Softer
magnolia blossoms glow in the night-dark
yard, reflecting the moon’s light
as if they were themselves moons or sea creatures
impregnated with phosphorescent cells,
brightening the fertile gloom
in cool imitation of the unseen sun
Tag Archives: National Poetry Month
Day 14, NaPoWriMo 2017
Posted in Poetry
Tagged NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month
Day 12, NaPoWriMo 2017
I can always count on tarot to spark my imagination. This is from the Fairy Tale Tarot (Lisa Hunt, 2009), a gorgeous deck that is out of print but digitally available thanks to The Fool’s Dog. This image came from their Tarot Sampler IV.
Look deeper
A woman may swallow a seed
that is not a seed and bear
a child that is not a child.
A selfish old man may indulge
himself by pretending
to indulge his grandson.
A child that wants to play
with a box may be a raven
who steals back the sun.
A child may be a raven.
A box may hold the sun.
A thief may be a hero.
Things are not always what they seem.
Day 10, NaPoWriMo 2017
Yesterday was so busy that even though I wrote something, I opted to go to bed when I got home rather than post. The muse did not approve, it seems, as I slept very poorly.
Meeting
attendance quorum agenda
minutes motion second
amendment call the question
all in favor all opposed
motion carries motion does not carry
old business new business
tabled if nothing further
schedule
adjourned
Posted in Poetry
Tagged NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month
Day 8, NaPoWriMo 2017
Emily Dickinson is a real dickens to trace! Her language is so precise and her images so concrete, it is difficult to create something more than a pale imitation or weak echo. I’ve been wrestling with a couple Dickinson poems for about a week, and this is the first thing that has even faintly resembled something I could call my own.
Moon! You were finding me
the whole night by
gaps in the blinds too tiny
to be seen by day
Beam after beam of silver light
swept the pillow, seemed to hit
my eyes, no matter that
they were tightly shut
This morning I hold you
to blame for my slow
rising, even though
I stayed out past two
(loosely patterned after poem no. 1035 “Bee! I’m expecting you!” by Emily Dickinson – http://hellopoetry.com/poem/2416/bee-im-expecting-you/)
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Emily Dickinson, NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month, trace poetry
Day 7, NaPoWriMo 2017
Book titles are a great source of inspiration. I pulled these from some catalogs I found while cleaning. Found poetry, indeed.
The secret library
the odd one out
in the great green room
is lost among the living
no time to clean
the mist in the mirror
in simple circles and quick curves
touch the wild
garden at the dragon’s gate
an antidote to venom
the eve of a hundred midnights
the desire of the everlasting hills
nothing is worth more than this day
Posted in Poetry
Tagged found poetry, NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month
Day 6, NaPoWriMo 2017
Auspicy
she stood amazed, the door
was open, birds
flew through the yard
over which the rain
blew and fell,
glazing everything –
when she saw
how she had misread
the signs
a pattern that she sensed dimly
reformed in her memory
and opened like fingers
she will find them in the trees
they will land on the house
and she will never again
notice them
in the same way –
(traced from William Carlos Williams’ “The Revelation” – https://reckon.tumblr.com/post/62306208565/the-revelation-william-carlos-williams)
Day 5, NaPoWriMo 2017
I always thought pass-fail was a good thing. Maybe it depends which side of that line you expect to end up on.
Unproctored
This is not a test, the teacher intoned
This is an actual life
you are expected to lead
from beginning to end
There is no extra credit
but you are permitted to work together
in fact, it’s encouraged
She closed her book
Class dismissed
Posted in Poetry
Tagged NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month, teacher poetry
Day 4, NaPoWriMo 2017
If you haven’t already, check out Poetry Daily (http://poems.com/). They also have a wonderful app for your phone or tablet, so you can carry poetry with you everywhere.
That Way of Listening
She could hear it strong,
flying over the April
melt mud still continuing
now to well up. Odors
of stone bathed the stream
bank. And really, it resembled
the fish in fairy tales
when you’re out of
bait: rising to the surface,
feeding close enough to touch.
Things were no different where
she took the island ferry.
Soft on the air drifted
this low song, and a sharp
burning of whiskey,
straight whiskey beneath
the unwitting tongue there,
exactly in the place
she would find it. She always
could taste it, usually
without meaning to. By day
unexpected clouds rolled in,
sending wide, grey shadows
spilling over the hills.
She danced, danced, until
she could feel who
the creek was calling as
it came rushing over
the ice-shattered boulders,
flinging so high into
the air that bright spray
of fresh and boundless energy.
(trace poem of “That Time of Year,” by Leon Stokesbury, http://poems.com/poem.php?date=17039)
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Leon Stokesbury, NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month, trace poetry
Day 3, NaPoWriMo 2017
Some time ago I picked up a discarded library copy (first edition!) of Alan Garner’s The Moon of Gomrath. I finally got around to reading it and found the following passage. The language was so fantastic I could not resist the urge to make a poem of it. The line breaks are mine.
It was dusk: branches stood against the sky, and twilight
ran in the grass, and gathered black
in the chasms and tunnel eyes of the old
mines which scarred the woodland with their spoil
of sand and rock. There was the sound of wind, though
the trees did not move.
– Alan Garner, The Moon of Gomrath, p. 12 (Henry A. Walnick, Inc., New York, 1967)
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Alan Garner, found poetry, NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month
Day 2 poem, NaPoWriMo 2017
When I sat down to work, a pair of grackles in the garden gathering dried grasses for their nest, and Wallace Stevens’ “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” came to mind.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Poem
I
Among thousands of angry words,
The only thing shouting
Was the poem.
II
I spoke in two voices,
like a piece of paper
On which there are two poems.
III
The poem danced on the reader’s tongue.
It was the eye of the hurricane.
IV
The body and the mind
Are one.
The body and the mind and a poem
Are one.
V
I do not choose which to praise,
The eloquence of form
Or the eloquence of function,
The reading of the poem
Or the silence after.
VI
Blackbirds filled the fall afternoon
With chaotic sound.
The echo of the poem
Matched it, tone for tone.
The pattern
Etched on the echo
An inarticulate meaning.
VII
O vain bodies of Columbia,
Why do you crave yellow words?
Do you not hear how the poem
Unfolds in the questions
Of the minds around you?
VIII
I dream bright eyes
And dark, feathered wings;
But I dream, too,
That the poem is born
In what I dream.
IX
When the poem came to an end,
It crossed the threshold
Of one in many lifetimes.
X
At the sound of poetry
Rising in a purple chorus,
Even the impresarios of opposition
Would sigh contentedly.
XI
She flew over the country
On a carpet of sound.
Once, delight pierced her,
In that she understood
The echo of her conveyance
As poetry.
XII
The mountains are shouting.
The poem must be rising.
XIII
It was spring all winter.
It was angry
And it was going to be angry.
The poem sprang
From the bone marrow.
(trace poem of “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” by Wallace Stevens. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/45236 )
Posted in Poetry
Tagged NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month, trace poetry, Wallace Stevens
The Daily Compost 