Wednesday, September 28, 2016

OUTLINE ECLIPSED











You dark doppelganger you,
not ever far from me
My damn, constant
companion, you never
never let me be

Oh shadow self, silhouetted
there - let me see you whole
Step out from the gloom,
come over here into
the light, my little mole




Saturday, April 30, 2016

WHY DO I WRITE?













Nervously sipping wine, blue lipstick and a cigarette hanging out of your mouth
Be an animal, writing in restaurants, or the writing studio
Be a tourist in your own town, write anyplace; every Monday

More about Mondays - use loneliness - but don't use writing to get love
Be specific; don't tell, but show, the ordinary and the extraordinary
Make statements and answer questions; use the action sentence

First thoughts - whatever's in front of you - original detail
Go further - find a large field to wander in - a sensation of space
No hindrances - a new moment - tap the water table - use big concentration.

Writing is a communal act - talk is the exercise ground - a story circle
Writing marathons - spontaneous writing booths -trust yourself
Claim your writing - be the Samurai, or, the Goody-Two-Shoes nature

Mind, pen and paper - composting artistic stability - obsessions - listening
What are your deep dreams?  Living twice? Man eats car? A meal you love?
One plus one equals a Mercedes-Benz? Fighting Tofu? Don't marry the fly?

The power of detail and syntax; writing is practice but, is not a McDonald's hamburger
Engendering compassion, a little sweet - doubt is torture.  We are not the poem.
A big topic: going home. Epilogue: I don't want to die.

A found poem created using one of Greg Santos's constraints - Table of Contents poem - I used Natalie Goldberg's "Writing Down the Bones" TOC - it was an excellent choice.


Tuesday, April 12, 2016

LUNA'S NODES




All these years 
worried about 
the damned 
fish swimming
in different 
directions
Thinking - yes, 
that's the problem.

Pisces: sensitive, 
compassionate - 
mmm, okay
Helpful, sociable - 
maybe
Sometimes 
not so much
Adaptable:  
very - huh?
Hard to get 
a hold on ... 
slippery? Yes.

But the chart 
with the planets
for the first time 
shows her:
Moon's
True Node
Starts reading - 
is not surprised
to learn - 
"mean nodes"
are normal.
True? No.
A legacy 
of lunacy, 
born out.

An Astrological Self-portrait - Matt Trease  
Using an astrological chart based on Birth-date, time and place - plus deciphering tools and language for same - we were tasked with writing a poem that grew from the language that evolved from this experiment. I loved doing this and ended up with quite a bit of material (which I'm happy to have actually) but in the end, found it hard to whittle down and went with the bit that fascinated me the most - the True Node - something to which I've never been exposed before.

Friday, April 8, 2016

LIFE, INK
















The dark chorus sang me awake last night
And the new moon, the size and shape of a slim cuticle
One more example of certainty in an uncertain world
Reminds me there is nothing to fear; go out
Unless, oh unless, I stumble there ...
Where the dark is seething

I dreamt you alive
A heady mixture of the outdoors and wood smoke
I relinquished ashes to a creek -
Should Luna soar immense against bruised skies
A thought so alien it makes my heart hurt
The racket thrumming there is indeed inevitable
You had been so long with me
Throw a cape of sanity over my craziness now
Me, whose most haunted self lingers like smoke

Far from home, like blood bleeds
To help me grieve -
But, nothing that will make me slit my wrists -
Blessed sanction
Now a shivering, shameful sight
It is illusory
I seem so far away
Hear me call from the silence
With my heart just barely beating
Now - a shuttered window thrown open
Time can't control the dreams
My being here feels invasive.

I loved this prompt! I am fond of centos, both reading and writing them, and this was fun for me. I decided to use only poems I've had published (which cut down on the material significantly) but allowed me to use the title I liked ... The only changes I made were for tense, or occasionally, POV - to accommodate the poem.

(I used lines or fragments from the following poems: Baby Girl M Gets Her Wings, Blues Over Bosnia, Bruised Skies, Carefully Crafted Camouflage, Dark Doppelganger Mine, Daughter's Intuition, Do Not Imagine, Flora's Fauna, For Baby Girl M, Gatsby: Not So Great Anymore, Hemingway's Ghost, Last Night I Dreamt You, Love and Baking, nigh time, On a Paris Night, Place to Lay My Weary Grief, Should Luna Soar, Sins of the Father, Tree Deaths, When Trees Weep.)

Found Poetry Revue challenge 2016 April 7,2016 - Simone Weil's prompt - "cento" using your own poems about your own life.

Thursday, November 5, 2015

SPYING THE SPECTACULAR













It was surreal, an out-of-body experience
We walked through a park-like setting
glancing back at the Capitol often
as if reassuring ourselves it did exist
Almost the whole way, we could see it
The needle pointing to the sky, so tall
it can be seen from miles away,
the Washington Monument ... just the way
it's portrayed on TV or in movies
only more so, you know?

And then, we're close enough to see it
unimpeded and I swear my heart roared
loud in my ears; it was suffocating but
wildly thrilling
I tried to capture it with my camera, knowing
there was no way to trap it, no way to
contain anything this grand, but, I had to try.

Friday, September 11, 2015

UNDER THREAT OF INSANITY



















In the beginning, I didn't believe in any of it: the doctors, therapy, medicine.
I only knew that I wanted to sleep forever and not have to think anymore.
And if I couldn't do that - I wanted to die, just cease to exist.

It sounds so clinical when I write it down, and looking back,
I know; it wasn't that cut and unadorned.
No - not by a long thought. I hesitate to look at those years too closely

even though I grasp the whole life left unexamined and all that.
But, it would be catastrophic if digging into the soup that was
my insanity helped it resurface in any way.

Poetic Asides Wednesday September 9, 2015 - prompt - a small poem

Monday, May 18, 2015

PRODIGAL SUN







Douse the tavern's
candles,
the prodigal sun
is longing
to roar
open another day

Will we never learn
to find treasure
in the ordinary,
pleasure
in sand and gravel

In not rushing
but pausing,
enjoying
not grieving,
time passing away.