. I do appreciate constructive feedback on it. I am hoping that you will also read my post This Is What I Came To Write, which explains the process I am going through in writing a series of poems about an accident I had fifteen years ago.

This poem explores one aspect of that experience: before I was run over I was lying on the sand, on my towel, reading a book, In the Grip of Grace, by Max Lucado. In fact, the lifeguard ran over me and the book, leaving it bent and concave. It was a library book, and a few weeks later I returned it to the library in that state. I kind of wish I had kept that one, and given them a brand new copy instead.

This is a villanelle, which according to Wikipedia, “consists of five stanzas of three lines (tercets) followed by a single stanza of four lines (a quatrain) for a total of nineteen lines.” One very famous villanelle is Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gentle into that good night.”

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