Telling Stories» National Poetry Month ’09

I had a Good Time

Shari Smothers — Sat, 02 May 2009 03:46:30 +0000

This poem is my reaction to all the fun I had eeking out a poem a day for the last ten days of April, National Poetry Month 2009.

I said I would put up
one poem daily for ten days
through the end of April.

I’m relieved I made that happen.

Now for my next trick
I think I’ll put up—
content to be determined.

Thanks for stopping by
and I hope you’ll come again.
for more poems for sure,

plus other random things.

Just Outside

Shari Smothers — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 20:08:04 +0000

Summer and fall
little brown birds
and bees pollinate
the weeping holly
doing their parts for
the trees to bear fruit.

By early December
I have only to open the blinds
to see my Christmas tree
decorated by nature,
my only job is to be thankful.

The advent of spring,
weather still chilled
invites the cedar waxwings
to pick the berries.
Wooshing fluttering wings
surely hundreds altogether
announce the advance
of the berry picking flock.

They fly off just as loudly
to rest on the yonder willow trees
catching their breaths
looking back at the berries,
or maybe at me in my delight and awe.

Soon they take flight again
swarming in for their next wave
until not one berry is left;
in preparation
for the cycle to begin again.

Master Distraction

Shari Smothers — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 20:52:38 +0000

It’s late and my page lays bare.
No writers block is visiting here
only over-tired delirium.
Words come not belonging to me
but to those I’ve read repeatedly,
those who inspire and intimidate me.

So it is better to speak
remembering we were never
meant to survive
comes through from Audre Lorde
and I pause to wonder about her emotions
at the moment she wrote those lines.

Dissolving in the chemic vat
of time, man (gristle and fat),
corrupting on a rock in space…
slides in and I’m once again
marveling at Stanley Kunitz
and the imagery he chooses to create.

I think about how, like Diane Ackerman
I too praise my destroyer.
Then I think I get how Billy Collins
came to see the relationship
between sex and death.

And without recalling
a single word from either, their names
Maya Angelou and Lucille Clifton
summon up from deep within me,
adoration and reverence such that
I know, no one will miss my voice
not put on paper tonight.

My distractions for this poem came from the following works:

A Litany for Survival by Audre Lorde, from The Black Unicorn
Change by Stanley Kunitz, from The Collected Poems
I Praise My Destroyer by Diane Ackerman, from I Praise My Destroyer
Purity by Billy Collins, from Questions About Angels
Ailey, Baldwin, Floyd, Killens, and Mayfield by Maya Angelou, author of I Shall Not be Moved
Study the Masters by Lucille Clifton, from Blessing the Boats

The Nature of Things

Shari Smothers — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 14:19:19 +0000

Mom first noticed
the bird setting up home
in her hanging basket.

I saw the bird there
the day after,
and thought I felt something.

Once, I lifted my nephew
because even standing on the chair
he couldn’t see it.

We still kept our distance.

One windy day I was closing the umbrellas.
It was my first time alone with her
and I swear

I could feel her warding me off
away from her eggs and her.
The air seemed dank, was rife

with the protective vibe:
vigilant mother bird
with one false move by me

was likely to peck my eyes out.

Persona

Shari Smothers — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 13:33:03 +0000

I’d like to write the consummate herione
to embody a mixture of
the complex women of
Barbara Streisand’s
characters in later years.
Especially I think
I’d channel the honest
female lead in
The Mirror has Two Faces.

As a bad heroine type,
her almost law-breaking
lead opposite
Richard Dreyfuss and
Karl Malden for starts
in a favorite I don’t own, Nuts.

I could imbue
her faithful defiance
and courage
in the face of losing her dad
feeling Yentl
crying out in song
in the forest,
only to return to life
in pursuit of her dreams, alone.

Time Enough

Shari Smothers — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 16:24:34 +0000

If I could stay awake
hours on end
for days or
bend time to my will,
I wonder would it be
time enough to
gaze read listen write
play love laugh
cry dance walk
swing high, run fast
eat and drink tasting fully?

Enough time to
do to cherish
to savor
all that beckons to me
before I’m forced
to let go of
my time here?

I think of this now
because there
never seems to be enough.
And yet I have faith
that when I’m gone from here
I won’t care what I missed.

Another Pen Bites the Dust

Shari Smothers — Sat, 25 Apr 2009 18:32:49 +0000

I’ve emptied out a pen
yet again in the middle
of what I was writing.

It doesn’t mean that I’m
barreling through ink,
having filled longhand
three hundred pages of manuscript.

I like to tell myself, though
it’s because I’m writing
my hands off productively,

thinking, Girl! You’re
doing the damn thing!
No stopping you once you get a new pen.

The truth is it happens too
just the same way
in the middle of writing my grocery list.

Walk on By

Shari Smothers — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 17:26:46 +0000

Remember that song?
And the message?

It’s Dionne Warwick’s version
I can hear
playing in my head.
She’s hurt and
implores her ex-beau
to ignore her—

I understand this.

Nothing in your head says
he’s even alright for you
yet nothing in your heart
will stand up for you.
Telling him to walk past
spares you trying to muster
a resolve not present in you.

Not only did
hating him never work
you tried—I know
you found out
after concerted effort
removing any doubt that
love
is the only thing
your heart understands
to do to him.

I know, sucks, right?

