Tag Archives: love

Epilogue

28 Jul

Truly, this: My thoughts
of you won’t leave the worn paths
carved within my heart

Our eyes, our mouths, locked
invisible caresses
skin to skin, linger

I meant everything
my silent lips have said
and more. Yes, there is more.

 

Bar Harbor, Maine

Bar Harbor, Maine

Sometimes there is no clear path. There are many things I want to express, but at the same time I have to question myself: to what end?

Mincing words almost always leads me to haiku. This is a series of three haikus. Together they are but a scratch along the surface of everything I keep inside.

The last haiku is 5-7-5, but for aesthetic purposes I dropped the 7th syllable of the second line down to the last line. So, instead of a haiku, its a my-ku 😉

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Berl’s Poetry Shop (a found poem)

12 Oct

This is what it is like
to be loved by me
cinema of the present
in the circus of you
cutting time with a knife
making dying illegal.

The woman in this poem,
citizen, unleashed, not nothing.
You must look hard
to see what’s there
I am you this morning
you are me tonight

Anything could happen
in the presence of absence
one sleeps, the other doesn’t
technically, it is not my fault.
The French exit:
thanks and sorry and good luck

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This poem is a found poem, composed entirely of titles of poetry chapbooks for sale at Berl’s Brooklyn Poetry Shop in DUMBO (Brooklyn, NY). Berl’s is devoted to selling poetry books and chapbooks produced by small press publishers. I visited Berl’s for the first time this past Friday morning. As part of the events of the annual Poets Forum, held in New York by the American Academy of Poets, we were treated to a Brooklyn Poetry Walk led by Brooklyn Poet Laureate Tina Chang. Berl’s was the first stop on the tour, which took us to the waterfront, where we read Walt Whitman’s Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, and to Cave Canum where we heard two readings by some excellent and up-and-coming young poets.

I love creating found poems, and book title poems in particular. Titles are very important, and authors spend a lot of time choosing the titles of their books, so I think it’s neat to find interesting titles and weave them together. As I was surrounded by hundreds of poetry chapbooks at Berl’s , I couldn’t help but think that of all book titles, poetry book titles are probably the ones with the most thought put into crafting them.

To all the poets whose titles I used in this poem: thanks (and sorry, and good luck).

UPDATE: A few readers wanted to know the process by which I did this. Usually, I pull books off the shelves and then rearrange them to create the poem. I stack them up and take a photo, then write out the poem in a post, like this example from a few years ago: The Lovers (a found poem). However, I felt kind of funny just pulling books off of the shelves at Berl’s, because they are arranged in a certain way and I didn’t want to disturb that. So, this time I just walked around the store and jotted down a list of the titles that jumped out at me. That part of the process is the “found” part. I try to just let the titles hit me so I have a good list of interesting titles to use for the poem. Then, when I actually wrote the poem, I read over my list of titles and just started playing around with combinations and order. I am a bit of purist, so I don’t alter or truncate the titles in any way. Also, I use the whole title, one per line, or in the case of one word titles, I will separate those by comma. There were a number of two line titles that I kept two lines in the poem. Lastly, I did not add any extra words to the poem apart from the titles.

Here is a photo of my journal where I wrote the list of titles that I selected so you can see how I fit them into the poem.

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What it is Not

1 Apr

What is it not?
No one ever asks but
it is not five times seven times three
it is not forty degrees north
seventy four degrees west

it is not found
like a penny on the sidewalk
or passed over, or let go altogether
because budget cuts
because the market these days

it isn’t able to be deleted
like a voice mail we didn’t listen to
or muted
like a conversation that bores us
it is not fruitful to ignore

it isn’t about giving leftovers to a stranger
on the corner, with no teeth
it isn’t about saying yes
and meaning no, not really
and it is not your very favorite song

it won’t bite you
nor whine in your ear all night
and you can’t hold it, so
you didn’t expect it
to purr in your hand

and despite your best intentions
to appear nonchalant
it won’t ask you to stay
nor will it give you a choice
either way.

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National Poetry Month is here! The challenge of NaPoWriMo is to write a poem every day for 30 days. There are prompts all over the web to help you accomplish this. I chose to use today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo.net, which was to write a poem of negation. Sounded fun and interesting to me, so I gave it a shot. Hope you like it, and join us this month in writing poems every day.

Click on the button to hear me read this poem out loud:

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.

I Will Write

2 Oct

of the way your tiered skirt
twirls out just so,
a merry-go-round of dizzy
girlish infatuations with
a calliope soundtrack

of how there is nothing
more lovifying than when
we put our heads together
eyeball to eyeball
butterfly kisses right before naptime

of your stomping feet
leaving a wake of boots,
shoes, sandals, dirt,
some stickers from the yard
and the trail of pine straw that
betrays your comings and goings

of your pushing the bed time
stalling with questions and stories
begging me for a song of blessing
which I always deliver
despite the contraband of books
and flashlights I always discover

of all these things, and hopefully more
your lives intertwined with mine,
filling this cup overflowingly,
then emptying it out again
I will write.

Speeding by

Speeding by

Summer Love

9 Aug

They met in the summer,
on the south end of Pawleys Island
where the waves slap high-fives
and the north wind runs free.
And on one star-filled night,
while the moon shone bright,
the green marsh fell deeply
in love with the blue sea.

You could feel it everywhere,
their love was swirling in the air.
She loved his blue intensity,
he loved her green positivity.
It was right as the tides,
so it came as no surprise,
when the dashing blue groom,
took the luminous green bride.

For the great wedding feast
came the turtles, from the east
and other privileged guests,
including the egrets from the west.
The mullets came from up north,
a procession of pelicans from down south,
and the blue creek crabs
just popped in, unannounced.

“I will love you when it storms,
and when its sunny, I will rejoice.”
“I will provide a place for you,
I will listen for your voice.”
“And whether the tides are high or low,
no matter how the wind blows,
we will ride it all together
so our precious love grows.”

As long as time will be,
every year on Pawleys,
all shall celebrate the day
the green marsh
married the blue sea.
Because Forever, the blue sea
will run his gentle fingers through her hair.
Forever, the green marsh
will whisper sweet nothings in his ear.
And when only sand and shells remain,
the air will still smell like champagne.

Weddings

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