He reaches
to her slumbering form,
gathering her
within his arms.
Brushing her hair
with his breath,
he pulls her
against his heart,
too full of
her
to search
for words.
getting it May 16, 2013
I was impressed with OneMinuteBooks’ review of Grace Awakening for a couple of specific reasons. Of course, I like that she’s enthusiastic in her praise, but specifically, I love that she GETS it.
She understands that since Grace is the narrator, the reader has only as much information as Grace does. (Well, they get a little more, as they get to peek in on those 3rd person mythic realm dialogues that Grace doesn’t know about). Yes. This is confusing. Yes. This was intentional. Yes. This means you are Grace, in all her confusion.
I like that the reviewer gets the mythical allusions, and understands the purpose behind not telling the reader straight out. Yes. You’re supposed to be smart enough to be able to look this up yourself (with the help of the glossary at the back). Yes. I expect that you are smart enough to figure out that there…
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paper love May 15, 2013
I covet little papers
Adorned with your precise handwriting
Conveying adoration
Enumerating my suitability.
I covet little papers
You laugh at the saccharin sentimentality
Contrived emotionality
of your romantic immaturity
I covet little papers
Embarrassing legacy of first feeling
Precious pieces of paper
declaring what is now history
I covet little papers
memories of what was dreamt of then
A future that came true
Recorded for posterity
I covet little papers
of what you declared so long ago
promises then are the actions
of our long domesticity.
musicful May 14, 2013
I raise to wakefulness
on the strains of your piano
that pull me to consciousness.
The stumbled notes
of the imperfect rendering
reminds that only God is perfect,
and yet
as the imperfect notes carry me along
I can’t help thinking
that the iimperfection
makes you the most perfect
musician for me.
Happy Mothers May 12, 2013
Ungrateful children
for whom sacrifice and affection
flowed over like water
but left no impression.
Ungrateful children
to whom motherhood is
an inconvenient barrier
to strange freedoms.
Ungrateful children
in whom hopes were planted
that have withered:
stony ground.
Ungrateful children
who do not call
their mothers on
Mothers’ Day.
Ungrateful children.
write the magic May 10, 2013
Think with your pen, not your brain.
Little things kind of reveal themselves to me in the (process of) writing. A lot of people think that magic happens when you write, and it does, but they think, “Well you must be struck by inspiration, this magic bolt hits you and then you just sit down and … it must just pour out of you.” Well no. First you work and then the magic happens, if you’re lucky. (Diana Gabaldon podcast Episode 3: The “Kernel Process”)
You have to write to find the words. I tell my high school students to “think with your pen, not your brain.” It’s an odd concept at first, but once the pen is moving (or the keyboard is clicking), the words tend to find their way onto the page (or screen). If you wait for the thunderclap of inspiration, you’ll never get the words. If you sit, ready to work, they flow…
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Poem for T A May 9, 2013
Who you are
is who you are
and you are perfect
as you are.
.
The reality of
who you are
is your reality,
and you are perfect
as you are.
.
The complications of
who you are
are a reality.
So?
You are
complicated,
that’s perfect, too.
.
When you embrace
all you are,
each complicated
component of your reality,
others will embrace it, too,
because you are perfectly
complicated,
and complicated
is really cool.
.
Who you are
is who you are
and you are perfect
as you are.
Dam fine day May 8, 2013
Today I watched beavers
busily engaged in beaver chores:
swimming the branches to the lodge
packing mud in the dam
waddling from one pond to another.
A rodent family at work,
improving their neighbourhood
thinning the trees that keep out the sun
and improving water habitat.
It was worth
the blisters and the swollen feet
now soaking in Epsom salts.
.
.
News article about this beaver family:
http://www.saobserver.net/news/138054823.html
A youtube video about habitat restoration by beavers:
poetry is May 7, 2013
Here’s a re-blog of a post from last year.
poetry is art in words:
the visual spoken,
essence distilled,
passion
revealed.
Poem: you
You stand against the
wall, arms crossed, sardonic smile
immune to laughter.
.
You’ve seen darkness that
they can only imagine,
and you are hardened
.
from the admiration
of flirting gazes because
your heart is cold,
.
Frozen by bad maternity
and noncommittal
paternity.
.
Their bad judgements burn
within your heart until
destroying misery
.
means destroying
everything you should love,
innocent or guilty,
.
and then it means
flash firing your future,
scarring your life upon ours,
.
like a victim of
Hiroshima’s bombs whose life
vanishes in an
.
instant, leaving only
a silhouette, burnt white
on blackened walls.
.
.
I’m still processing the recent murder/suicide of a former student. The idea of an image being frozen in memory by tragedy called to mind the silhouettes created in Hiroshima when people’s shadoes were left, though their bodies were vaporized. While at first glance a free verse, the poem has some form: each triplet stanza follows the haiku syllable count (17 syllables per stanza) to reiterate this idea.
