Escape to inside
out of regular time.
All my friends are there.
People, objects,
and their experiences
real and imagined,
all present and eager to share.
We chat, muse,
mulling over everything.
I write fast as I can
anything
that catches my attention.
As usual, way too soon
comes the necessary pull
back through my escape hatch,
back into unaltered time
in the land of
distracting obligations.
Still, as usual
I’ve managed to slip back in
with rare, raw treasures
all mine
to refine and polish.
I’m so tired I don’t know
what to do with myself.
I heard that and thought, Funny I know just
how you’re feeling.
And so went my day.
It was one long fruitless effort
to move forward
that saw more sideways shuffles
than any productive advances.
And finally at the day’s close
facing all I didn’t do
and the vicious flaring
of sinus pressure,
laid flat on my back
this morning’s first thought
returned to me:
I’m so sorry three a.m. came
and found my eyes wide open;
my sincerest apologies to me.
This may well be my worst draft yet, that I actually let go of. Probably because it’s true and current—my face is killing me. Hopefully I’ll be able to salvage it in the revision stage.
Relationships and occupations
death in the family
and other amputations
weddings and grocery shopping.
Life offers up bumps and twists
at every stage we travel through.
Racism, sexism,
just I-don’t-want-to-know-you.
Chest pain, stomach ache, swine flu,
and better and worse are the
land mines we negotiate trying
to keep our souls in tact.
Endings, standings,
delivering come-uppings,
births and christenings.
Finding acceptance.
Hugging a bigot or keeping your distance.
Successful surgeries, bed rest
meditation and medications
that pull us from the edge
bringing us back for more of this.
It’s all part of the journey.
To each of us our portions of
crazy and volatile with
a measure of calm mixed in.
Plain sailing then is
a matter of perception
and depends on
what gumption we bring
to each situation.
This poem is for the napowrimo prompt #24, find a phrase Visit the post to see the details of this prompt. “Plain sailing” caught and kept my attention.
As National Poetry Month 2010 comes to a close, I think of this important voice that has gone from this life. Selfishly, indeed, I will miss her. I was originally going to post this in early February. Time got away from me and then poet, Lucille Clifton, passed away. That threw me for a bit. Now, as I’m getting back on track, I think it works to post this now.
For Lucille Clifton
birth: June 27, 1936 death: February 13, 2010
The poetry of Lucille Clifton influenced me greatly. Her wit and rhetoric, and rhythm in delivery are such that they keep me reading and returning to her work. This National Poetry Month, I think on her more often since there are no new words to come, since she is newly gone from us—from me.
Lucille Clifton embraced her gift for poetry, and fortunately we have it to relish, enjoy and learn from. Her poems are prayers, celebrations, indictments, remembrances, and observations. So much more and so moving. Her work embodies the life and times of an entire culture through the eyes of one who was born to see. And I am better for having read her accounts. As, her talent inspires me to strive to improve my skill for poetry.
like my aunt timmie.
it was her iron,
or one like hers,
that smoothed the sheets
the master poet slept on.
home or hotel, what matters is
he lay himself down on her handiwork
and dreamed. she dreamed too, words:
some cherokee, some masai and some
huge and particular as hope.
if you had heard her
chanting as she ironed
you would understand form and line
and discipline and order and
america.
I first came across Blessing the Boats, thanks to my friend Kirk Byron Jones. I was so amazed by her writing and the way she was speaking to and teaching me, directly. I often write back to what I read—I believe that’s what margins are for. I am not a critic so much as I just like what I like. And when it moves me I’ll put it in the margin. In the margin of the above poem I wrote, WOW. That was all I dared write. Later, in the back of her book, I wrote:
After reading Lucille Clifton
I am awed and inspired
but first daunted. Before
inspiration to pick up my pen
takes over me,
the dauntingly simple profundity
overwhelms me.
And I am knocked speechless
from mouth and pen
to utter any word.
