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Long Branch

12 Nov

Robert Pinsky, US poet laureate
said that all of his poems
in one form, or another
are about Long Branch.

The same is true for me.
All of my poems, well
most, are about you,
in varying percentages
and, maybe not the you
you think you are
but, the you I see you as
which is a kind you
a noble you, playfully erudite, and fun
the you I have carried with me
all these years
and, if you know me
well enough, you can
read any of my poems
and place your finger
right where x marks the spot
every single time
and possibly see yourself
as the hidden treasure
that I have always thought you are.

I am not sure I need to apologize
since I didn’t intend it to be this way
there are no secret messages
or hidden agendas
and it often surprises me
as much as it must surprise
and perplex you; I can only say that
something about you stayed with me:
it peeks out from between the sheets
of poems I have written, it has
mixed into my palette of colors,
it has woven itself into
this blanket of words
I sleep with.

I looked up.

I looked up.

Every poet needs a muse, but we don’t necessarily get to choose our muses. I am grateful to have one, though. To be able to draw consistent inspiration from a source removed from my current state and circumstance has enabled me to use my imagination to create instead of wallow. I have several muses, actually, not just one, but the common thread they share is that they help me write boldly, from the heart. That is not an easy thing for me because I am naturally shy, which in the past has inhibited me from doing or saying things that I later wish I had done, or said. The result is very liberating, and it leads me in an upward spiral; it helps me keep a positive outlook on life.

Long Branch, NJ is my hometown.

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All I Have

28 Oct

Words paint what my eyes perceive
Words sculpt what my heart conceives
Words open doors that have no latch
Words light a fire where there is no match.
Words caress where my hands can’t touch
Words make me rich, while I don’t have much.
Words convey my greatest fears,
Which have to do with keeping friendships dear,
Don’t use them against me, or forget what I say,
And please, don’t take my words away.

image

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 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

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.

Away with Words

4 Mar

the words came over the mountains
as we rumbled around blind curves
on the dirt roads of the Andes
heart lodged high in my throat
trying to read a book, needing some air
because it all took my breath away

the words came over the mountains
the ones I could not capture
with the short lens of my Pentax
the sparkle and hues of the valleys
majestic yet humble pastoral scenes
punctuated by colorful forms with bent backs

the words came over the mountains
honking their horns before hairpin curves
casting a golden light on the clouds at my feet
nestling in the furrows of the patchwork hills
clinging to rocks like lichens above the treeline
catching my eye with your smile from the backseat

I was unaware, but those words became everything
everything I wanted to capture
everything that touched my soul
everything that made me yearn
everything that made my heart sing
everything I wanted to share
everything that brought me to my knees
everything about you
inspiring everything that was me
and wanting, wanting
to somehow give it back
wanting to whisper it in your ear
but never knowing how

Today, Anthony Desmond over at Dverse challenged us to write a poem  that is influenced by certain times in your life that made you the poet you are today. I can trace poem-writing to when I was 8 years old, but the desire and need to write poetry sprang up somewhere in my mid-teens. I can remember distinctly wanting to express things in a way that I had not figured out yet. So, this poem is about that time in my life, specifically about a trip through the Andes, or rather several trips that my mind has put all together into one.

“The secret of it all, is to write in the gush, the throb, the flood, of the moment… by writing at the instant the very heartbeat of life is caught.” – Walt Whitman

*Note about the photos: I originally posted a pic of my brother and I at Ingapirca because I thought that all of my other photos of the Andes were all gone. Well, the very next day after I posted this poem, while I was going through stuff, preparing to move, I found this set of photos that are all from that very trip that my poem is about! Serendipity 🙂

One Last Thing

10 Dec

Please, let me kiss you
before the summer bids us adieu
while its glow still warms through your eyes,
while your mouth yet beguiles me with smiles,
and our youthful hearts still beat true.

Let all that has been done, undo
and let nothing witness it but the skies,
as we give in to the sweetest surprise
if you please, let me kiss you

like we fear no pain anew
with nothing to lose, we’ll gently construe
from lips to lips, with words implied
honey sweetness, on a rising tide,
imparting volumes with our sighs, how to
please, let me kiss you.

And with one
electric shock,
as the dawn
dissipates the dark,
I promise
I will do naught,
but kiss you.

altantic_beach_morning_flower

Since Tony Maude over at Dverse Poets Pub introduced the rondeau I have been working on this poem. My biggest challenge was the rhyme structure, which for this rondeau is a 15-line poem with rentrement (aabba–aabR–aabbaR). I call mine a rondeau+ because the last stanza is not really rondeau form, more like a parenthesis or an afterthought, in a Cummings kind of way. I welcome your comments on how it turned out!

 

The Lovers

7 Oct

beautiful boy
I know just what you mean
There is no me without you
Hungry ghosts
Joined at the heart
The elephant in the room
Song of the tides
The hidden messages in water
I thought it was just me
(but it isn’t)

Image

Inspired by Sorted Books Poetry in Book Titles by Samuel Peralta on Dverse

Waterman

29 Aug

I stare down the barrel
swab it out clean
I pull out a cartridge
lock and load
I aimlessly ponder
random objectives
while my fingers itch
I grip the metal
it is comfortably cold
a muse unto itself
it’s a means to an end
mightier than the sword
my fountain pen

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