Tag Archives: writing

Sometimes

it is easy to forget

that each day is new

dictionary always available

to define, refine

sometimes it’s a thesaurus

leading us slowly

to something different

 

today it is discovery

that old pieces can be recycled

joy has a memory

a shift can drop a piece in place

comforting in familiarity

yet casting a new shadow

 

sometimes you are most active

when you are still

 


For Calliope

winter yawns weary breathe

upon my creasing brow

I stand up and look about

for unused fields to plow

 

turn under words laid in haste

seek wisdom from the wind

track my eyes all around

to see what might descend

 

herein lies the marker stone

of what I think I’ve done

truth be known, outside of me

an unearthly sprite does run

 

she visits as I’m sleeping

and when I’m hard at work

never pausing long enough

for my values to assert

 

still I seek her council

looking towards my harvest

will it be found bountiful

or leave me empty hearted


Incidental Desert

where are the pieces found

a collage at the day’s end

hidden in the tissue leaves

of a tree-lined background

tightly wrapped in cloaks

every tone-deaf melody

hoping to capture & hold 

external spins of vertigo silence

before the diamond falls

from the moon

trail maps

weather wearied souls

lost


On My Mind

what’s on the fridge
some childhood art
life’s freedom painted
from nephew hands

what’s on the table
gifts of light, burned
not saved but spent
in bright friendship

what’s on the counter
wine to share, bread
to break with others
make a meal complete

what’s on the desk
notes, words, paint
pencil, pen, brush
thoughts for later

what’s on the pillow
an inviting spot
to rest my head
in a silent dream

 


Falling Moon


last night the moon fell
right against my head
a list, a poem, a scene
spilled into sleeping arms
humpty dumpty shattered
stars brought magic glue
moon climbed back to sky
just as i was coming to
all disappeared the moment
eyes adjusted to the night
they followed willie winkie
couldn’t have gone that far
a list, a poem, a scene
come back into my head
just in case the moon
falls again tonight


Elizabeth Gilbert on Creativity

I have watched this video three times today and each time has led me to a smile. It is shorter than a sitcom and has far more to say. Olé!


An Invitation

I recently was extended an invitation by L.K. Thayer to be a guest squeeze over at her Poetry Juice Bar.  If ever a place was filled with creative juices, this is it. Be sure to stop by and check out the inspiring photos by V.C. Ferry, incredible poetry and lyrics by L.K. Thayer, and the guest squeeze spots by visiting poets. You won’t be disappointed. I was really nervous about writing a poem for someone else’s blog – so that’s what I wrote about. Let me know what you think.

SLOW ROAD

i felt a deep panic, like before an academic test
or waking from a dream of being naked in a crowd
that it was silly didn’t calm me, uneasiness remained
distractions with a purpose, this could be the solution

out came a very old file, papers dingy and faded
i began to read, line by line, faster then, page by page
sentimental words of youth, deeply colored clichés
the pee-chee folder was supposed to lend authenticity
serious words don’t belong in flowery notebooks
somehow sporty figures on fields of orange fell short

then i noticed it, up in the corner, looking bold
first initial, last name, was it in times new roman?
onion skinned paper as transparent as the attempts
i looked you up, in a sphere unknown to us then
the about you told me more than i could have guessed
there it was “poetry was a quick road to starvation”
somehow the print more credible, script faded, flimsy
empty praises for rigid writing, clandestine coffee hours

i know now that all the paper held was desire, no skill
passionate youth, misguided by youthful instructors
with curls that fell over banal brown eyes of seduction
arms that reached from behind to jot notes on my paper
begging me, let go, let loose, be free, show me all of you
a young girl, naive, fresh, too lacking in experience for poetry

now i rehash trite thoughts that led me to yellowing paper
letting youthful trepidation fall from shoulders like a red dress
daring myself to believe that words might feed our unclad souls
on slow roads captivating men with dark hair will never travel


Chapstick and Tackle Boxes

you ask about my process
like fishing is just about a hook
i’ve seen you standing there
silent by your stream
steeped in silent thoughts

i remember standing next to you
tomboy with bobber only drifting
lips itching to fill your ear
questions, observations, the moment
your eyes always on the water

now we speak of chapstick
found in your father’s tackle box
returning us both to different times
watching fishermen consumed by passion
finding answers at the water’s edge
as i cast words to an open sea


Hand of Leaves

hand of leaves

 

 

 

sometimes i keep notes on scrap papers

just like leaves that have fallen from trees

they are scattered about me at arms length

 

quotes, notes, inspirations raked up in a messy heap

meant to help me sit down and focus, to finally begin

but I find myself distracted, tossing ideas up to the air

 

the words keep painting brilliant pictures

lead me down a crisp young autumn lane

sitting here just smiling, at a loss again


For Whimsy’s Sake

he said, “I like it” – but he didn’t read it

I think you are just too heady, above me

do one of those cool rhyming things

now that is marketable, that would sell

I rolled my eyes this time, last time

I wrote a rhyme, it was fun, silly, light

but it felt like dessert first, or maybe

a cartoon at the beginning of a movie

when the smile faded I was done

nothing worth going back to, no residue

no artifacts or fossils to carefully unearth

just a whimsical passing of fancy, for fun

but maybe I have been missing something

is there something to be said for just fun

today I ran through sprinklers with children

we laughed, we jumped, we were sun-dried

I wondered about the adults in dry clothes

they talked of lists and looking presentable

it made me think of the Wizard of Oz, melting

they were afraid the fun might harm them

out in the backyard under the inviting sun