If you’ve never come across Lucille Clifton’s writing, I definitely recommend you get to know her poetry. If you like the poem above, do read more, and listen to her readings. Visit the links below to find out a bit more about the writer and her works. And always a good trip, visit your local library if you want to read more before buying a collection. Enjoy. And come tell me about it, if you get a chance.
December twenty-third
at the World mall
bedecked in celebration splendor
as kids approached Santa’s station.
Tiny translucent St. Roger?
is on the throne
greeting kids big and small.
I’m so excited it’s Christmas time!
Welcome girls and boys.
I’ll gladly take your letters,
all sticky with chocolate dreams
for magic gifts
and backyard swings.
Let’s talk about those toys!
Children brought their lists
to hand in with a grin.
First one then another
approached the translucent gent
despite the distraction
of his very long rabbit ears,
to impart last minute
gift requests only to get
treats that left them perplexed.
Roger was unaware of
the concern he seemed to be causing.
As he continued his happy banter
and handing out carrot sticks,
he bade each child a giddy
and very special holiday wish:
Merry Christmas kiddies!
You won’t see me soon!
But worry not, you’ll know I’m there
listen for my purple bassoon!
This poem is for the napowrimo prompt #23, unlikely couples Visit the post to see the details of this prompt. It works even better in your head if you can hear Roger Rabbit’s lisp and inflection.
The coral honeysuckle
cut down late this year
sprouts new tendrils
showing fierce resistance
to death.
Bare brown twigs
will grow to green. Soon
rust red flowers,
just a touch of saffron on edges,
bloom to beckon the hummingbirds
who will come darting in
at dizzying speeds
to drink the sweet nectar,
giving delight just to watch them
about their important mission
in ecology.
This poem is for the napowrimo prompt #22, a wordle Visit the post to see the details of this prompt. The words I used are: saffron, rust, tendril, fierce, dizzy.
I was hoping someone would step up and say it isn’t so. But it didn’t happen. Read Write Poem soon will be nothing more than a fine repository of fine writing and writer links. You see it’s closing after April 30, 2010.
And he’s gone much further! Neil has done this awesome thing of opening a new community site, We Write Poems, as an option for Read Write Poem members to join. If you’re familiar with the writers at Read Write Poem, or become familiar by reading the postings there, you’ll be happy to know that several of the talents from RWP are participating in Neil’s new site. That is pretty cool!
So are many others stepping up with ways to continue doing what brings them joy. Among them, Rob Kistner returning to his Writer’s Island for regular weekly prompts. And, he presents links to other prompt sites for our participation.
No Longer Active, Still Vital
This is all quite new to me. Once I decided to post more of my writing and engage poetry more fully, it quickly became clear that it wasn’t something I wanted to do alone. I may have mentioned how thrilled I was to have finally gotten up the nerve to tap into some great poetry communities.
When I went for it, Read Write Poem was one of the first ones I found that I braved. I will always be glad I started there. Having the opportunity to continue with this community of poem writers is just a big ol’ gift I eagerly accept.
I’m keeping the Read Write Poem badge in my sidebar as long as it remains online for exploration. And I’ll add other badges for sites I participate in, first up We Write Poems, coming soon.
Animals plants insects
break die live kill grow
sprout new life
thrive without deliberateness
of choosing
eventually dying out
making room for new ones.
No more is the woolly mammoth.
Today we have
it’s current Asian relative
the elephant.
In the midst of the majesty
that breathes all around
is man
clumsy, crafty,
seemingly the only creature
not instinctively aware
of the course
uniquely his to follow.
He searches.
In a relative frenzy
of awkward ignorant insistence
he makes his way
disrupting the natural
flow of life,
by choices he trusts are best.
Still, some move just slow enough
to see and appreciate
the magic inherent in
the existence of everything,
before it’s time to leave
that others may come.
And the circles continue
expand and constrict.
And even
things judged flaws
are seen and
understood to have
their unique places of worth.
