Watermark

Poem-A-Day #8

   

Prompt: violent

 

Mother is angry.

 

The boys have vandalized the garden.

Their science experiment has filled the house with fumes.

They have sealed their sisters in the basement.

 

The parakeet lies dead on the floor of his cage.

 

Father has locked himself in his Den with the Financial Times.

He smokes his cigar and closes his ears.

 

The bathrooms are flooded.

The kitchen’s on fire.

Someone peed in the fishbowl.

 

Mother is angry.

 

She grew this garden.

She made this house.

She will bring them down with her own hands.

 

She raises her fists.

The foundation crumbles.

The roof shakes.

 

Her eyes turn dark as dung beetles.

Her hair hisses.

 

She is Kali. She is Medusa.

 

Mother is angry.

 

She has booked a flight.

She has called a cab.

She is leaving us in our own mess.

 

She’s had enough

of two a.m. feedings,

midnight vomit,

four o’clock nightmares.

 

Let someone else walk the dog,

clean the cat box,

soothe the sibling-inflicted wounds.

 

She doesn’t give a damn

who Father fucks when he works late,

how many D’s on report cards,

whether that rash is measles or malaria.

 

When the children are hungry

let them raid their father’s cupboard.

Hers is bare.

       

Poem-A-Day #7

Prompt: self-portrait

 

I limp through my day

cane in hand (metaphor

made real.) Each step

a challenge. Brief

respites. Ice. Heat.

 

I try to see through

the back of the mirror.

The surface slightly

crackled, silvered,

stained. Wounded.

 

The image wavers.

I know my eye turns it

upside down. I know

the mirror flips it

left to right, right

 

to left. It’s been years

since I’ve seen my face

without spectacles. Naked.

Is this still me? Glassy,

reversed, upside-down?

     

Poem-A-Day #6

 

Moonless night. A shroud,

a speckled enclosure. Opening

to that other place. That place

where walls don’t stay put,

all roads lead elsewhere, or  

elsewhen. All your abandoned

selves appear and disappear

like wraiths, like ghosts.

 

Dead parents and siblings

walk into familiar rooms wearing

unfamiliar faces, carrying new

weapons. They do not know you.

You turn to the sound of a train

whistle, the rumble of wheels

on tracks. A woodpecker’s hammer

pulls you from sleep.

 

You catch sight of yourself

in a mirror, your eyes

surrounded by color and symbols,

tattoos whose meaning

you can’t quite grasp. Is this

beauty or play? Or something

darker, sinister? You remember

you were once a sister,

you look down at your dark

habit, feel its rough weight.

 

It rains again. The city’s streets

shine. Where are you going?

Your cat is crying. You feel

his paw on your cheek. Is he

in this world, or the other?

You are in the eye of the hurricane,

music spins around you, you have never

heard sounds like this, they carry

you across the landscape, they

pull the landscape with you.  

 

Life is a deadly game

and you are losing.

This night wraps itself

around all your days.

Every lamp is lit but still

the darkness intrudes.

Close the shutters, lock

the doors, draw the drapes.

Shadows crawl under the bed.

Waking will not banish them.

     

Poem-A-Day #5

Prompt: discover 

   

when my 

knee goes    

                    out 

(again) 

   

i discover that 

   

pain 

   

stops 

    

poetry

   

 

Poem-A-Day #3

     

 

each day

each night

passes

whether you are in it

or not

 

sparrows

junkos

chickadees

come to the feeder

 

goldfish “O”

their greedy mouths

 

morning opens

its yellow arms

noon embraces blue

dusk closes its door

 

another flashing star

the diminishing moon

crow’s last call

night’s shroud

 

i hear you

even when you do not speak

    

 

Poem-A-Day #2

Well, this is a bit of a surprise to me. It's quite long, and I'm not in edit mode just now, so posting as-is and will come back to it later:

      

the sea carries you

in its heaviness

its thick grey-green

all the creatures’ lives

beneath, swimming

hold you up in the

salt air

   

walk the deck

watch the movement

of water & sky

the sea washes you in rain

island mountains

rise ahead & fall

behind

   

there is water, earth & sky

there is sharp cold air

it all holds you

carries you

home

   

dolphins come to play

in the ship’s wake

they watch you

with their small

sharp eyes

   

they are laughing at you

why are you on this

object of wood & metal

when the sea itself would be

so happy to carry you alone?

