Mother's Day

Last August, a Palestinian poet with whom I was not that familiar passed away. His name was Mahmoud Darwish. As I read some of the articles about him, I came across his poem "My Mother" and was struck by a couple of the stanzas. In honor of Mother's Day, I share them with you now:

I must be worth my life
At the hour of my death
Worth the tears of my mother.

I might become immortal
Become a God
if I touch the depths of your heart.

I know a lot gets lost in anything translated, but I still appreciate the beauty of the sentiment in this poem, especially on a day like today when I think of all that my mother has done for me, all the love that she has given me and continues to give. Happy Mother's Day, Lois.

Poetry: Almost Unnoticed

Phew! I thought we'd never get here!! It's been a long month, people. I'm not in love with most of the poems I've posted - to be honest, there were quite a few days when I approached the poetry-writing task with a 'just get-her-done' attitude . . . and the results were, well, what would be expected - but, looking back at all 30 poems, there are at least 3 or 4 I genuinely like and think could be pretty decent given a little more time, thought, and revising (e.g., Pirate's Treasure, Monotony, How to Whistle in Prison, and Poking the Dead).

I think I'll look back at this experience as a sort of poetry boot camp - tough, but it reinforced a discipline in my creative writing habits that had waned quite a bit (perhaps to the point of nonexistence!). I have certainly learned a lot about my strengths and weaknesses in poetry writing and enjoyed incorporating more creative time into my life. I'm looking forward to writing more poetry without the pressure of daily deadlines. For one thing, it will certainly open up length possibilities - you just can't write anything longer than a few stanzas every day when you've also got a day job!

And one last note - the Academy of American Poets is promoting Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day today. Print out some of the poems they have posted, or print a few of your own favorites, and spread the love! Since I don't get out much myself (since I freelance from home), I'm going to direct people to this blog to share the poems I've created over the past month. (So, I guess my blog is moonlighting as a pocket today.)

I'd also like to suggest you check out some of the work of my favorite poets if you're looking to explore the world of poetry a little more; they are Sharon Olds, Rita Dove, and Louise Gluck.

And here is my own 30th and final poem for the poetry pledge drive, an endorsement for just getting out there and WRITING!


Almost Unnoticed

They say start
At the beginning. I say start
Where you find yourself.
I say be bad at something
You want to be good at
Until you're good or until you
Don't care about being good
Anymore. No more
Perfect words. Just words -
Whichever ones come and please
You. Tell the story, perhaps not
Aching to be told, but sitting still,
Almost unnoticed.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: The Love Lesson of the Lemming

Here is poem # 29 for the poetry pledge drive - a love poem . . . ? It's about the cliche and ubiquity of 'I love you' but also about not letting that keep you from making the leap of faith for as long as it may last.


The picture is of me skydiving about 6 years ago (I'm the one on the bottom). I thought it suited the imagery.



The Love Lesson of the Lemming

It's been said, it's been said, it's been said!
Who hasn't said it? Everyone you have
Ever met? Your mother? The grocer?
The train wreck? Why do we all clamor
To be the next lemmings, all convinced
We can fly?

But I've felt that rush from the free-
Fall; I know how the lemming feels
Before impact, how time stretches,
How falling is flying, how everything is
Fine if you don't think
It will end.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Big Hair

I promised a limerick this month, didn't I? (Dammit.) Limericks, which are traditionally bawdy, can be really fun - especially when they're also a little witty. I'm not feeling particularly witty today, though, so you'll have to settle for self-deprecating humor.

Here you are, poem # 28 for the poetry pledge drive, a limerick, a 'shout-out' to my home town. Yes, as a teenager in the 80's, I did indeed have . . .

Big Hair

There once was a girl from Revere
Who had such extremely big hair.
When asked to be clever,
She said, "Well, I never!"
Before flashing her underwear.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Along the Dotted Line

Here is poem # 27 for the poetry pledge drive. In this time of recession and pinching pennies, I give you a piece inspired by coupons.

Along the Dotted Line

For his birthday, or Valentine's
Day, or just because
He deserves it, make him

A love coupon book.
Nothing expresses undying
Affection like coupons. (Void
Where prohibited.)

Include some free naughty
Rendezvous - at least a few
Pages' worth. (Not redeemable
For cash value.)

And a get-out-of-the
Dog-house-free page
For those days

You may regret
Having made the book
For him. (Limit one
Per customer.)

He'll appreciate the thought
You put into it - nothing
Like something handmade
To show you care. (Cut

Along the dotted line.)
Perhaps he'll even return
The gesture some day.
(At participating locations
only.)

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Hungry Fencers

Here is poem # 26 for the poetry pledge drive which was inspired by something I do on the weekends.

