Poetry Catch Up: Day 14 through Day 16 poems

This isn't too hard to do if you do it everyday. But once you start getting behind? It all falls apart. So now to catch up.  I'm going to do this in order from oldest to newest, in the same manner as I've done them.

Shadows: Day 14 Poem  (this day was Poem in your pocket day - I carried this one in my heart only)

Still Wall

Awake before dawn, still sleepy, gaze

held by patterns on the wall. Streetlamp's

glow paints itself into a corner, its amber

traps this moment, quiet but for early birds

and waking city sounds. This light is still,

unlike that of sun or moon with their cycles,

their travels. Dark angles are shadows of night

windows, their panes warmer against the wall

than against the grey, real world of morn.

While I stare at the lines that crisscross the wall,

poem words come to me, and in hope of remembering,

pull my camera from my bag, take a picture.

she wants to fold into him

like the warm, gold light folds

into the wall, so close as to be one

Weeks later, I still cannot write that poem.

Others are written while this image burns

itself into my mind's retina. I want to write

the truth of it, but what is real? The light?

The shadow? The wall? None of it?

____________

Motion: Day 15 Poem  (this day's prompt was to use the words kinetic, tendril, embolden, blossom).

Movement  

We are all kinetic energy: trapped, tapped,

tormented, vibrating particles of want.

This tendril climbs, hangs, tangles, sways,

wraps around our bodies, holds us tight.

I embolden me, saying move forward, look,

experience the world for it is fleeting.

There is only looking-forward-to, since it seems

I will not blossom until it's almost time to fade.

__________________

Pwoermd: Day 16 Poem  (you have to read the prompt here to understand)

holshite

Well, that's all for today. I'm working on the Day 17 poem, but am having to quit to get ready for other activities. I think one of the contributing factors to my current "block" when it comes to writing things I need to write (blog posts, fiction submissions, reviews, etc.) is that I got behind on these poem prompts. So, if I can just get caught up, I'll be doing okay. Yeah, right!

Always something missing: Day 12 Poem

I missed Days 10 & 11, but plan on getting caught up this afternoon. I decided to start with today's prompt at Not Without Poetry from Gina Williams, which needed the last line of a favorite song, the main spice or ingredient in a favorite dish, and a geologic form. So, of course I had to do this one first (rather than the previous prompts). Any excuse to use geology in my poems! Thanks Gina!

I can't say I have A favorite song, but one of my longest-lived favorites is the Beatles tune In My Life. Go watch/listen. It's hard for me to hear that and not get choked up. So, I grabbed the last line, "in my life I love you more." Then a favorite dish. Tacos! Well-loved around our household and usually made by my husband. Maybe that's why I like them so much. And then ... geology! One theme I return to again and again in my poetry is the stuff that's missing, so I immediately went for the term unconformity, not the least reason being it's many layers of meaning. Unfortunately, thanks to Blogger, I can't get the formatting right in the second stanza. Oh well.

Triad of Meaning

Meat sizzles in cast iron, seasoned

with salt, pepper, and chili powder,

the hot kind, liberally sprinkled, stirred

in with chopped onions and green chiles.

I can never get it right, the flavor always

just a little off from how everyone likes it.

That's what happens when you don't measure.

One past is measured against another past, found wanting. Something

missing. But something is always missing. Layers deposited, removed,

deposited, removed, deposited. Nothing stays the same. Where we

meet always changes. Close, yet separate. Never quite right. But just right.

In my life. Places. Remember. Gone. Remain. Changed.

I love you. Friends. Lovers. Memories. Meaning.

More. Accept the unconformity. Pass the salsa.

Stepping out: Day 9 Poem

A Word With You

Free association, does that count?

When I hear the word word spoken,

or see it written, what do I think?

The phrase can I have a word with you?

immediately brings on anxiety.

This word is never just one word,

and never good. It's what the teacher,

boss, disapproving friend says to you

before they launch into a verbal barrage

detailing all the ways that you've ventured

outside the status quo. It would be nicer

to have a word with someone about words

such as love, affection, desire, peace.

I don't know where I'm going with this.

Today I am nervous, stepping outside

my own status quo, into the words

unknown, brave, curiosity, future.

 Today's prompt introduced me to a new word: metonymy. This was Shanna Germain's prompte at Not Without Poetry. I'm real curious to see what others do with this.

And I swear my next post will be about the MOMENTUM Conference I went to last weekend, and not another friggin poem!

Dear Life: Day 8 Poem

Today's prompt at Not Without Poetry, from Nikki Magennis, was "What do you hope will save you?" The only thing I can think of is writing. Not sure that's what this poem is about. In my estimation, it's fairly dark. I don't have a lot of hope these days for "things" (read "life") to turn out at all like I'd like it to. But I'll keep scratching away. 

Tooth and Nail

There is no fight in her–

she is nothing but fight.

Constant tides, the push,

the pull, the shame, the pride.

Inside, all molten, all stone.

Outside just brittle shell.

