My every day has one minute like this
where I feel the warmth and presence
of these life-changing numbers
and pause the pause of a creator
I might be in a meeting
tapping away on a project
traveling
or sneaking a poetry break
but these numbers revisit each day
You, you’re in this moment
held up high
messy and proud
looking every bit a Mackenzie
I knew then a kilt
would suit you just fine
The prayers
don’t we remember the important prayers?
mine was quiet and quick
help me with this one
keep him safe and out of wars
we need all the help we can get
and we can’t do this alone
My every day has one sacred minute like this
where I honor these same frozen numbers
smile the same smile
savor the same high
pray the same prayer
love the same you
[inspired by Poetic Asides Poem-A-Day for Day 9 - Time]
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Cool things be happening
What is it about April? Days are longer. Things are blooming. Writing like crazy. Everyone I know is doing the same. From the smile on her face, even the letter carrier is probably writing and receiving sonnets. Okay, maybe it is the uniform.
Besides the poeming, I'm in this strange patch of time where I'm meeting lots of outstanding poets and getting some one-on-one time learning their craft. Check out Carter McKenzie (Out of Refusal) and Paulann Petersen (The Voluptuary).
These are the in-person persons. I'm also getting to know an online community this month. And they're getting to know me.
As I continue to write, I'm getting to know me too.
Besides the poeming, I'm in this strange patch of time where I'm meeting lots of outstanding poets and getting some one-on-one time learning their craft. Check out Carter McKenzie (Out of Refusal) and Paulann Petersen (The Voluptuary).
These are the in-person persons. I'm also getting to know an online community this month. And they're getting to know me.
As I continue to write, I'm getting to know me too.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Warm For Her Form
So, it's April and that means National Poetry Month. Last year I penned a poem a day and the habit stuck, but the place I posted to is no longer. No problem, I found an interesting and talented community at Poetic Asides, and this will be my home away from home for this month.
Don’t chase after Sestina
she’s quite demanding
and you’ll never satisfy her
That Sonnet has a romantic streak
but don’t you see
she’s snooty and pretentious?
Ghazal comes from a good family
and she’s kind
but simple
You should spend some time
with the Tanka girl
she could make you very happy
In my culture
we’re taught to heed the advice
of Grandmothers and Aunties
But even so
I find myself mentally undressing
Pantoum
Inspired by 2011 Poem-A-Day Challenge Day 6 "Don't (blank), (blank)"
Don’t chase after Sestina
she’s quite demanding
and you’ll never satisfy her
That Sonnet has a romantic streak
but don’t you see
she’s snooty and pretentious?
Ghazal comes from a good family
and she’s kind
but simple
You should spend some time
with the Tanka girl
she could make you very happy
In my culture
we’re taught to heed the advice
of Grandmothers and Aunties
But even so
I find myself mentally undressing
Pantoum
Inspired by 2011 Poem-A-Day Challenge Day 6 "Don't (blank), (blank)"
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Without This Me - 2011 Poem-A-Day #3
A world without this me might welcome a that me
a substitute version accepted by all
His rigorous workouts and modeling tight briefs
would conjure up images slender and tall
Talent with numbers might make him a banker
if coupled with ethics you’d welcome his kind
If he could pass the bar you’d want to have his card
when you were injured or some other bind
Were he a diplomat, strong and courageous
he’d build a world that’s more kind and diverse
If he had gotten some classical training
he’d be more likely to write better verse
For all the conjecture, I’d rather not think about
untimely leaving or false warning signs
A world without this me would go on revolving
the same as for anyone reading these lines
a substitute version accepted by all
His rigorous workouts and modeling tight briefs
would conjure up images slender and tall
Talent with numbers might make him a banker
if coupled with ethics you’d welcome his kind
If he could pass the bar you’d want to have his card
when you were injured or some other bind
Were he a diplomat, strong and courageous
he’d build a world that’s more kind and diverse
If he had gotten some classical training
he’d be more likely to write better verse
For all the conjecture, I’d rather not think about
untimely leaving or false warning signs
A world without this me would go on revolving
the same as for anyone reading these lines
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Spending my Saturday in a workshop
Today I'm hosting a workshop for authors called Fooling Around With Words, so named for the just completed April 1 events. Right now, enjoying a session on blogging by talented poet Larina Warnock. Later: reading by Oregon's Poet Laureate Paulann Petersen.
What got me here
So let the punishment begin. I participated in National Poetry Writing Month last year by writing a poem a day throughout April. The habit stuck and I'm back for 2011. We may need some more coffee.
She came to our town to read
so I picked her up at the airport
drove her everywhere
had cappuccino
squired her to the reading
she actually used the word squired
when she signed my copy of her book
That night she killed
that’s why we chose her for this
after dinner with friends
and a lot of fine wine
she held forth on her life
how she knew early on
it was the only thing
she was called to do
It hadn’t clicked at first
she spoke of the first anguished years
shoe boxes stuffed with nasty little letters
from vapid little editors who didn’t get her
and when someone asked how she kept going
I will never forget when she said
she knew deep down
she was writing damn good poems
And this caused me to wonder
what manner of faith each of us brings
to believe the same things about each other
with or without stuffed shoe boxes
[From the prompt by Robert Lee Brewer to write a "what got you here" poem]
She came to our town to read
so I picked her up at the airport
drove her everywhere
had cappuccino
squired her to the reading
she actually used the word squired
when she signed my copy of her book
That night she killed
that’s why we chose her for this
after dinner with friends
and a lot of fine wine
she held forth on her life
how she knew early on
it was the only thing
she was called to do
It hadn’t clicked at first
she spoke of the first anguished years
shoe boxes stuffed with nasty little letters
from vapid little editors who didn’t get her
and when someone asked how she kept going
I will never forget when she said
she knew deep down
she was writing damn good poems
And this caused me to wonder
what manner of faith each of us brings
to believe the same things about each other
with or without stuffed shoe boxes
[From the prompt by Robert Lee Brewer to write a "what got you here" poem]
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
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