A poem about my Dad.
You had a closet full of English Leather.
A smell I still remember,
because when I was sixteen,
I would raid your collection
of blue oxford shirts,
hanging, starched and cleaned.
Allen Solly, Brooks Bros., et al
were my favorite uniform.
To my mother’s chagrin,
I refused to conform
to the current fashions
and teenage norms.
When I was sixteen,
your hand-me-down shirts
were way too big for me,
but I aspired to grow into them,
eventually.
I still do.
Mil conversaciones
con mil sentidos,
mil esperanzas
con mil suspiros,
Sin contar las
mil miradas
con mil anhelos,
mil jugadas,
mil duelos.
Mil horas
esperando.
Mil dias
sin verano.
Hay mil formas
de olvidar,
pero mil formas más
de recordar.
Yo te juro:
con solo una palabra
mil campanas
suenan en mi alma,
y mil millas-
mil millas
no son nada.
This is my very first complete poem written in Spanish. Lots of influences coming into play here. Thank you Miss Aurea Perez and Mrs. Miriam Torranzos, two wonderful teachers who shared their love of poetry with their students, and enriched my life in the process.
Mil campanas suenan en mi corazón. Butterflies, by Enrique Tábara, photographed at the Hilton Colon hotel in Guayaquil, Ecuador
Tree limbs reaching to the sky.
Children laughing-out carbon dioxide.
Birds singing the leaves awake,
who, in turn, make oxygen for our sake.
Ants working diligently,
Grass releasing dew,
Clouds gathering patiently,
Sunshine bathing us, anew.
Bees dancing from flower to flower,
A slight breeze sowing the seeds;
This cathedral of invisible motion
is all my soul needs.
Testimonium ad infinitum.
Circumspice!
Look around, there is evidence everywhere.
Once upon a time I spent 10 days on a sailboat in the ocean, sailing north. The blue water has been calling me back ever since.
Ultramarine Gulf Stream
liquid conveyor belt, carry my dreams
let me skip along your surface
don’t let me get too deep
Each periwinkle morning
turns to a turquoise blanket of hope
entreating us to sail boldly
past the continental slope
And in the afternoon
a bluefin tuna of iridescent azure
is plucked from the waters
with a silver spoon lure
Sir, we royally salute you
and your noble fate
served up, shimmering,
upon a sapphire plate
Herculean cerulean
yet effortlessly triumphant
we scan for the next horizon
to grasp the earth’s circumference
until we rest our heads
under a diamond indigo shawl
the blue will fuel our reveries-
sailors, explorers, dreamers, all.
Ultramarine is the color of the Gulf Stream.
Check out the blog “A Life Nomadik” – a living example of my poem.
The terry cloth
has got my back.
Salt air fills my nose.
The children play in stereo sound.
Waves crash from ear to ear
in the background.
Parts of my skin
feel warmer than others.
The fresh breeze mitigates the burn.
The words dance before me,
and are all topsy-turvy
on the page
I have no strength to turn.
My eyelids feel heavy,
my arms go slack,
as I slip,
I surrender,
to the inevitable
beach nap.
Children running on the beach.
You were in the kitchen
and I was upstairs
I could hear you clanging
mixing and sizzling
opening and closing
the fridge, but
what made me
the happiest girl
were the garlic and onions
wafting up the staircase
promising dinner
to my nose
who promptly whispered it
to my stomach
as I finished my homework
on the old Smith Corona
you bought me
at a yard sale
for two dollars
all of which
made me feel
incredibly warm and loved.
Mom & I
An interpretive dancer,
digging deep a well-spring of emotion,
a rescue swimmer, conquering a deep blue ocean.
Coaxing waves of sound into the air,
lyrical arms, infinitely fluid,
life’s highs and lows, all in one movement.
You’re a mad painter, with a magnetic brush
a cool conductor, the master electrician,
invisible puppeteer of every musician
As your arms weave a tapestry of sound
gathering, tying, every strand wound,
I am lifted, elevated a few feet off the ground.
Yes-
vanquished, cajoled, and soothed, I am
because you are like butter, man.
