Archive for the ‘poetry’ category

One Thing

June 26, 2013

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One Thing

It is one thing to know that you will die someday;
quite another
to live with the consequences.

How is it done–going on? Knowing that you,
and all you know–but let’s just focus on the “you”–
maybe even call it “I”–the “i-You”–will, like any
device, any byte
of compressed data, some day, possibly today,
cease to function, then, to exist.

The answer–after taking a moment
to let the question sink in
along with the sun on your t-shirted belly,
the trilled interval of chirp overhead,
the soft bass of your partner’s chew to the side,
the clack of knife on his plate (more butter)–
and that always-palpable pain behind your eyes even
as they happen onto a sunflower propped
in a clouded jar–
comes first as another question: all gone?

And the answer: maybe.
But we are talking about just you–
you gone–

And the answer: he’s spiraling honey now
and letting it drip down
onto the toast, there,
from the gray knife’s edge.

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Here’s a sort of draft poem, posted belatedly for dVerse Poets Open Link Night. http://dVersepoets.com

Also! Many many congratulations to all my dear gay friends and family members (and also to all those gay people I don’t know) re the overturning of the Defense of Marriage Act. I wish you love, luck and all good things.

What Little Dog Don’t Like (Flash Friday 55)

June 21, 2013

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What Little Dog Don’t Like

“Top Dog” sound good when you’re jes’ small,
but, Little Dog, he don’t like to fall.
Don’t like to tumble, fumble, spill,
(better stay humble, low and still.)

But stand at base, you bear the weight,
and, Little Dog–he don’t like that fate.
What he also hate are stupid clothes-
Grrr-grrr ribbons, grrr-grrr bows.

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55 for the inimitable G-Man, if you don’t count ever single grrr as a separate word.  (And you better not, growl!)

I am also daring to post this as a set of really profound thoughts for a Real Toads prompt with Heretomost.  They are very profound thoughts for Little Dog.

All rights to the drawing, as of all materials on this blog, (except where specifically excepted), belong to me.  Please, in other words, do not reproduce without permission.  Thanks!

“Temper” (Sedoka)

June 20, 2013

Cast Iron Pan

Temper

Words pop like mustard
seeds in a fry pan, skitter
across a cast iron will.

Even heavy heart
can’t damp the heat, skillet words
cast by a crossed iron will.

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The above is an attempted sedoka – not the numbers puzzle (my first impression!)  but a Japanese poem based on a two stanzas with a syllabic count of 5-7-7.  For more, check out the inspiring article by Samuel Peralta on dVerse Poets Pub. 

(Sorry for the re-use of older image.)  

Still Life

June 16, 2013

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Still Life

I’m drawn to fresh road kill
as life stilled –so, I tell myself.
All those beautiful bits–the shimmer normally hidden
by slither, the rich stranding
of too-fast fur, the swath of scarlet
that fly-by only flashes,
laid out flat,
unresistant to swish of air, much less
perusal, each detail more delineated than in a Dürer,
a tableau.

But on that tar or gravel,
there’s death stilled too – and I confess here that it draws
with even greater force–the de-sparked
luster–fellow-feeling flattening me who stands above,
as the double helix that we share openly snares us–
clumsy me/adaptive them–
yet none of us animals that can survive
the push of metal, the susurration
of age, the mighty bustle of decay–
all our wondrous bodies faced some time
with a road we cannot get cross.

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Here’s sort of a draft poem for dVerse Poets Pub’s Poetics prompt on finding beauty
in odd places, hosted by Fred/Hobgoblin of Poetical Psyche.  I am also posting for With Real Toads (Open Link). 

Rondelet – Cityscape

June 14, 2013

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Rondelet – Cityscape

As I walked out,
grey mixed, matched, met me on that street.
As I walked out
in the flashes glass cast about,
its squares of pane and shield replete
with blocked black–oh, grey felt fresh, sweet
as I walked out.

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The above is a draft sort-of rondelet written for Tony Maude’s prompt on dVerse Poets Pub – it is a 7 line form with a repeated refrain. AbAabbA. The refrain line is important, obviously. I took mine from W.H. Auden (As I Walked Out One Evening), though approached it a bit differently.  (This, by the way, is my 1600th post.  I am not sure whether to be embarrassed or proud – or simply tired!)  Thanks to all who’ve given me the encouragement and support to continue.  k.

Lonely Song

June 12, 2013

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Lonely Song

The lonely list to a wayward song,
rocking still as it drones on,
its croon sway-swooning mid-cry, mid-moan,
a scaling slide from wane to bone.

Some break this with a wheedling song,
it pleads, don’t leave me here alone,
it sighs and groans but betrays their case,
importunate need scaring off all grace.

The learnéd lonely let go at last,
hold solitude locked close and fast,
shrink when passers-by come near
(turn up the TV not to hear.)

But some stay always neophytes,
unskilled at solipsistic rites.
These lost somehow can’t learn by heart
the lyrics that make lonesomeness an art.

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Here’s a poem, belatedly, for dVerse Poets Pub Hundredth Open Link Night. One is never lonely at the pub! Check it out and congrats to Brian Miller and Claudia Schoenfeld who are the masterminds of the site.

