grey flannel hills
dusted with powder sky
above steel blue water
poem- candle December 12, 2013
In Finland,
a single candle in the window
is the Christmas light.
In graveyards,
candles illuminate gravestones
through the dark winter days:
a haunting reminder
of life lights extinguished,
better than buried plastic flowers
in the moonlit snow.
Light dances like a living soul
in windows and on graves.
Single points of light,
simple festivity,
Christmas celebration
far away.
.
.
Missing my Finnish host families and friends tonight, but remembering them with a candle in my window.
found poem- chapter titles from MOBY by Diana Gabaldon
Diana Gabaldon just posted the Chapter 82 to 94 titles for her next book in the Outlander series, entitled Written in My Own Heart’s Blood (aka MOH-B, aka MOBY) Those chapter titles were mixed to create this ‘found poem.’ Words in bold are Diana’s titles. Regular print and punctuation are mine. The fun with found poetry, is that one often senses something profound hovering just below understanding. Can you find a message here?
.
Keeping Score:
One Day Cock of the Walk—Next Day, A Feather Duster
but
I Will Not Have Thee Be Alone
on the
Long Road Home
Through
Sundown
Nightfall
Moonrise or
The Sense of the Meeting
In Which Rosy-Fingered Dawn Shows Up Mob-Handed.
A Whiff of Roquefort
in
The House on Chestnut Street
reveals that
It’s a Wise Child Who Knows His Father
Oh yes, for
Even People Who Want to Go to Heaven Don’t Want to Die to Get There.
poem- lift off December 10, 2013
I believed,
I really did.
I told myself,
‘It will be.”
But I hoarded words.
I wished,
I wondered,
I waited.
I held my words tightly.
It is bold
to send words away
to find their friends.
But when words
are shared
worlds are opened
to new horizons.
Life lifts off
when we believe
in our words,
and set them free.
poem- pages December 8, 2013
turning pages
story unfolds
redirected
reinvented
rising action
turning pages
new narrative
next adventure
climax
turning pages
volume 2
life unfolds
poem- choose pink December 7, 2013
“No, honey!” the mother said
reaching across that table and plucking
a crayon from her daughter’s hand.
“The sky isn’t pink. Here,
use this blue crayon.”
The little girl blinked tears.
The teacher leaned over,
and studied the picture.
“What a beautiful sunset
you’ve drawn!” she said.
.
.
For Charlotte, who is teaching crafts at the art gallery, and is amazed at some parents.
poem- change
(early October)
I can’t go to conference this year.
Ahhh! Please come!
I can’t think what I’d pitch this year.
Stay with me!
Oh. I have that old thing I could share.
Come!
Okay.
(Mid-October)
Here, look at this piece.
I like it! Send me more!
Here, look at this piece.
I like it! Can I see more?
(November)
Yup. I really like it. Send it to her.
Here is the rest!
(December)
I like it! Let’s work together!
Here’s a contract!
.
and so begins the next part of the journey
and thanks to Leena because I could have missed it all!
poem- lights December 5, 2013
You illuminate my life
like Christmas lights.
You create happiness
in bright coloured bulbs
You saturate my senses
like season’s greetings
You fill my whole being
with happy holidays
poem- happy news December 3, 2013
Clear out the inbox
An innocuous line
looks like the others
but wait! What’s that name?
The heart starts pounding
air around feels quite thin
A note from an agent
makes me stifle a grin
Is it good news or bad?
I click closing my eyes
Open one cautiously
and to my surprise
She writes that she loves it!
A contract’s attached
I shout to the rafters
New beginnings are hatched!
.
TRUE STORY! Happened today! About an hour ago, in fact. Now to read through the fine print of the attached literary contract. Large prestigious agency though, and an agent I was very impressed by when I watched her at a conference.
Wait. Time to celebrate with some new Fluevogs? 🙂 The fun and frolicsome Kitschy kitschy Boom Boom Vivs might be appropriate for this kind of a celebration…
poem- writers December 2, 2013
Writers live life, twice, trice;
their words are worth most any price;
they wish, they dream, they dice & slice;
they craft their words, they stretch & splice;
Writers fly to many heights;
they make you see amazing sights.
Writers live most when they write.
