Sunday, November 14, 2010
October 23, 2010
This Friendship
It’s like a dahlia
almost too big to believe
one single constellation
of petals – sun’s delicacy
And not that one might
get lost burrowing
like some crazed bee
at high noon
But that in its deep stillness
in its tender grace
is moon twirling
is motions is exhilaration
This Friendship
It’s like a dahlia
almost too big to believe
one single constellation
of petals – sun’s delicacy
And not that one might
get lost burrowing
like some crazed bee
at high noon
But that in its deep stillness
in its tender grace
is moon twirling
is motions is exhilaration
October 16, 2010
Next Time
At night the geese move
high and wild
through Autumn skies
When I hear their distant calls
I imagine they’re
slipping
back
through
thin layers
of veiled time:
those cirrus clouds
backlit by the harvest moon
into
summertime.
Just suppose they know
the way back!
Next time what I’d do
from the start
is learn to trust
those routes back.
And with what dizzying motion
navigate any direction
-- summer to spring and back again
any direction
but forward
and trust those
indelible patterns
stars aligned to guide
intimacy of having been before
an old friend’s hand in mine
always
heading home.
Next Time
At night the geese move
high and wild
through Autumn skies
When I hear their distant calls
I imagine they’re
slipping
back
through
thin layers
of veiled time:
those cirrus clouds
backlit by the harvest moon
into
summertime.
Just suppose they know
the way back!
Next time what I’d do
from the start
is learn to trust
those routes back.
And with what dizzying motion
navigate any direction
-- summer to spring and back again
any direction
but forward
and trust those
indelible patterns
stars aligned to guide
intimacy of having been before
an old friend’s hand in mine
always
heading home.
The prompt for poems to write by November 16 is the line: "this is what it is like. Or what it is like in words." from the following poem.
------------------------------
Words, Wide Night
Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire you cannot hear.
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you
and this is what it is like. Or what it is like in words.
Carol Ann Duffy
------------------------------
Words, Wide Night
Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire you cannot hear.
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you
and this is what it is like. Or what it is like in words.
Carol Ann Duffy
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Poetry Club's prompt for October 19 (issued a week before) was to write a "Next Time" poem. As in: what would you do differently (or the same) next time? The line we were given to work off of was "Next time what I'd do" from the following poem.
------------------------------
Mary Oliver - Next Time
Next time what I'd do is look at
the earth before saying anything. I'd stop
just before going into a house
and be an emperor for a minute
and listen better to the wind
or to the air being still.
When anyone talked to me, whether
blame or praise or just passing time,
I'd watch the face, how the mouth
has to work, and see any strain, any
sign of what lifted the voice.
And for all, I'd know more -- the earth
bracing itself and soaring, the air
finding every leaf and feather over
forest and water, and for every person
the body glowing inside the clothes
like a light.
------------------------------
Mary Oliver - Next Time
Next time what I'd do is look at
the earth before saying anything. I'd stop
just before going into a house
and be an emperor for a minute
and listen better to the wind
or to the air being still.
When anyone talked to me, whether
blame or praise or just passing time,
I'd watch the face, how the mouth
has to work, and see any strain, any
sign of what lifted the voice.
And for all, I'd know more -- the earth
bracing itself and soaring, the air
finding every leaf and feather over
forest and water, and for every person
the body glowing inside the clothes
like a light.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
By Turtle Shell
This is one of the November 9 meeting's "Suddenly I understood that I am happy" poems.
------------------------------
Important.
There's a place I'm going,
Firm gray paths enclose pressing destinations,
So many of us here for similarly personal purpose,
We cluster off at rigid times in rigid places,
Not trivial meetings, nor trivial reasons,
What's here is IMPORTANT.
Crisp wind slices down a curved brick conduit,
Cold air the minorest of obstacles,
Compared to ASPIRATION it weighs naught,
It pains little, and impedes none.
Today is especially dense,
In the week's ebb and flow, today is a torrent,
Five places I must be, five tributes I must pay,
Each hand-crafted creation accepted,
Each reward: being told to craft another.
The long-term goal shines beacon bright,
I see it. I crave it. I WILL have it.
But the short-term is trying to kill me,
Obligation crushes.
Crucial were the first four meetings today,
A momentary fancy is the fifth,
Still an obligation to meet, but a light one,
On the busiest of days, I make time for fun.
I take my eyes off the horizon,
Decouple from chasing the future,
And relax into NOW.
...
The hour ends unable to account for itself,
"Time flies," they say,
I exit the brief escape, sad that it's over,
Emotionally exercised and drained,
But drained of stress as well.