This poem is about Michael Butterman, the conductor of the Jacksonville Symphony Orchestra during their performance of Franz Liszt’s Les Préludes on April 19, 2013. I was very inspired by the theme of the evening, which also featured Angela Brown singing A Woman’s Life by Richard Danielpour, which was inspired by poetry by Maya Angelou. During Les Préludes the words just started coming to me, inspired definitely by the music, but also by the conductor. I used the prompt for Day 18 of NaPoWriMo to get my poem started, which was to begin and end a poem with the same word.
Music & Poetry, April 19, 2013.
Update 4/22 – This made me happy:
Awesome! RT @lupitatucker Inspired by the #JaxSymphony: a new poem for NaPoWriMo: “Butterman” bit.ly/13HYBm4#napowrimo
— JaxSymMusicians (@JSOMusicians) April 21, 2013
Goodbye, Jersey
(inspired by Goodnight, Moon, by Margaret Wise Brown.)
The sun is high
The air is still
And everything that will be,
will.
Cars racing on the GSP
and the lady conductor asking, “tickets, please.”
Summer, trees, hydrangeas
Cool ocean breeze and jughandles
Every town in descending order,
and memories calling
from every corner
Goodbye, Jersey
Goodbye, Shore
Goodbye all the Wawa stores
Rt 35 & 36
Radio stations’ eclectic mix
Beginning in Red Bank, on the Navesink River
and traipsing around the state together,
Gingerbread houses in Ocean Grove
Twin Lights beaming from above,
Like an old, cherished love,
“You have not changed!”
(never will!)
Yet, the train moves forward, still.
Goodbye, Jersey
Goodbye, Al
Goodbye horses, farms, and cows
Goodbye ocean breeze, and salty air
and Jersey Girls everywhere.
Copyright 2012 Lupe Eyde-Tucker. All rights reserved.
Ocean Grove, NJ
I did not write ‘Goodbye, Jersey’ during NaPoWriMo 2013. I wrote it last summer after visiting New Jersey, specifically MoCo, and reconnecting with friends and places where I grew up. It was a great trip, and on the last day, as I was waiting for the train from Red Bank to take my mother and I to Newark Airport, all of the sudden the first lines of this poem just popped into my head, and I started writing it, literally on the train schedule. As we took our seats, verses and phrases kept coming to me, and I pulled out my notebook and started just writing it all out. It was a spontaneous poetic moment which I am still awed by. A couple of months later the entire state was slammed by Superstorm Sandy, and Monmouth County was devastated.
Saturday walk
through the neighborhood
skipping, meandering, twirling
down the street.
5 explorers and 2 guides.
“Look at that!”
“I wonder why? …”
Questions materialize
out of thin air,
as leaves flutter down
randomly onto heads.
A neighbor’s dog barks ferociously
at our approaching party.
“Shut up dog!” a brave explorer said.
“Good dog,” I call out, encouragingly.
“He’s only doing his job,” I say.
Transfixed by the perfume
of a tree in bloom,
we continue slowly on our way
(and they don’t hate him anymore,
because I am a guide).
there is a poet behind these eyes
winding up the key to my heart
so it tick tick ticks
I catch glimpses of her in old photographs
and in the mirror sometimes on Wednesdays
when the light is just right
when I close my eyes at night
I don’t see her
but she talks to me in verse
and if she speaks loudly enough
I say, “ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT”
and I get out my notebook and pen
and sketch it all out as fast as I can
by the time I am done, I am no longer tired
but at least I can finally sleep
Lupita's English translation of Venezuelan poet Oriette D'Angelo's collection, "Homeland of Swarms," was published in 2024 by co•im•press and was recently named a finalist for the 2025 PEN Award for Poetry in Translation and winner of the 2024 Florida Book Award Bronze Medal in Poetry.
Lupita holds an MFA in Creative Writing - Poetry from the University of Florida, and served as a staff scholar at Bread Loaf Translators Conference from 2021 to 2023. She is a Vermont Studio Center Fellow and has received generous institutional support from Bread Loaf Writers Conferences, Poesiaeuropa, the Kentucky Women Writers Conference, and New York State Summer Writers Institute. She is a 2022 Best New Poet and has received numerous Pushcart Prize nominations. She loves visiting the beach with her family, watching baseball, playing volleyball and word games, dancing, darkrooms, black and white film photography, road trips, live music, and trains.
Not Enough Poetry 