Archive for January 2014

Cut – Friday Flash 55

January 31, 2014

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Cut

You justified coldness
as kind, and so, looked through me,
your body all back.

I remembered that, tonight,
identifying crow tracks
in the snow, not
the forked tread of crows’ feet–
the spread pleats
of wings,
slits in the white crust,
the featherweight push
of take-off.

How can we be
so cruel
in love?

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Here’s a draft poem–I don’t really have it right–but it IS 55 words, so please go tell the G-Man

The picture–if you can make it out–are the indentation of crows’ wings in the snow–you can see marks of feet to the side (not the true tracks of the feet though–but where it pushed off).  If the pic doesn’t come out in your browser, please click on it, as it is kind of cool. 

Poetcizing

January 29, 2014

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Poeticizing

Tongue trawls lines
charily;
mouth centering
life saver
with cored
sibilance;
limns sweetness
and not; loves
what it sounds like.

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Twitter poem written on iPhone for Mama Zen on with real toads.

Late January

January 27, 2014

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Late January

The word “longing”
opens a sky
of evening, summers,
the stream at our feet so dark
there is no ripple can be seen
but the opals ringing
the stones you skip,
and when you touch me, afterwards,
you’re warm as the sun, earlier,
your smile catching light
no longer there,
and I can’t even think of the harm
that we ward away
or the pain that will come,
no matter.

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Back at work, computer acting up, writing on iPhone! Here’s a draft poem! Hope all well.

Good News, Bad News

January 25, 2014

Good News/Bad News

Good News/Bad News

And then there was the man–look!–
who fell out of an aero plane.  That was the bad news.
But, phew! he fell onto a haystack–
the good news:  that apparently his back
was not broken
through the intervention of
dried grass.
But hey! there was
a needle in that stack–bad news.  Except, wait–
he turned out to have a camel
in his pocket, which fit exactly through the eye
of that needle–good news–
for that took him straight to, do-not-pass-go to,
the kingdom of heaven, not
so much because he was a rich man
but because the haystack hadn’t worked that well after all–
not against a fall
from the sky.

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This is the reworking of an old rather silly poem that is actually in my book Going on Somewhere.  I am posting it for Mary’s post “on the other hand” on dVerse Poets Pub.   Check out dVerse.  Check out my books!  

The Way the Mind Sometimes Works in a Cold Climate, Januaries

January 25, 2014

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The Way the Mind Sometimes Works in a Cold Climate, Januaries

It snows aslant
in small fast flakes
and of a sudden
you are gone
as if you’d not left years ago
and I weep
as if I’d not wept ever
as if that bucket
were not already full.

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First, I want to thank all the commenters over the last few days  for your exceedingly kind wishes and encouragement.  I am feeling considerably better.

I tend always to have a rather gloomy side, I’m afraid, mixed with the jolly–hence the name of the blog – which some mistake for Manic Daily, not noticing that extra d in the middle–and one aspect of the flu has been to accentuate the gloomy.  

Yes, it’s also a very gloomy photograph.  I ventured outside (ssshhh!  don’t tell my husband) to take some direct pics of the snow, but they didn’t convey what I wanted, so took this one from a rather dark hallway, because it seemed dramatic.  (And the windows were relatively clean.)  All rights reserved.   

 

My Father (bedtime story poem)

January 23, 2014

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My Father

My father knelt beside my bed; his round head
reflecting the bedside lamp with the look
of lighting within.  “And the genie,” he said,
“came out of a big blue jar.”  Not from a book
were the stories he told me at night.
Always of genies who were big-blue-jarred
and did fairly little, only the slight
magic of minor wishes, often ill-starred.
Though the stories were just a warm up to
the bedtime prayer.  “Our Father,” that would start,
then straight out head for “hallowed”, “trespass” too,
unknown words, to me a spell he knew by heart,
invoking, croakingly, a wished-for will
bigger than jars blue genies might fill.

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This is a very old poem, a sonnet, that I am reposting (with some slight re-working) for the wonderful Brian Miller’s prompt “bedtime stories” at dVerse Poets Pub.  I am not at my best so may be slow returning comments, but will get back to people eventually, thanks!   (Yes, I know Pat the Bunny doesn’t really go with it!) 

I have gone back and edited the last line of this poem since first posting. I still don’t feel it’s quite right!  Agh! 

Flu (In the Coop)

January 23, 2014

Flu (In the Coop)

Who jammed that Bic
in my right ear?
What magpie mistakes my eye
for its best marble?

Rib cage so brittle that
Mortality barely rattles, then
marauds, gnawing joints
with equal-opportunity slaver–

I tell myself, batting him back,
how different I’ll be
when he’s pacified;
my mind, even as chest cough-quakes, says
“yeah, sure.”

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Sorry for yet another flu poem.  And my husband says it’s too gloomy, that I really will be different when I recover.  Whatever.  Here’s 55 of the most plaintive for the G-man