Hungry Fencers

Don’t look at me,

(En garde)

You were the one

Who was supposed to

Pick it up.

(Attaque)

Yes, but you were the one

Who was supposed to

Place the order.

(Parry, riposte)

Right, but you were

Supposed to leave me

A note with what you wanted.

(Parry, passé)

You mean this

Note, right here?

(Touché )

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Cake Days

I have cooking on the brain because I just recently got in from a cooking class, so it should be no surprise then that my poem # 25 for the poetry pledge drive is cooking related (on one level anyway).

Cake Days

The cake will come out perfect -
Sliding smoothly out
Of the pan, even on all sides,
Moist and melting

On your tongue. No crumbs
Will get in the frosting as
You ice. People on diets
Will take seconds and hope
No one notices. I promise,

You will have days like this.

The next day, you may burn
The toast, accidentally crack
The egg yolks, the whites

Coming out like rubber, the timing
All wrong, your juice
Glass more than half-empty
Before your plate is
Ready.

But you can
Remember the cake.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Sweating Loss

Here is poem # 24 for the poetry pledge drive. It's the last week of the pledge drive and I'm grasping at straws for ideas for new poems every day at this point. As if the haiku weren't bad enough, I now give you . . . a mad lib. That's right. I've stooped that low.

I randomly started a poem leaving blanks that needed to be filled in and then asked my husband for a person, noun, color, etc. to fill in those blanks. If you remember these things from your childhood, you'll remember that they often turn out funny, surreal, or at least a little bit interesting because the unexpected words create unconventional visual images. Unfortunately, this didn't turn out to be satisfying in any of those ways. But what it did do was make me realize I kind of knew what I wanted in those blanks in the first place, so it ended up working as an exercise to counter writer's block.

I've included both the version with which my husband 'helped' (the fill-in-the-blank words are bolded) and my rewrite for your amusement. (I'm still not sure which one's worse!)

The Farmer's Chili
Over and over
Again I asked the farmer
To open the chili before

The shoes suffocate,
Gasping for ecru air,
Sweating confusion,
Sweating
Loyalty.

Sweating Loss
Over and over
Again I asked the nurse
To open the window before

The visitors suffocate,
Gasping for grey air,
Sweating sympathy,
Sweating
Loss.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Misunderstood

Here is poem # 23 for the poetry pledge drive. Think of it as an asshole's elevator break-up speech. It's lacking a lot of visual imagery, I know, but it does capture the shit-heel sentiments pretty accurately. So, for now, just consider this the skeletal sketch of a poem that will become fully fleshed out at a later date.

Misunderstood

Assholes commit this
To memory:

"For the record, I never said
I knew where this was
All going. I told you I was
Selfish and not very likely
To commit. Love is just
Something that's not
Built to last, and I am
Sad about that too. I'm sorry
You misunderstood me."

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Be Heard

Here is poem # 22 for the poetry pledge drive.

Be Heard

I would wish this on anyone -
The danger of knowing

Too much. Let them fear
You, gnash their teeth

At night, look over their shoulders
Cowering. Want to know more

Than they want you to, crack open
Every book, entertain the ideas

Of heretics, demand every voice
Be heard.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Barefoot

Here is poem # 21 for the poetry pledge drive, which was inspired by an article that a friend posted earlier today.


Barefoot

They say expensive sneakers
Cause more injuries and don't

Help us to be better

Runners, say we're better
Off running with nothing on

Our feet like our ancestors; our toes
Give us more control.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Pirate's Treasure

Here is poem # 20 for the poetry pledge drive. This one is about one of my least favorite experiences.


Pirate's Treasure

They study the blue
Lines snaking
Just under the surface -

My pale arm a pirate's
Treasure map.

I explain how elusive
It is, what they're looking for.
I point out where

Others have tried
And look away, whistling,
Wishing them luck.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Resilience

Here is poem #19 for the poetry pledge drive, which was inspired by a few things - watching my husband work in the garden today, hearing about evictions in the news, having just said goodbye to someone who is moving tomorrow, and thinking about moving myself.

I'm trying hard not to look back at what I've posted so far, not to judge and compare each piece, but I can't seem to help it. The danger of doing it is that it can be tantamount to writing an engraved invitation to writer's block, but it can also open your eyes to bad writing habits you need to break, weaknesses you need to overcome, etc.

So far, two things of which I've become acutely aware are that my imagery could stand to be more subtle yet stronger and that the meter and cadence of my lines truly suck. To remedy the former, I know I need to use less obvious and more vivid and evocative language. Fixing the latter is going to prove to be a challenge though. I look forward to analyzing that problem a little more closely when I evaluate all 30 of these poems at the end of the month. Lord knows what else I'll discover in the process . . . .

