Chapbook 8

Write a blind  poem.  (Basically) (on plane trying to catch up... That's the gist of it)

Not on a plane.  Elsewhere.  Not feeling very well today.  Can't do much else so I'll try to catch up but, really, there is a better way to play this.


Blind  

I feel sure
there is some dimension
to which I am blind, dumb or insensate

Because there is this yearning
That is not quite from the skin
or from the ears
or the tastebuds, waiting

It is near to me
within perhaps
slant
leaning,
leaning more throughout the day

following the movement of something
that isn't light

but is like it

Perhaps it is eternal time
whose sensation eludes this body
its mortal occupant
as getting color from the touch
of the flesh of the peach eludes
the blind girl
carrying such beauty in the lap
of her apron
as she could never 
ever
imagine.

Chapbook day 7

Write a compulsion poem.  (Basically) (on plane trying to catch up... That's the gist of it).

Sequence

I remember very clearly thinking '17' and then opening and closing the refrigerator door seventeen times.

I remember very clearly thinking '212' and counting out two hundred and twelve turns on my bicycle and that's where I would get off my bike and look around, accepting destiny.

I remember that I got to 135, where that was, which was as nowhere as 212 would be - somewhere in the paved, suburban landscape of my childhood and I saw my life ahead of me, a string of enumerated, meaningless behaviors and decided right then to stop counting.

I would number nothing (though I knew there was a number to everything).
I would turn down this street and maybe another - and though the numbers of houses and the numbers of turns I'd taken at a moment were the same, I would not notice.
I would not attach significance.
I would not get married. 
I would not conform.

I would not count my way towards death or be a pattern's slave.

Chapbook Thang -Day 6

Write a happy poem.  (Basically) (on plane trying to catch up... That's the gist of it)


Okay.  way past being on the plane.  still a bit jet laggy but doing fine.


Happy Poem

Today I can write a happy poem because
I went to bed hungry
I went to bed sleepless
I went to bed a foreigner

Today I wake up rested in a different place
a happy place
I am taken to the farmer's market
by two kind and powerful artists

They buy black turnips and thin fish
and know what to do with them
I go undiscovered as a sleepless, hungry, foreigner

I buy kiwis that look like a man's balls
and apples that have spots and imperfections.
I buy clementines and cabbage
and see how I will eat
and know why

to live
to live like the French

All my friends in the U.S. are asleep now, probably.
I will fly through their dreams
until, in the dark and in the light,
we are all smiling, like the Mona Lisa,
... just a little.

 For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Keep This (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “Keep This a Secret,” “Keep This Letter,” “Keep This Moment,” or “Keep This Poem.”

Keep This Breath

In between the roads and scents and all that will be
and this, this moment of waiting,
this time already gone
already forgotten

like so many days
so many years even

Keep just this

for as long as you can
this breath

the only thing
with you 
always

Chapbook Thingy - Day 4

Today is our first Tuesday of the challenge, and I like to do a Two-for-Tuesday prompt on Tuesdays. You can write to the first prompt, the second prompt, both prompts, or whatever tickles your fancy. Here are the prompts:

1. Write a super hero poem.
2. Write a super heroine poem.

I'm seeing these things:

my sister unloading twenty grocery bags 

my mother, armful of books, walking with a student 

my grandmother clipping roses

my Oma boiling potatoes

my friend, singing first

my other friend, painting by the stream

one niece, reciting,

another niece, channeling new souls

another niece, touching a sapling leaf

The men in my life do wonderful things, of course.

But today I see my heroes -  these women who

have taken hits that would bring down a mythic beast,

multiple arrows and, for each, the one, silver arrow to the heart

and they transform the world before your eyes

and clouds like wings span the sky

at that exact same moment when you feel

you are loved, that caring for you has brought happiness and

everything will be alright.

Chapbook Thingy - Day 3

For today’s prompt, write a blanket poem. In my part of the country, we’ve had a recent cold spell and folks have been cuddling up under their blankets. In other places, they’ve even had to deal with a blanket of snow. Some people–regardless of the weather–have their security blankets, which may or may not be actual blankets. And some folks make blanket statements. There may be other ways to cover a blanket poem and if you know it, then go for it.

Naming Blankets

I am back in this particular bed
child's bed
spare bedroom bed
bed that I would go to
in another house
when my heart had been left out
in the east coast chill.

And there I would sink
into the safety
of the size of it.
The miraculous mattress
and its layers of firmness
then softness
then sweetness.
And I would know then that I had to be,
had been, have been, will have to have been,
will have to be
a comfort to myself.

And here
in this time
how many blankets?

One that makes me feel like a small girl asking for dreams.
One that makes me feel like the ghost of a dog, - curled, still napping.
One that makes me feel like an unhappy wife - almost.
One that lays heavy on all the rest to help them
do their job.

This room is different
as is its quiet.

It takes a long while to get warm.
But it is happening, bit by bit.

I toss on one more throw
in an early, deep hour.
This one is light, almost floats.
It names me - Traveller.

Chapbook Thingy - Day 2

For today’s prompt, write a together again poem. It’s one thing to split up; it’s something else to come back together again. Sometimes getting back together is a good thing; sometimes it’s a bad thing; and sometimes it’s just awkward.

Romance

After watching a romantic comedy, well, three,

I sleep and am, by a well-intentioned community, engaged

to be married the following day

in the same winning, ramshackle town that has been the backdrop 

for so many darling romances of late.  And I, will be married,

and when I meet him, I'm kind of relieved.  He is nice

enough, appealing, (kind-of)

gently hopeful for us.

But he is old and poor and lives his life between two rooms.

a softened bohemian who once burned with intent.

He is nice.

I really have waited too long.

I stumble about the dream.

I step on the cutting edge of a a teapot and walk a soggy plank.  I climb a wet, mud wall

out of the dream

and into my single life

where there is still time to pretend there is time

and I have no plans and more than two rooms.

and no one to disappoint.