Genes

Shari Smothers — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 00:05:01 +0000

I looked at a random
new-born baby on TV
held by her mother.
From the other room
I heard my mom’s voice,
“That baby looks
just like her mother.”

I never could see that much
in the faces of new-borns
wrinkled and otherwise nondescript
even in my family.
Maybe my eyes were never
quite trained to it
and remain as yet
undeveloped.

My mom tells the story
that when my dad’s mom
first laid eyes on me
she said ‘I got one.’

I still wonder
how she saw it that day
that I’d grow to have her face
as mine.
But she was right
and so pronounced is our likeness
until all the family
knows who I’m from.

Day 9

Shari Smothers — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 14:34:57 +0000

All of a sudden
I understand
the sweet sick feeling
that’s been welling up
from the pit of my stomach.

At the back end
of each joy and delight
that passed through me
while in my hometown
was a sick
curly cue punctuating
experiences with—

In my quiet last night
I understand
it’s the downturn
of the roller coaster ride.

In all the excitement
of remembrances
we were creating in great detail
they included
the unplanned part that insured
I would miss home.

Tomorrow—
later today, I drive back to Houston
with the fun times dancing
in my spirit and the
aftertaste of melancholy
over all I leave behind in New Orleans.

Day 7

Shari Smothers — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 16:11:30 +0000

The joy seeps in
through the cracks
of laughs during dinner,
and at the movies,
on the way to any
destination.

Quiet delight
sways smoothly
in my head
while I’m working
at my computer

because I’m not at home
but in the home
of old friends and family.

The casino is fun
because I’m with friends
laughing at the sinister looks
drawn into the characters
on the machines.
Ratting around
shopping for speakers
falling asleep on a sofa not mine
seeing my friends’ moms
are still in good health
more food, gumbo, greens and cake too.

All make me grin inside
as I cherish and file them
in the made memories
for later days
I’ll spend apart from
my family and friends.

Winding Up National Poetry Month 2009

Shari Smothers — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 22:17:13 +0000

So, it’s the 20th of April—that’s twenty days into National Poetry Month [NPM]. I just returned from a long trip that was truly a pleasure. Slowly the good feelings are washing away making room for the sobering thought that I’m falling short with my poetry postings.

Last April, I did better with my poetry offerings. This year, not so much. Once I set up this blog, I said that I would do something for NPM that was more than I usually did. My intention was to post daily as opposed to just whenever, as is my current post schedule.

There’s still time to do something productive. So, through the end of the month, (that’s the next ten days), I will post one poem each. So do come back; you may find something you like.

I invite you to share your responses if you like. And, if you have your own poems that you post, do drop me a link as well. I love reading new poets.

Enjoy!

If you see something you want to share with others and you’re on twitter, it would be great if you’d add #npm, #poetry or #poetrymonth to your tweet. Thanks.

And, do take some time to explore the great offerings submitted by poets and poetry readers to Twitter’s poetry categories.

Here’s one to kick-start my ten days winding up National Poetry Month 2009:

Led by Gratitude

I’ve set aside this space
to share my thoughts
released on the wings
of prayers, meditations
and gratitude.
Ideas flow freely through
my silence as I sit waiting
for the verses summoned.

The words dance on my page
choreographed by
appreciation of all
that I experience.

Thanks be to the
Holy Trinity

Amen

Courage to Join the Club

Shari Smothers — Sun, 19 Apr 2009 19:26:27 +0000

Reading poems
makes me want to
write my own.
Writing them
makes me want to
read from more poets.

It’s a self-sustaining
cycle that could easily
consume me.
I know this because
I’ve let it loose in me
from time to time.

Beautiful timeless verses
of Audre Lorde in
A Litany for Survival;
The insightful, hopeful
message from Alice Walker imparted by
The Same as Gold.

They, the poets and their verses,
inspire in me this intense
longing to share
in their artists’ collective
with my own verses like Broke.
Still, I hesitate.

Through years of exploring poets
contemporary and long dead
I’ve vacillated between
wanting to participate
and keeping hid the way I can fall far short.

Hiding
wins often
until my verses shout to me
demanding to be shared,
and here is one place I let them out.

These words that demand the chance
to have an audience
don’t ask for or require
safety. So I make the effort
to meet their bravery
and stand by them and listen
to what any might want to say
mostly because I have no choice.

Broke

Shari Smothers — Sun, 19 Apr 2009 19:26:04 +0000

A friend sent me
a poem by Alice Walker
in which she tells us
that grief is comparable to gold.

My wealth knows
no limits.
It’s boundless
and never
is fully spent.
For when it’s low
when I’m almost out
something
occurs
to replenish it.

I’ll never be
completely broke
in this life.
But one day
I will leave
all this wealth
behind me.
I’ll move
to another place
penniless
certainly
without my gold.

No purchasing power,
no list will I have
I will rejoice in my
broke-ness
and be fully
glad of it.

Don’t Let the Faces Fool You

Shari Smothers — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 22:28:18 +0000

Mom said
Your niece and nephew
are being dropped off for a while.

They weren’t on my schedule
my headphones in place
for an evening of transcription.

Relaxing, tweeting, reading
I’d procrastinated pretty good
about getting my work done

and paid the price
as I was caught unprepared
though thankfully I was rested.

I need all my strength
physically and mentally
to watch over the dynamic duo.

They’re busy children
and rarely have mercy
secretly plotting
and even aloud,

the boy told the girl
Let’s go beat up Auntie Shari,
and I think she liked the plan.