I am very pleased to announce the publication of two picture books, written and illustrated by yours truly!
EVEN SINGING WAS THE MOON!–for those who love to sing and read, also a bedtime book.
ABC GOAT–for those who love letters! And cake! And friends!
Please check them out! Review if you can!
What Makes One
what makes one begin
after a battle
begin again
after a war
after whatever
razes all
to the ground–
maybe it’s hunger,
or maybe the need to breathe,
to get out, get away,
get the bodies out
of the way–
maybe something in the cells
cries out for water
says get water
guard water
find what water
can be guarded–
or, maybe its the hearing of cries
for water
the not wanting to hear
such cries–
********************
For my own prompt on Real Toads about rebirthing,, rebooting– The pic is mine; all rights reserved.
Cold
I have been so cold
all day,
one hand mittening a tea mug, the other icicling
rough lips, a quaking
inside.
Why have you come to me, virus?
When I was already too sad
to be sick.
But that’s how it works, you whisper,
snarkily,
while me, I sniff, and tell myself
that time will surely bring
relief,
and tell myself how still I must change
my life,
and wonder whether I will now.
**************************
Another drafty poem for April and for the Real Toads prompt about the monster that’s a bad roommate, this the rhinovirus currently camped out in my throat and nose.
When Thinking of Scars
I have heard that Buddhists ask
what one should do in a world filled
with sharp stones?
Should we cover the world with
soft leather, so that we might walk
where we will?
Or should we simply cover
our feet?
I tend to wear thickish shoes,
my skin so thin.
**********************
Drafty poem for Sherry”s prompt on Real Toads.
Somewhen
Somewhen a car roams,
the shape of my torso already
ghosting its hood;
stairs I will have fallen down
await,
a stream slips around the sometime rocks
in my pockets;
the sea breathes me.
They all speak late at night, sotto voce–
They think that I don’t hear them.
(They know that I hear them.)
(They count upon my hearing them.)
In the cone that is a too-bright light lit late,
the car hood blinks, the stairs shrug,
the stream blushes – the sea too feels sheepish–embarrassed all
by how they need me
to make them into fates–
embarrassed all of them, but not so embarrassed
as to simply let me be.
*******************
Another would-be poem for Sanaa’s prompt on Real Toads about late nights. It is difficult for me to return comments till this weekend, but will.
This Chair Not a Political Hack
The chair contemplated
the bums it had supported, fated, it seemed,
to be rated
bottom rung,
catching what might otherwise fall
between the cracks.
What the chair wished:
to be for once the one who tables
the motion,
who starts a movement with legs,
makes others do its bidding;
not hidden
beneath the suits and toots.
The thing, it thought woodenly:
to take a stand–
But life was not fair
to this chair,
and the chair?
It just sat there,and took it, oh yeah-
*****************
A joke to lift some of the political gloom. I am sorry to be slow returning comments but very grateful for them. This is written for HA prompt on Real Toads to write from the perspective of an object. He quotes a beautiful Wallace Stevens poem, that could not be more different.
Tried to make a nest
She tried to make a nest upon his chest,
as if by folding into him
she could get him to hold her.
She liked to think of the light there as blue
but it was grey.
The chill of cement
as she walked to him, then bent to look for
a hollow, to fit into
a hollow,
could still be recalled
by her bared feet,
the hard cement beneath
whatever they covered it with.
*********************************
Draftish poem for Marian’s prompt on Real Toads about changes in love.
Recent Comments