Archive for the ‘elephants’ category

Peephole

February 3, 2018

Circus, Budapest, 19 May 1920 Andre Kersetz

Peephole

I peeped on one leg
through the hole at the head
of my life
pressing my face to the knots
of future’s would,
as if to squeeze through an eye
and with it drag
a soul,
thinking my “I” a needle
and the fabric of the world something it could pierce
and then re-piece —

It would have been better,
I realized somewhat later,
simply to stand on two feet, forgo
the eyestrain.

**********************************
Poem of sorts inspired by Kerry O’ Connor’s photographic prompt (the photograph above) on RealToads.

I have two new children’s books out, which I should devote a whole post to–they are Melanie’s Twinkle and Good Light Room.  They are both (I think) pretty cute and I am very proud of them.  Check them out!  Get one!

 

 

 

Moon!

January 24, 2018

Charcoal on paper, 2018, all rights reserved.

What to do?

January 21, 2017

img_0089

img_0090-1

img_0091

img_0092

Keep faith.

On Hearing of his Suicide (New York City Story)

October 1, 2016

20161001-215138-78698626.jpg

On Hearing of his Suicide  (New York City Story)

She wondered if she’d have seen
the depression
had she known his name wasn’t actually
Elvis
(that, only some
Americanized version.)

As it was, she’d always imagined
a teen mom in Eastern Europe,
loving some dream tenderly
as she danced with her two-stepping toddler,
his eyes even then
darkly circled, brow somehow
weighed down.

 

*******************

55 drafty words for Kerry O’Connor’s prompt on Real Toads.  Sadness felt too on hearing this news about a young man I did not know well.

Back Then You Swam Rather Like A Butterfly

May 30, 2016

IMG_1330 - Version 2

Back Then You Swam Rather Like A Butterfly

Somewhere, a sneeze–

its moist blow haloing fellow passengers
in some careering car
of a trained train–

the mucilaginous scree
catapaulting me
to my bed with a bad flu,
while you, not yet a drop
in my bucket, made
ready–

my husband catching it too,
and too recovering
in that same bed.

God bless, I may have said,
in subway’s weary blear–but how was I
so blessed?

Your essence bright blinked some
months later, newborn eyes as dark
as so many kinds
of wisdom–that earth that nourishes
roots, that night that blues
dawn’s horizon, the lifting sides of all the different wings
that astonish us–
what just flew there–flies–

*****************

Poem of sorts for Bjorn Rudberg’s prompt on Real Toads about the butterfly effect.  (True story may be a little more complex. Ha.) 

Giving It A Rest

May 4, 2016

20110622-085905.jpg

 Thanks as always for your support.

When Elephants

April 21, 2016

Christina's pictures 398
When Elephants

I read a book
“when elephants weep”
about tears that look like tar, as impossible
to scrape away

about the grief
of elephants–the messages
sent through shaken
earth-

and then I put the book
on a shelf made of composite wood
and only every once in a while, would catch
the title etched grey along
black spine, maybe while fetching
my raincoat–

wanting somehow not to feel,
to cover, how our world eats
suffering–
I don’t mean meat here, or only–
cows with their kabuki faces
in spring, elephant calfs pink
as raw steaks–

but how we eat land,
trees, air–

and how so many only worry about elephants as large canaries
in this
cold mine–

Oh Christ, we think,
unable to number the species
whose paths we’ve crossed–

****************************
another draft poem for some day in April, for the heck of it, and also for Fireblossom (Shay’s ) prompt on Real Toads about elephants. (Second of those–neither is a great poem! Agh!)  Pic is of some old bones at the American Museum of Natural History (I believe some here may be of elephants/mastodons given what looks like a bit of tusk protruding.)