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Sunday, February 21, 2010

Haiku: Fraught

The latest prompt from haiku bones is fraught.  Here is my haiku:
The world fraught with snow
makes its way slowly towards Spring.
Sun is no small thing.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Six Word Saturday



For this Saturday, I am borrowing my six words from the Beatles:

"Here comes the sun....it's alright!"

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Get your Poem On: Rainy Day Existentialist





Rainy Day Existentialist

Although I can tell a hand
(or a hawk) from a handsaw, I still panic
about insanity muttered
like a whisper, or soft patter,
like murmurs, falling into soft decay.
Inside the footlocker of the heart is red

with the lubricious lie of love.  Red
painted nails on a well manicured hand
reaches out from skin with a slow decay
frosted over it's surface in veins.  Don't panic,
it is only age, making its soft patter
over our bodies.  The rain muttered

its sadness against the window.  The glass muttered
its fragility like an eggshell.  The sky turns red
as the clouds seem to release a patter
of droplets I try to catch in my hand.
When the day opens up, I panic
at the fear of its decay.

Yet it is all fiction, this day, this second, already decaying
and the universe could be no more than a muttered
phrase, a mantra to save us, to stop panic.
I close my eyes, see the red
against the lids, close my hands
and let the gentle patter

envelope me, this rain, this sweet patter
of rhythms as old as time, decayed
and starving like a lubricious lover, with hands
that reach for everything.  The answer is muttered
into the void and all turns red
as I try to calm this panic.

The rain comes harder, a frenzied panic
of water overflowing the calm patter,
like a soft gentle pink turned to crimson red.
The Earth becomes decayed
with mud.  The dirt mutters
its pain under the deluge, like hammering hands.

As the sky lets down its crown with liquid hands,
I let the panic settle into a soft patter, a muttered beat. 
My decayed heart marries the earth, a frog in my chest,
a red moon descended.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Retro-Wednesday: Sharing Personal Classics

Written as a teenager:

Night's Gown

Midnight oceans waver
the moon shining silver ribbons
across black satin waters.

The wind's steady beat
harmonizes with my breathing
as breezes play with my hair.

Shady velvets fill the sky,
stars glitter like diamond buttons
reflecting lacy streamers on ruffled waves.

In a silent fantasy,
I dream
of donning night's gown
and dancing across heaven's floor.

Monday, February 15, 2010

One Single Impression: Gold


This poem was inspired by the prompt from onesingleimpression at http://onesingleimpression.blogspot.com/2010/02/prompt-103-gold.html
I still have the experimental mindset inspired by readwritepoem which inspired my poem In the City.

Girl on the Beach

She was golden,
gliding across golden sand;
the sun glinted on her skin,
gilded and glistening.

In the waves, she hears the whispers
"you are beautiful"
"you are beautiful"
She lays down in the sand,
a golden corpse,
a skeleton without reason.

She could suck up the whole ocean

and still be empty.

She drowns in water
the sun painted gold,
a melting idol
a forgotten god.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Haiku from prompt: Seductive

Today's prompts is "seductive" from haiku bones.  Perfect for Valentine's Day!  Here is my offering and I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday!



The silky moon slides
up the cool, blue sky, trembling,
remnant of a kiss.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Poem: In the City



The prompt from http://readwritepoem.org/ this week is to basically write a poem not using familiar elements from your work.  In other words, break out of the pattern to see what comes forth.  Instead of being systematic, I am going to be more instinctual about it to see what comes.  I love this idea and may try it on an ongoing basis as a way to refresh my writing.  Here goes my experiment!

In the City

In the city, he tries to come clean
get lost in all the noise,
the cacophony like a Greek chorus
gone mad.

The shoosh of the subway
slides into the station,
her whispers remain against his ear
her voice like the whip of a flag
waving over a foreign territory.
Her body lying still, covers her thoughts
like a soft sand.

He finds his way up the stairs,
the buildings stare down at him
like sentinels guarding some secret
of a lost age. 

How huge and small he feels
as he finds his way among the dead
faces, he's never felt more awake
or more
singular.

