This idea must die:
The Tao of Twitter
Calming your angry mind.
A found poem at my local library, culled from the “newly released” bookshelf.
American Sentences are a type of modern haiku invented by Allan Ginsburg. They are Sentences with 17 syllables and can be solo or in groups.
Like spring
you came on strong
arousing me from a dream
with birds in my ear, mornings
awakening into a cacophony
of call and response, let me tell you
I know how the flowers feel
as they wait for the bees
noon was rising
a sudden, full burn
like summer
that left my head spinning
hazy visions of a future, elusive
the way heat dances above
a stretch of highway
which sems to go on forever
all senses full tilt
I was aware, every nuance
of you, each part of me affecting
you became a harvest
a gorged Indian Summer
and spinning, spinning,
you made the leaves leap
off my branches
like fall.
(English quasi-translation below)
Llegó el alba
tocándonos el hombro y
como cuando jóvenes ignoramos
la vieja chaperona
del amanecer
sentí tus caricias
tus manos en mi pelo
mientras tus labios piadosos
devolvieron mi aliento, poco a poco
regresándome al presente
fueron los pájaros
quienes nos delataron
sonando la alarma
mi cabeza en tu pecho
el sol amenazándonos a través de la persiana
llegó el alba
desvaneciendo mi sueño
pero aún siento
el sabor exquisito
de tu boca.
Sunrise on the south end of Pawleys Island
I woke up in the most tantalizing way this morning, and that blissful dream is the basis for my poem today. I am writing it in response to the prompt for Day Six for NaPoWriMo, which is to write an Aubade, or a poem about the morning. Mornings are special to me, I love their freshness, their promise, and the newness of day. I love experiencing the morning with the birds singing brightly, and a stillness that is almost palpable as the trees wake up to start their day.
I wrote it in Spanish originally and the quasi-translation is below. I call it a quasi-translation because there is an extra line and some variations that I think work better in the English than in the original Spanish. This is another example of how the English counterpart of verses originally composed in Spanish complements and completes the poem. In a true translation, I would never do this and just keep the lines as close to the original as possible. [Last edited June 13, 2017]
Day Broke
First light arrived
tapping us on the shoulder
and like teenagers we ignored
the elderly chaperone of dawn.
I felt your caresses
your hands in my hair
as your merciful lips
restored my breath, bit by bit
returning me to the present
It was the birds
who sounded the alarm
my head on your chest
sunlight slicing through the blinds
Dawn broke through
it scattered my dream
yet, alone on this bed
I can still sense the exquisite taste
of your mouth.
Wild nights Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Down would come the sails
Naked in the moonbeams we
As our Wild nights should be
Our secret luxury!
Futile the calling winds
My Heart seduced in your port
Done with the Compass
Done with the Chart!
My Q flag a flying
My wheel lashed up short.
Rowing in a blissful Eden
Ah rocking in time with the Sea!
My heart tugs at the anchor
Open your arms to harbor me
Might I but moor tonight
Dear sir, In thee!
It’s a poetic arts & crafts project for day five of NaPoWriMo. Today’s prompt is to choose a poem by Emily Dickinson, then deconstruct and reconstruct it. I chose Wild Nights – Wild Nights! (no surprise there). I incorporated a little bit more of the ‘sailboat in port’ metaphors. I was never fully satisfied with her original poem to begin with, so this was a nice chance to doctor it up a bit.
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.
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:
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.
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.
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.
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, delayed
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.
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.
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.
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
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
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 