Posted tagged ‘manicddaily’

Loss of Two Cultural Icons (And More)–Thanks to/for Them

March 28, 2012

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Two cultural icons die over the last two days.

Of course, they were more than “cultural icons.”  (The term ‘cultural icon’ could probably be applied to the star of a reality show.)

Two great American artists die over the last two days:  Adrienne Rich, great and groundbreaking American poet, 1929-2012, dying yesterday; Earl Scruggs, great bluegrass banjo player, 1924-2012, dying today.

I’m not in any way comparing Rich and Scruggs, their impact, lasting value, merits, reach. They were both inspirational practictioners of their arts, each happening to die in late March 2012, each incredibly devoted to what they did and wonderful at it.  I personally really liked them both.

I am sure they had somewhat different visions of the world and country. but what’s strikes me at this moment is my personal great good fortune to live in a world and country that has accommodated both of their voices.

I’m sending out thanks for their wonderful gifts, and the very different inspiration, and invitations to joy, compassion, understanding, and protest that they offered their audiences.

There are wonderful links to Rich’s poetry, and a short bio, at the Poetry Foundation. For Scruggs, well, check out youtube.

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“Cooling Off (In a March Cornfield)”

March 27, 2012

Cooling Off (In a March Cornfield)

The stalks bent down in broken-spined decay
around a squelching way to what she hoped
was fresher mind–clear of the stuffy day
where, shut indoors, resolve itself had moped.
In movement now, and mud, and steel-cold air,
she sought to shed the skin of that day’s self–
she’d bitched at him;  she knew she wasn’t fair–
but his acceptance of what, upon life’s shelf,
seemed crumbs (to her), turned lips to lion’s jaws
that tore at sense and spattered rage.  She walked
on hard; regrets to come should give her pause,
but patience (his) made self-possession balk.
So, laboring through a frozen field of corn,
she waited for redemption to be borne.

This sonnet (newly-revised) seemed to fit today’s abrupt drop in temperature.  It’s my offering for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night.   (An earlier  version can be found in my book of poems, Going on Somewhere. )
Also, a question for any interested poets:  at the last minute in my re-write, I considering changing verb in final couplet from labor to “wade,” but decided against it, basically because I voted for combination of labor/borne (born) over sound effects, but am curious about other’s views.  Any thoughts:

“So, wading through a frozen field of corn,
she waited for redemption to be borne.”

Thanks much, as always.  K.

Cacaphony of Birds/Wobbly Boots/No leaves yet

March 26, 2012

The above is a video posted for audio purposes only. The visuals are fairly static except where my iPhone wobbles. In my defense, I was wearing extremely unstable boots (MBTs), which make it virtually impossible to stand with completely stillness. (This is one more reason, aside from their comical appearance, why I may not buy such boots again, even on sale.)

But putting aside the wobbly boots and screen–well, listen!

Birds!  There are not yet leaves on the trees and yet–

Birds!

Tons of them. Not exactly singing, still–

Birds!

Below are the wobbly boots.  They make big feet look huge, and skinny legs look–well, look!

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“Mirror Mirror” (A Lot Shorter Than The Movie)

March 25, 2012

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Here’s a bit of a throwaway  (I shouldn’t call it that–how about a bit of “fluff”) for Tess Kincaid’s Mag 101.  Tess posts a great photo each week as a writing prompt.  The above is my drawn version of the photo and my poem. (The original photo was by Duane Michals.)

Mirror Mirror

Mirror, mirror, in my arms,
multiply my many charms.
Cast them here and throw them there.
round the arch, above the fair.
Loop them over that which glisters–
‘till me and my refracted sisters,
with iron will and eye for gold,
prove ourselves both brave and bold.
Oh glass, let face reflected twice,
out-spark glare’s fire, freeze shoulder’s ice,
as we set out to make our own
Who’s Who flesh and blue blood’s bone. 
Up up we’ll climb, we won’t look down,
dear mirror, till we toast the town.
and then together, all us three,
will, finally, be simply–me.  

(I am also linking this poem to Poetry Picnic’s prompt about favorite things, as I think the mirror may qualify for this poetic character.

Have a lovely Sunday, and if you’ve got a moment, check out my books!  Very fun novel, NOSE DIVE,  book of poetry, GOING ON SOMEWHERE, or children’s counting book 1 MISSISSIPPI. )

Her Own Private Not-Idaho – “Seeing Blue”

March 24, 2012
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Photo by James Rainsford.

dVerse Poets Pub has a poetics challenge today hosted by Victoria C. Slotto and James Rainsford, using lovely photographs by James Rainsford.  Here’s mine (based on photo above):

Seeing Blue 

So, the sea is blue and Caesar conquered.
(That’s all they talk of in this wonk herd.)
We’ve trooped up every single stone-walled fort
and every stack of bricks of that same sort.
(My mom thinks we should learn when on vacation–
it’s like she’s never heard of recreation.) 
Our tour guide has a lisp–I mustn’t laugh,
not even when he shooth uth from the grath.
Okay, he’s nice, and those mosaics were cool,
but all my friends are hanging at the pool.
At least, I’ve got a tan, my hair’s gone blonder,
but absence from my pack won’t make them fonder,
and Jake who always sat right next to me–
it seems like he’s not even texting me–
His eyes are just as blue as this bright sea,
but, now, we may be ancient history.
So, hurry trip, get done and get me home,
so I can take back my own private Rome. 