A clogged artery

the dog that barks at night
the sidewalk has failed.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Since It is February: Love Poem in a Snow Storm

This poem arose out of a prompt from one single impression.  The prompt was "single".  I am loving all of these poetry blogs and prompts!  I just love everything about poetry and am really excited to be a part of the online world of poetry.  I wish I knew such great poets were online before!!


Love Poem in a Snow Storm

Eyes, like the greatest days of childhood,
Cool blue pool, carribean sky, almost scared
to just jump.
Sound, breath, smiles, laughter,
we are red against white, song against silence.
Who knew a man could have such softness against
such strength, textures, touch, olive perfection.
My fragility shatters
like the webs radiating across a pond.
A white storm, a nascent dream, a room opening in on itself;
the sunlight filters through a slit in blue cotton curtains;
everything becomes
light light light.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Haiku: Breath

I am finding so many wonderful poetry blogs.  One of them is haikubones.  I am going to try to participate in their prompt--"Breath"



cerulean sky pre-
twilight, heads towards violet.
I inhale the moon's breath.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Poem: The Wallpaper

I am participating for the first time in readwritepoem.org's Thursday "get your poem on".  They have some excellent poets who you can check out at http://readwritepoem.org/blog/2010/02/04/get-your-poem-on-112/#comments.  Here is my creation from the prompt that was given:


The Wallpaper
torn down.
piece by piece,
a brown skin dyed with
pain, truth, and the strange matters of marriage.

it would be easier to forget,
just paint over it,
no scraping the glue that
never held quite right;
or the little paper bits
that remain like remnants of
remembered hurts.

we wrote on it,
painted on it,
drew pictures of our desires
as if it were magical,
as if it could grant
perfect harmony.

we stand staring, now,
at all we hoped for
crumbling, decaying at our feet,
glue browned with time like old blood,
wondering how much sorrow
a house can hold.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Poem: The Waitress

This poem I wrote about seven or eight years ago.  I think I was trying something different, trying to paint a scene and a relationship.  Sometimes, I just wanted to go out of my comfort zone.  I still do--that is what makes poetry (and any creative endeavor) exciting to me!

The Waitress

The waitress wore a green apron
and brought us our water.
The ice shook in the glasses
clinked in your eyes.

Don't open your mouth
to shake hell out of it.
You sit there, grease on your lips,
a limp breast on your plate.

No, no apologies.
The green beans steam--
You're so hungry for something.

She dances back, dessert balanced between us.

I love chocolate, hate you.
Your hands and mouth devour flesh.
Your body full, supple,
satisfied.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Poem: Saying I Love You At The Beach

Since February includes Valentine's day, I will share some love poems I have written this month. 

When I was 19, I fell in love for the first time.  It was painful, agonizing, transformative.  Although the romance itself did not go anywhere, it generated several poems.  Here is one of them:


Saying I Love You at the Beach

What are the borders of the sky?
You say the fish in the water.
You say fish.
The sky contained.  Wish.
I say my fish is in your water.
We catch the borders in our mouths
like hooks to pull us back.
You say boundaries.
I say swim.
Green sweet algae rubbing against clouds.
Yes, we have found our waves in the wind.
I say hold my fin.  Contained.  The mirror.
The age, the joy, the firm belief.
Gone.  Only air.  The joy of flight.
Leap and glitter like a plate of armor
on a silver fish.  Yes, they swim in here.
Hear my heart's tide.  The shells wash up on the beach.
The fish in the tank has no existence.
On the rocky shore is the one beat.
My fish is in your water.  In your eyes, the sky contained.

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Six Word Saturday

Project Runway is entertaining and fun.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Poem: Indigo

I do not remember when I wrote this poem.  It was at least fifteen years ago.  I guess I was going for an image type poem.  Anyway, here it is!
Indigo

Feel-
the only
way
is
through
the fields.

The knives
of corn leaves
reach to draw blood
from
indigo skies-
the color of
your
mind-
sinking into
my
consciousness.

Husk of a voice-
scratches the air-
the tornado is
against my
ears-I can
hear the
windsong-
I am
ready
for
violence.