Also, sorry the above photo is so melodramatic! I took a few of these pics, and was a bit rushed in choosing.

Final apology – I don’t think learned has an accent, but did want to emphasize the -ed.

Final final apology – am uploading from a mobile device. The pic may not show completely on an older browser. Just click on it, if you want to see full pic. Thanks!

Tiered Inside

June 8, 2013

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Tiered Inside

My true self will read all of Proust someday.
Its eye on the ball, it will glass-slipper its way
past every stroke of twelve. It will delve deep
into great ideas, its genetic alleles still
maintaining a Nietzche
in what’s-right-now hip.

Oh, that true self–
that would-be me if I would only be it–
that shit.

But then there’s that other bit–
it’s not a self, so much as a space,
a tier infesting the chest
like the stateless thirteenth floor
of a building too fearful to count–
a sob story–not a tale, but the level where quashed sadness
convenes, recording minutes in blobby diligence, but not
reading Proust,
looking through the glass darkly rather than snookering
into its fine shaped shoe.

This bit does not understand
either Nietzche or the hip, but it does get
that life is a blip–
even the life of the true self, even the life
of the would-be true self, even the life
of whatever self finally just lets be.

This bit grips hard when the selves
loosen, tells them who’s boss.

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Here’s a draft poem for dVerse Poets Pub’s prompt on Entwin(n)ed Poetics, about twins, opposites, divided selves.  Do check it out.  (Also, sometimes photos do not show completely on older browers- if it looks weirdly truncated, just click on it.) 

Why Some Write (Cut-up Homage to W.S.)

June 6, 2013

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Why Some Write (“Cut-Up” Homage to W.S. – the voice in English-speakers’
heads when we do write)

If the way to death is not lighted
by recorded fury, a syllable of strut, the brief stage
of fools told, this last candle of sound,
then life’s but time told
by a shadow, a to-morrow
that frets all yesterdays, and to-morrow,
full of dusty nothing, and
to-morrow, poor hour, a day-to-day that creeps
an idiot’s pace, a player
at walking, a petty tale of out, out.

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Here’s a poem for a very cool dVerse Poets Pubd prompt by Charles Miller that challenges one to use techniques developed both by the Dadaists and the Beats – that is cut-up poetry, mixing and matching words from other texts.

I confess to not being hugely comfortable with cut-up poetry – I’m very big on narrative and direct meaning–so I decided that if I did this exercise I was going to give myself a head start by using some very good words. In this case, I took Macbeth’s soliloquy –“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” from Act V, Scene V of Macbeth. I’ve tried to use all/most of the words – I may have a few more “a” and less “upons”. Being a woman, I also substituted “a” for “his” at one point.

It’s a fun, if challenging, exercise. For me, what was especially interesting in this, was how close the meaning has stayed to good old Shakespeare’s – even though I did try to mix the words up a bit. At any rate, I urge you to try the exercise and check out the other poets at dVerse.

Nocturnal in Be

June 6, 2013

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Nocturnal in Be

Knock-knocked/tick-tocked
self-mocked/self-socked–
Who’s there?

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Here’s a little query in the night for Kerry O’Connor’s prompt for With Real Toads to write a nocturne. I think the prompt was aiming for something more lyrically musical, inspired maybe by Chopin, probably my favorite composer. I could not come up with something more lyrical! But I was reminded by Kerry’s prompt of a story told by Artur Rubinstein, a great Chopin pianist, of how once as a young man, when hounded by creditors and disappointment, he tried to hang himself from a hotel bathroom shower (either rod or shower head) by his bathrobe belt. Even though I suspect that both showers and bathrobes were far more sturdy back then (I believe this was in 1908), the whole apparatus collapsed, leaving Rubinstein (i) alive), (ii) ruefully amused that he was even a failure at suicide; and (iii) with a renewed and seemingly vibrant commitment to life. (This is a memory of the story heard during my childhood when Rubinstein used to actually be on talkshows! I think I have the details right, but I’m sorry if they are a little fuzzy.)

Finally, my story has nothing to do with this story. But I couldn’t help thinking of it because of my attachment to Rubinstein’s performance’s of Chopin’s nocturnes. I urge you to listen to one.

Shame Amidshipmen

June 1, 2013

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Shame Amidshipmen

Gobs of semen lobbed
on a lolling face–don’t talk to me
of protecting and defending when a woman
drunk to sleep
is but a c(o)untry to be surrounded,
invaded, ground
into your back seat, thoroughly
pillaged.

Your compatriot,
your comrade in arms,
your fellow human.

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This was written, crazily, in response to Claudia Schoenfeld’s poetics prompt for dVerse Poets Pub about bathroom poetry – I was thinking of “shower” and this came up.  I’m sorry.  I’ve been very disturbed and outraged today reading about the investigation of a serial rape case involving midshipmen (primarily from the football team) at the US Naval Academy.  Facts are not in, and I don’t mean to implicate the men involved in this particular incident, but lately there have been many reports of sexual abuse and harassment at the academies, and in the military generally.  There are proud institutions that have garnered and deserved a great deal of respect historically, so it is pretty shocking.  (At least to me.)  Sorry this is so grim – I could not think of a graphic.  Check out dVerse for much more cheerful poems today!