Calligrapher's Anguish

What are the kanji
for flotsam and jetsam, and
where is my family?

Les Quatre Cents Coups

There’s a universal roughness in the urchin years
a stark collision of freedom and neglect
that cuts across continents

Street-smart lads learn early on
an uncanny knack for reconnaissance
spotting weakness like distracted parents
slipping away unnoticed and nicking
everything from typewriters to fresh milk

Even the Amish let their boys run wild
these scenes recur in Stanley
Cherry Hill and Hampton Park
but nowhere better than 1950s Paris

Are we shocked?
Never

Do we miss it?
Sometimes


Inspired by Poetry on Wednesday prompt for the classic 1959 French film Les Quatre Cents Coups

Exiled

His room was his room
until it was invaded by a shrieking little alien
disguised as a newborn brother
and then it was their room
an experience he’d cite years later
when holding forth on the topic
of birth control

The next twelve years were okay
except the times when his girlfriend would gaze
over his shoulder at the ceiling
and wonder what their own place would look like
which lasted exactly until he left for college
packing his dreams
but leaving her there

Nobody has personal space in college
except for ninety minute favors
so somehow he survived

No young faculty have their own office
even the rock stars
so he suffered the cramping and clutter
until he got the one little office under the stairs
and even that seemed like redemption

Then he got his own space
in his own home
and for a guy who liked to name things
that’s the only name it had
not the den
not the manspace

Set up as a study with weights
it had a nice chair and all the right tools
and it worked swimmingly well
until he forgot everything
he ever believed about birth control

But he found fatherhood to his liking
though his son was quite different than him
the mutant actually liked studying
and excelled at homework
meaning the den was taken over
and it was time to move again

Picture his exile:
the smallest room of the house
a feng shui disaster
but his precious ego
was tempered by the knowledge
that far better writers gave their lives
to work in much worse surroundings
and he’d do well to get over it
to thank his blessings
and get back to work


Inspired by Poetry on Wednesday prompt 22
The only peace that can be found is in the smallest room in the house

Rock and Roll in NZ

I’ve been hearing from colleagues (higher ed folks and poets) about the 6.3 magnitude earthquake in Christchurch, New Zealand's second biggest city. Sadly, this most recent earthquake (there was a whopper last September) hit during the middle of the day, causing plenty of damage, injury and loss of life.

I haven’t heard of any fatalities or major injuries within my circle but the news is still flowing in. Along with the rest of the world, our thoughts, hearts and prayers are with those people in Christchurch - especially those people still trapped in buildings and those waiting for updates about their loved ones.

For those wondering how they can help, the International Red Cross is always a good bet at http://www.redcross.org.nz/donate We helped with Haiti and will help with this one.

If their poets and sports teams are any indication, New Zealanders are a resilient lot and they will come out of this tragic situation with courage and grace.

Failed Entombments

There’s a grim finality
to having your body
lowered into the ground
but failed entombments
happen sometimes
and when they do
they make for high drama

When the Chilean miners
facing depths of their own despair
defied death and rose
from their underworld graves
we found ourselves cheering
for their girlfriends and wives

and when Yeshua Ben Yosef
rolled the stone away
from his pre-ordained crypt
it gave us the plot twist
all new faiths require

Nothing says surprise finish
quite like reversing a death
we thought was foregone
when we feel the power
of that first grateful breath
and accept the odd gift
of a rare second chance

inspired by POW Prompt 21 with the full knowledge that this one will be all over the map.

Writer's Road Trip

Just returned from the South Coast Writers Conference in Gold Beach, Oregon. Met lots of memorable writers and characters, and came away with two notepads filled with ideas and possibilities. One of the highlights: meeting Naseem Rakha, author of The Crying Tree, and discussing the ways she makes her readers swoon. The pen (and word processor) are well rested and ready to resume...

Echoes of James Dean

The way you moved still hums

The lines you delivered still echo

Your dreams were ours, magnified

Thanks for helping me get teen anger

After a film festival in your honor, wow

Tears for your death pre-dated my time

But for a few seconds, who knows what might have been?