You smile against
your soul-
try to escape
into
the masks
of matter.

See the sky disappear-
because my eyes close.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Poem: Insomnia After the Conversation

I wrote this poem about thirteen years ago for a graduate poetry class I was taking at Rutgers in Camden.  The poetry professor made the commment that the poem, particularly the last line, was reminiscent of Sappho Sappho: A New Translation


Insomnia After the Conversation

This is whole,
right here, right now.
Kill me then.  I can't breathe
with the night bearing down
and down, giving birth to nothing
but minutes.
I know.  Pain now, wisdom later.
f that.  I've only got one here,
one now.  The grand lie:
I breathe, eat, sleep.  I can survive.
Enough.
Make all the whiteness disapper; I can't take this
void.
Your voice. You convinced me no one is real.
Good job.  now I believe in death, in loss, in change.
I hate you, or what I've made of you, full of messages.
Damn.  Where's the source?  Where's the all?
My pillow is flat.  The blankets twisted.
The moon is too bright.  I can't sleep.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Poem: You, me, the moon after the fight

This poem I wrote about ten years ago.  I was trying to play with sound a little bit. 





You, me, the moon after the fight

The moon swooned
like a drunken sailor
dipping his hand into the sea.

What's imported
as the water laps
into dreams?

Getting lost
one way or another,

The sailor flips his palm
like a giant fish;
pale fingers glint wet
like gills.

The boats disappear
into the sea,
into the dark sky and night.
They drown in the orange moon's descent.

We follow.

If you like my poetry, you can see some more poems on my photography blog:
haiku
Poem: Requiet
Poem: The Hidden
Poem: Winter Watch
Haiku for Winter

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Poem: Cage

This poem I wrote for a college class at Rider University.  I was twenty (this was shortly after my sister took me to Disney World as a 21st birthday gift during Spring Break, which has nothing to do with the poem.  Just a random memory from that time).  The class was "The Poem" where we read poetry and wrote poetry.  I loved it!  The professor, Dr. Maynard was a really nice woman who had a real passion for literature and was a great poet in her own right.  She was just one of those professors who had a positive energy, a pleasant demeanor, and a sharp mind.  She memorized many famous poems.  Dr. Maynard even told the class about her son reciting Blake's "Tyger Tyger burning bright", from Songs of Innocence and of Experience, freaking out his elementary teacher. 

Anyway, I digress!  In the class, one type of poem we had to write was a Villanelle.  The following is my villanelle for that class:


Cage

In quiet song, I saw a bird in flight,
Falling dreamily down into its nest;
Safe from freedom, wild dreams, the crows of night.

Mother dreams, I breathe in the wingless night,
My flightless feathers reach for the moon's crest;
In quiet song, I touched a bird in flight.

All the windows are locked, no death tonight.
Mother murmurs, dreaming, "I know what's best."
Safe from freedom, wild dreams, the crows of night.

Twilight dreams make me Icarus in flight,
Yet always beyond the sea's highest crest.
In quiet song, I am a bird in flight.

Mother, do you feel the launching of night,
Wings curled around you, caught in your dream's nest,
Safe from freedom, wild dreams, the crows of night?

I hand in my feathers, forsaking flight,
Giving up beauty, love, and all the rest.
In quiet song, I caged a bird in flight,
Safe from freedom, wild dreams, the crows of night.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Thursday, January 14, 2010

The Hunger

The following poem I wrote about fifteen years ago when I was in my early twenties.  Almost my entire life, I have struggled with my weight.  My frustrations with this process came out as this poem:

The Hunger

You can tell by the back of my legs that I eat dinner.
I should starve like a good girl.
Yes. Delicious sound. Starve.
That easy to be loved.
Starvation.

To wake up,
Stand on spindly legs (not one ounce of fat),
stretch out my lean body.  Bones like letters
spell out beauty, spell out yes.

Dreams like little green vegetables devoured slow,
like me thinning,
fall from my slender legs into somewhere.

Hear these sounds of hunger:
Faint music, drums.
My clothes just loose enough. Yes.
Beautiful, a dream, a bird, yes.