This is a very loose derangement of Yeats’ “When You Are Old,” inspired by a prompt at Adele Kenny’s poetry blog: Aging.
Time and sky
(after W.B. Yeats)
Stars cloud his face, hidden overhead
amid mountains that glow with the bend
and change of sorrow. The soul seeks
false love, true beauty, and grace
of moments deep in shadow. Soft eyes
dream of looks read slowly and taken
by fire, nodding and grey with sleep,
at once old and full.
Taking a cue from my September writing challenge success – and Adele Kenny’s Tip #4 – I may not post every day this month, but I will definitely draft a poem every day. Some drafts simply aren’t ready for public viewing. 😉
Today’s poem resulted from a prompt at Adele Kenny’s poetry blog: The color red.
The next morning
Very few notice
dried blood
on the sidewalk
as it no longer
appears red.
Welcome to National Poetry Writing Month (in the U.S. and Canada) and Global Poetry Writing Month (in the rest of the world)!
My first poem resulted from a prompt at Adele Kenny’s poetry blog: Remembrance.
Failure of memory
Year after year the magnolias bloom
too soon, and their thick creamy
petals liquefy in the late spring
freeze then drip from upturned branch
tips, hundreds of candles burnt
clear down to the socket.
On the cusp of National Poetry Month, I’m excited about focusing (a little more than usual) on poetry for the next 30 days!
I’m also sad because temperatures are expected to drop significantly below freezing the next three nights, and all the plants that have begun blooming and leafing out will be severely damaged. It may seem trivial, but the past twelve months have been difficult, and my capacity for resilience has dropped considerably.
Here are some pictures from my yard, while everything still looks beautiful and alive.
This is a found poem from Kelly Thompson’s post on Brevity: https://brevity.wordpress.com/2020/04/23/come-together/
Speaking from the sixties
“The world is acting like it’s going to lose us,” I said.
His smile was wry. As was mine.
Tender wry.
“Well, they’re losing us anyway,” he said.
No, I won’t die for capitalism, for Trump, for Wall Street.
I would for my girls, for my grandbabies.
But for consumerism? For the lie that there is not enough?
Not a chance.
Like my husband said, “You will lose us anyway.”
We are in the third act.
Age is a construct and so is time.
But death is not.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Brevity, found poetry, Kelly Thompson, NaPoMo, NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month
Today is Earth Day. I am thankful for the astounding planet-wide system that sustains us, but feel I should be wearing sackcloth and ashes as a sign of grief and repentance for the terrible damage we inflict upon it daily.
Covid-19 is Us
A virus moves about the Earth at will
destroying
occupying
re-engineering
adapting
whatever other living organism
it comes across
without respect or regard
for whom or whatever
may be affected
Sooner or later this planet
will shake us all off
like a bad cold
(This poem was inspired by a blog post: https://ipledgeafallegiance.wordpress.com/2020/04/21/earth-strikes-back/)
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Earth Day, IPledgeAFallegiance, NaPoMo, NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month
This is not an actual dream but a series of images that came to mind as I was reading poems other people had written about their dreams.
Unconscious
At the beginning of the dream
I stand at the end of the pier.
A light north breeze blows steady
so the leaves on the cottonwoods
flap like church fans and whisper
among themselves. The water
ripples dark and translucent, a sheet
of shifting obsidian flakes. No boats
or cottages or people or other piers
are there; I am alone with the lake.
In the middle of the dream I drift
above the deepest part in that green
rowboat with the wooden oars,
the lake so clear I see the bottom
criss-crossed by large torpedo
shapes some hundred feet below.
Smaller fish glide or dart through
the intervening space, every shade
of green with flashes of gold
and silver, turquoise and emerald.
In the end of the dream I float
just below the surface and watch
the slow undulation of seaweed
in distant shallows. Minnows
nibble at the hairs on my arms
and legs, tickling. My face
breaks the surface and I take
deep, slow breaths before I sink
a few feet and jack-knife
toward the bottom.
Comments Off on Day 16, NaPoWriMo 2020
Posted in Poetry
Tagged dream poetry, NaPoMo, NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month
This came from a prompt in the April 2020 issue of Diane Lockward’s poetry newsletter.
Irrelevancies
It doesn’t matter what
herbal supplements you take
or if you don’t believe the news
reports or believe in the absolute power
of God or burn sage every day or feel
sure someone is concealing
important information;
It doesn’t matter that
you wash your hands religiously
every 10 minutes or have 10 packages
of toilet paper from Costco (30 rolls each)
or drink 100 proof alcohol or live in the Arctic
or eat 12 cloves of garlic every day
or flush your sinuses with saline;
It doesn’t matter who
you think is doing a great job
leading or exercising appropriate
power or not or if you have gone
to a summer home in the Adirondacks
or hold a seat in the Senate
or haven’t left your house;
The virus is no respecter of persons
nor powers nor wealth in any degree
nor what any of us knows or believes
to be true because it is only a protein
molecule that mutates living cells
it encounters and it cannot
nor does not care.
This came from the Day 14 prompt on the SLCC Community Writing Center Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/CommunityWritingCenter/
Prevarications
You look
great. This won’t hurt
a bit. You’ll feel
a little
pinch. I mailed it
yesterday. I can’t
imagine
where that came
from. Traffic
was insane. My alarm
didn’t go off. It’s
nothing.
I haven’t got
a pen. I never
carry cash. I didn’t
see that
coming. I swear
I touched
nothing. Nobody
told me. It’ll be
fine. I’ve got it
under control. No need
to panic.
I wept this morning as crews cut down two large, beautiful, and perfectly healthy sweetgum trees in my neighbor’s yard.
Grief upon grief
Every day I wake to sounds of carnage: nerve-grating
whine of chainsaw, gut-churning growl of woodchipper,
people removing trees like a small child plucks dandelion
blossoms. But trees are not dandelions; their roots
intertwine and share the soil with countless species
of animals, plants, bacteria, fungi; their crowns feed
and house birds, squirrels, insects, and shade our homes
from summer’s glare. They anchor our landscapes, absorb
water from our roofs and driveways, and filter the air
we breathe. They delight our eyes with varied shape
and shade of limb and leaf, our ears with rustle and moan
of windsong. They outlive us, if we leave them
to their ancient work. Isn’t there already too much
dying in the world during this terrible time?
Posted in Poetry
Tagged grief, NaPoMo, NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month, sweetgum, trees
Crossword puzzles can be an odd kind of inspiration…
Words to the yy
cc the day
the epicures say
ii on the prize
most coaches advise
uu it or lose it
when learning the musette
This came from a prompt in Diane Lockward’s poetry newsletter of March 1, 2019.
Irrational belief
Choose a superstition for your own
poem. Feel free to select something
not on the list. Who gave you
this warning, and what will happen
if you ignore it? Imagine breaking
the taboo. Meditate on what follows
your failure to listen. Now bring in
the joy of defying this directive
without consequence. Write
until you surprise yourself.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged NaPoMo, NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month
The Daily Compost 