Resilience

As the season changes -
A tap on the shoulder - you turn
Over the soil, and the earth starts

To crawl. Evicted but not put out,
The pill bugs get straight to work navigating
The new terrain. Things that could have been

Much worse are fine. In the fetal position,
They still find good shelter. When we move,
I hope to remember this.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Yankees Suck

Okay, I'm pretty much 'phoning it in' with this poem #18 for the poetry pledge drive today. I'm sorry - but, at some point, writing a poem a day is just going to sap every last creative juice out of you, . . . and I'm going to say THIS is that point. With any luck I'll get a second wind though, so continue to stay tuned.



Yankees Suck

A new curse is born.
The Indians' arms have grown
Tired from the swinging.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Monotony

Poem #17 for the poetry pledge drive is brought to you by the tedium of routine, inspired by another long drive on the 118. It needs considerable tweaking, but I'm tired and my pillow is calling.


Monotony

I could cherish the familiar more
If it didn't involve wasting away
Endless hours traveling
In the same circles. How many
More times

Will my tires turn on the corner?
All the things I wash will be dirty
Again soon enough. I will climb

Into the tub with a bottle in hand
To clean the things I clean with. I will drink

My weight in water, eyes swimming,
Teeth floating. I will sweep away dead
Leaves that will come back, faithful
Dogs with their sticks.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Under the Green Bridge

Here is poem #16 for the poetry pledge drive. It was inspired by a scene I saw while dining outside at The Simon Pearce Restaurant at the mill in Quechee, VT last year.



Under the Green Bridge

Just beyond the waterfall, under
The green bridge, the teenagers
Meet, the young man and woman arriving
Separately, greeting each other
With shy smiles. She tests the waters,
Dipping one toe; showing great form,
He does backflips hoping to impress
Her. Breathless and clutching wet towels
Awkwardly, they will eventually leave,
But not until the sun has gone
Down, has stopped providing warmth.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Leisure

Here is poem #15 for the poetry pledge drive. Can it be I've really made it halfway?? . . . I don't know whether to be proud of myself for getting this far or overwhelmed by the thought that I've got another two weeks to go. Maybe it's best if I not think about it too much . . .


Leisure

Sleeping in my favorite chair,
As I work, whiskers twitching,
A curl of fur, head turned
Upside down, like an artist trying
To get new perspective,
In her dreams. She has
The full benefit of leisure.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Ghost Eyes

Here is poem #14 for the poetry pledge drive. This one was a tough one to write because I kept getting all choked up. Nothing like poetry to dredge up all kinds of feelings and memories. Seriously, therapy and prescription drugs are overrated. Just go write yourself some poetry and have a glass of wine.


Ghost Eyes

People often ask me about the ring I put on
For special occasions - convex and sparkling, two
Strange ghost eyes set side by side. I would stare
As my grandmother carefully held her teacup
And me, gesturing with animated fingers, usually

To punctuate a curse. She promised me the ring
Because I'd always liked it, but I didn't
Feel right about it. I never

Will. It was given to me
As a surprise for my birthday -
Two eyes in a box staring up at me two years
Too soon, because she wasn't going to make it
To my graduation.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Persistence

Here is poem # 13 for the poetry pledge drive. I'd started on another poem that was never going to be done today, so, in desperation, I turned to the haiku again because I knew I could churn one out quickly. I'd like to say I won't make a habit of it, . . .but I've got 18 more posts to go (I'm not even at the halfway mark yet!), so I'm not making any promises.

Persistence

Life breaks the boundaries.
The neighbor's fence slats give way
When the sun insists.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.

Poetry: Minnows

Here is poem # 12 for the poetry pledge drive. I'm going to click 'publish' before I look at it again and decide I need to change it . . . again.


Minnows

I had made a new friend, someone
Who was just visiting for the day, I wasn't
Used to being the one in charge, I didn't know
Where to go or what to do, so I decided
To show her the minnows

Swimming. The marsh grasses were tall,
The air thick with the smell of sea
Life. I pointed out the tiny creatures

Darting this way and that
In the narrow creek. She'd slipped
From the bank before I could
Catch her, but I did fish her out.
I pulled her mud-slick body back

Up over the edge. Luckily, it was low

Tide and the water only ever got her
Pants wet to the knees. But the mud -
The mud was everywhere. We tracked it

Behind us all the way,
A guilty trail to my grandmother's feet,
Where I got a smack on the fanny before
She sent me home
Alone. Upon reaching my house,

I knocked on my own front door, filthy
And terrified. My mother was already waiting
Towel in her hands like when I'd come in from playing
In the snow. I'll always remember how it felt
To be grounded for the first time.

To read other poems or poetry-related posts on this blog, click here.