   

gulls circle the mast

at noon

at dawn the sea is gold

the rain, the rain

comes later

the sea swallows it all

releases green light

back into the day

   

at night, a bevy of stars

the hum of the engine

black water that moves

waves of pale light

   

you walk in circles

yet the boat, the sea, the earth

carry you a far distance

   

sometimes you consider

stepping off

into the deep water

perhaps you would sink

straight down

through schools of fish

falling, falling

   

or perhaps the sea

would hold you up

in its arms of waves

carry you to some

far, longed-for place

   

an imagined Atlantis

of mer-people and porpoises

giant gentle sea-horses

an octopus embrace

   

or perhaps a whale

will swallow you

whole and carry you

to god, give you

wings

   

you will hear the singing

of the whales

the call of dolphins

the ocean speaking

to itself

   

& above, the dance

of sea-birds

their sharp

brittle music slapping

the surface of the sea

   

all its colors you have never seen

melting

one into another

melding

into something new

   

something unseen

unimagined

and you will never come up

for air

   

this is what you

are made of

this salt water

this fishiness

this longing

    

Poem-A-Day #1

      

begin here

 

this spring morning

sunroom a glass of pale light

geese barking in the blueing sky

crows barking at the geese

dogs barking out! out!

 

so many springs behind you

cast-off jackets

mud in the entryway

fish coming up from the bottom

of the the pond

 

you pull a silver hair

from your sweater

memories of long sweet throats

thick curls, strong hands

young men baring their arms

 

the first warm day

 

Ode to April (poem)

 

            The waxwings have come and gone.
            Blue stars open in the garden, a blue
            deeper than dusk. Seasonal worries
            are still a ways off: flooding rivers,
            drought in the fields, fire in dry woods.

            Fire leaping across the tops of trees,
            toward town. For now, as distant
            as World War III, and as close. We
            turn off our furnaces, shake out
            the rugs, sweep the bare floors.

            The ash trees, bereft of berries,
            push out buds. Squirrels dig
            in the unfrozen flower beds,
            searching out remnants of last
            year’s treasures. The house cat

            watches from the window. What
            do seasons mean to her? In an old
            woman’s memory, these years blur
            together. Once there were young
            men, piled like kindling, hard as

            seasoned wood. All gone now.

This is from a NaPoWriMo prompt. I don't plan to try for a poem a day; if I get a poem a week I'll be happy.

 

[Click the image to see credits & larger sizes at flickr.]

 

NaPoWriMo - I remember spring ...

Today is the last day of NaPoWriMo 2012, and I managed to post every day! Today's prompt is to write a poem incorporating at least three “I remember” statements. A nostalgic exercise.

 

 

I remember when spring
meant hop-scotch & skip-the-rope,
neighborhood street games
after dinner, hide-&-seek,
kick-the-can, olly-olly-oxen-free!

I remember hot breakfasts,
bacon & eggs, biscuits & gravy,
kitchen counters floured for
drying pasta, tart fruit pies &
cookies fresh from the oven.

I remember barn smell, kittens
and cats all lined up behind
the cows, waiting for the teat
to be aimed in their direction,
calves sucking at the milk pail.

I remember another body,
lived in without attention, absent
of pain, up in the mornings
without thought, dreams left
drifting on embroidered pillows.

 

 

[Click the image to see credits & larger sizes at flickr.]

 

NaPoWriMo - the space between

Yesterday's NaPoWriMo prompt was to write ". . . about the experience of spaces, their psychological and perceptive implications."

 

the space between

the dream
between sleeping
and waking  

the pause
between breaths
of a dying friend

the silence
between
waiting