Desire is her swirling wind,

stroked by butterfly wings,

howling through her primitive

forests of all she cannot let go.

Storms will rage and die away,

change her landscape, expose

her soil, her bedrock to touch,

to fingers that trace her edges,

and she will cling for life, sink

into her own flesh, in order to hold on.

Like Magic: Day 7 Poem

Slight of Hand

flip and twist, a beckon

one thing, then another

always a shift, of hand

of eye, keep me guessing

don't let on, reveal nothing

reveal everything, pause

keep me waiting, manipulate

your fingers, cunning, palm

trick me once, trick me again

I fall for it, easily, hopeful

slowly learn, ignore the twinge

recognize I've been fooled

Today's prompt at Not Without Poetry is from Mike Ferguson, and it included this short movie. It was amazing how quickly this poem came. Raw, very raw.

Where I went: Day 6 Poem

Wild Iris

            Now that I'm free to be myself, who am I?

                                    ~ Mary Oliver, "Blue Iris"

Memories, tugged like stuck socks behind a drawer,

come flying at me as I scroll through floral images.

I think of waves, my mother's eyes in the mirror.

Newly married. I walked home from work, up the road

from coastal terrace to the ridge. Blooms I had thought

were planted, never having seen wild ones before.

Years later. Mother of two girls. Another pacific town.

These iris were planted, had grown into a tangled crush

through years of neglect. A friend showed how to divide.

Off another coast. April evening on Block Island. I listened

to Mary Oliver read in her quiet way. Next day I ventured

a signature. Chose the Red Bird over the Blue Iris to offer.

Another Spring. Blooming. Birds nesting. Birds in flight.

Birthing of horny crone. Full of fear yet unafraid. Rooted

yet tossed by wild wind. Contradictions. I wish to see

my own eyes.

Today you must go to Bill Noble's blog to see his lovely pictures of the native Douglas Iris. 

Today's prompt at Not Without Poetry was an interesting one. These images brought back a number of memories. Of small Pacific Coast towns where we've lived and the irises seen growing there. And then I thought of the book of poetry "Blue Iris" by Mary Oliver and how I got to hear her read a few years ago in April on Block Island. And the first line in that poem. And my eyes, and what they've seen. What they see now. What they hope to see. 

Share and share alike: Day 5 Poem

Share

our space

our lines

our gaze

our bowl of cereal

share the fact that we don't know how

we got here, or what will happen next

I love today's drawing by Jeremy Edwards that is the visual inspiration for today's Not Without Poetry prompt. What it inspired was a short little ditty, rather spare, but exactly what I was feeling.

Momentary poetry: Day 4 Poem

One Moment in Many

In the beginning there is going

pink cadillac rain

fluttering jazz hands rain

summer storm rain

white spider rain

telephone pole wires rain

cinnamon and nutmeg rain

In the end there is returning

***

Today's prompt over at Not Without Poetry was my own, and wow, was THAT hard. I couldn't separate  my memory of the moment when I took that picture from the poem. All I could do is remember that rain. The poetry book I grabbed was "Sightseer" by Cynthia Marie Hoffman. 

A Day Late: Day 3 Poem

She Just Can't Make Up His Mind

Where's my top hat with jaunty

slant? A half dozen spout mindless

drivel, voicing their thoughtless

opinions, and her naked soul pleads

for quiet, wishes to be shucked of all

their wrong-headedness.

Yeah, yeah. I'm a day late with this. Yesterday I was in a conference all day and then driving home.  Got in at 2 AM. I just could not write then (plus I was already late with my poem). 

Not Without Poetry Prompt # 3 from Kirsty Logan.

Mindful: Day 1 Poem

This was today's prompt over at Not Without Poetry.

This is what I got. Very interesting. 

The Mind

Think hard. Will that truck to stay in it's lane,

that spark in dry grass to snuff itself, my heart

to open. I have done what I've done and what

I haven't done. There will be no dying of regret.

There is air. Grass, trees, bugs crawling in weeds.

This is the world, changing and not. Safe or not.

Over and over, your face looking at me, your voice

dead. Away, away. Why this dream? This fear?

Thank you for not. Still here.

I'm not going to talk about this one. I am going to talk about prompts. Last year, for poem-a-day, I didn't use any provided prompts, other than what life handed me that day. But often I like what prompts do. They stretch me. Turn my mind into silly putty to press down on the prompt and then use deformation to arrive at something new. 

On the verge of poetry

It's about thirty minutes till the clock ticks over and April 1 arrives. April Fools? I don't think so. It will be National Poetry Month! And like last year, I'm going to write a poem every day and post it here. 

This year I'm taking part in Not Without Poetry, which Shanna Germain decided to put together to take the place of one of the poem-a-day sites from last year. Each day there will be a prompt. On Monday, April 4 the prompt will be one that I came up with. I'm rather excited to see what folks come up with for that.

So, I'm ready. Now just waiting for April!

Plus, I'll be blogging about Momentum: Making Waves in Sexuality, Feminism, and Relationships, the conference I'll be attending this weekend down in DC.