Have a great Saturday.  And, if you are in the mood for a fun escape that’s a whole lot cheaper than a trip to the deep blue sea, check out my books!  My  comic novel, NOSE DIVE,  book of poetry, GOING ON SOMEWHERE, or children’s counting book 1 MISSISSIPPI. )

Getting Away for the weekend in 55 words

March 23, 2012

Three words form the main thought in my head right now: “made the train.”

These are followed by a pause: “ah.”

Then comes a two-word thought: “it’s Friday.”

Followed by deeper pause: “aaahh.”

Then I think of you coming to meet me, waiting at the end of the line. There are no words for that.

(I’m off! And blogging from iPhone! On a train! Who knows what will show up but whatever does, tell it to the G-man.

Old Stomping/Campground (In Limericks) (Plus Love Novice)

March 22, 2012

dVerse Poets Pub today has a limericks prompt hosted by the wonderfully clever Madeleine Begun Kane and Gay Reiser Cannon. Limericks are naturally pretty humerous–but I tried here, for a change, to write linked limericks that tended towards the nostalgic rather than funny.   (For purposes of this poem, Margaret should be read as a two syllable name.)

Old Campground

What I think of the most is the scent–
a blend of grilled hot dog and tent–
the back yard’s wet grass
(all gone now alas)
 our campground a field of cement– 

And where did we go who were there?
Dear Margaret with long braided hair–
And Susie, her sis,
who always would hiss
that she’d go tell their mom we weren’t fair–

We swore that we’d never betray
the friendship we pledged everyday–
But soon we forgot
that closeness we sought–
each going her own separate way.

Till now, when I’m back in that time
when Marg’ret’s braids flopped next to mine
on sleeping bag’s hood
at the edge of a wood
and our life seemed so damp but so fine,
when all life seemed so damp but so fine. 

And here’s one that’s just plain silly (and a bit more traditional):

Novice No More

There was a young student of love;
as a novice, she cooed like a dove,
but once she excelled,
oh then, how she yelled,
pleasing Profs both below and above.  

(My apologies.)

Much more serious note

March 21, 2012

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On a much much more serious note from my last post–maybe I feel so tired today because the news is just so sad–the Trayvon Martin case so painful–the news from Afghanistan–the happenings in Toulouse.  (One would like to run away from it all.)

Running Along Hudson During Twilight (The Movie)

March 21, 2012

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I am a big believer in pay-back. Not in the vigilante sense, or the vengeful sense, or even the karmic sense. (I’ve known a lot of good people to whom very bad things have happened.)

I mean pay-back, in the sense of you need to pay something in to an experience–energy, openness, commitment–in order to get something back from that experience. (Yes, I know this isn’t always true.)

I guess what I am really trying to say is that I spent much of the day fighting intense fatigue. Oh, I slogged along, but how many two-bag cups of tea can you gulp down without completely undermining any added productivity through the induction of a urinary tract infection? (Quite a few actually.)

And then, this evening, as I slumped down onto the couch, my daughter found the Twilight movie on TV.

There was Robert Pattinson looking chalk-faced, garnet-lipped, and (below the hair) very very stolid. There was Kristen Stewart madly hesitating.

And I was exhausted, I tell you! But something–some tatter of self-respect or preservation–got me up and out (even just before Rob saved Kristen from the careening van) and jogging along the deep blue black of the Hudson.

It was terrific. Air and blueness and streetlamp halo-dom—I felt suddenly energized.

Well, for an hour maybe.

But then, unfortunately, it wore off. (AFTER I had missed the movie!)

Geez.

“Amulet”

March 20, 2012

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Amulet

My body is an amulet
craving your palm.

It longs
to duck inside your collar,
to be tucked
below your shirt, to slide
in and out of the buckle of sternum,
dangling upon your chest, nestling
against your breast, wresting

from your soft-hard flesh
whatever it is that hones
stone, takes home
the touch of you.

Charmed charm, it presses
against the caress of thumb,
forefinger, blesses

skin-lingering–the rub
for good luck, the kiss questing
protection–
I will bring you what
I can, love,
but in return must be
kept close, coveted,
not lost.


(Sorry that the amulet in the photo above is a bit dorky!  I wasn’t quite up for making a fresh drawing this morning, but am very happy to post the poem and photo for the wonderful dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night, and also for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, another wonderful poetry website.  These are terrific sources for those interested in writing and reading poetry or for anyone who just wants to get out of the box of daily life for a bit.  While you are getting out of that box, take a chance on NOSE DIVE, a fun escapist book written by yours truly, illustrated by Jonathan Segal.)  Here also are links to revuews by Charles Mashburn  and Victoria Ceretto (fellow poet-bloggers.)

Available in print and on Kindle (for just 99 cents!)

(As always, all rights reserved.)