The cool wind lifts my hair,
I stroll up firm gray paths between gently curved bricks,
Thoughts drift toward tomorrow's duties,
Colored by a new mood.
The day is ending and I'm going home now,
But this place is so beautiful,
I can't wait to come back tomorrow!
This is one of the November 9 meeting's "Suddenly I understood that I am happy" poems.
------------------------------
Important.
There's a place I'm going,
Firm gray paths enclose pressing destinations,
So many of us here for similarly personal purpose,
We cluster off at rigid times in rigid places,
Not trivial meetings, nor trivial reasons,
What's here is IMPORTANT.
Crisp wind slices down a curved brick conduit,
Cold air the minorest of obstacles,
Compared to ASPIRATION it weighs naught,
It pains little, and impedes none.
Today is especially dense,
In the week's ebb and flow, today is a torrent,
Five places I must be, five tributes I must pay,
Each hand-crafted creation accepted,
Each reward: being told to craft another.
The long-term goal shines beacon bright,
I see it. I crave it. I WILL have it.
But the short-term is trying to kill me,
Obligation crushes.
Crucial were the first four meetings today,
A momentary fancy is the fifth,
Still an obligation to meet, but a light one,
On the busiest of days, I make time for fun.
I take my eyes off the horizon,
Decouple from chasing the future,
And relax into NOW.
...
The hour ends unable to account for itself,
"Time flies," they say,
I exit the brief escape, sad that it's over,
Emotionally exercised and drained,
But drained of stress as well.
The cool wind lifts my hair,
I stroll up firm gray paths between gently curved bricks,
Thoughts drift toward tomorrow's duties,
Colored by a new mood.
The day is ending and I'm going home now,
But this place is so beautiful,
I can't wait to come back tomorrow!
Monday, November 8, 2010
Hi All,
Just wanted to get this poem out to you. Jane Kenyon's "The Suitor" from which we take as our prompt: "Suddenly I understood that I am happy."
Looking forward to all our responses!
Happy Weekend,
Robin
------------------------------
The Suitor
By Jane Kenyon
We lie back to back. Curtains
lift and fall,
like the chest of someone sleeping.
Wind moves the leaves of the box elder;
they show their light undersides,
turning all at once
like a school of fish.
Suddenly I understand that I am happy.
For months this feeling
has been coming closer, stopping
for short visits, like a timid suitor.
Just wanted to get this poem out to you. Jane Kenyon's "The Suitor" from which we take as our prompt: "Suddenly I understood that I am happy."
Looking forward to all our responses!
Happy Weekend,
Robin
------------------------------
The Suitor
By Jane Kenyon
We lie back to back. Curtains
lift and fall,
like the chest of someone sleeping.
Wind moves the leaves of the box elder;
they show their light undersides,
turning all at once
like a school of fish.
Suddenly I understand that I am happy.
For months this feeling
has been coming closer, stopping
for short visits, like a timid suitor.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
By Turtle Shell
This is one of the November 2 meeting's First Lesson poems.
------------------------------
What I Wish I'd Learned Sooner
There's a voice inside your head
That tells you lies and makes you dread
The vivid thought comes fast as lightning
Tells you which things are good and which are frightening.
Just after perception, before you can blink
The voice flashes through, the first thing you think
Born from reflex without time for logic
Emotion's aroused by a voice demagogic.
No allegory this, the voice I speak of is real
It's there in your head telling you what to feel
But being so fleeting, to most it just isn't apparent
That the emotions it evokes aren't simply inherent.
The voice isn't evil, it's part of how our minds work
But in its speed and obscurity there are dangers that lurk
It can wax hyperbolic on perils that are in reality mild
And in so doing foment fear and send anxieties wild.
The first lesson then is to know, to know that it's there
To know how it works, the effect it has, to just be aware
The voice isn't perfect, it can be right, it can be wrong
And it can be CHANGED, you don't have to just play along.
To catch that lightning voice and make it submit
Is no trivial task, it takes work I'll admit
But the power to take charge of your emotions is yours, in your hand
That is my message, what I want you to understand.
This is one of the November 2 meeting's First Lesson poems.
------------------------------
What I Wish I'd Learned Sooner
There's a voice inside your head
That tells you lies and makes you dread
The vivid thought comes fast as lightning
Tells you which things are good and which are frightening.
Just after perception, before you can blink
The voice flashes through, the first thing you think
Born from reflex without time for logic
Emotion's aroused by a voice demagogic.
No allegory this, the voice I speak of is real
It's there in your head telling you what to feel
But being so fleeting, to most it just isn't apparent
That the emotions it evokes aren't simply inherent.
The voice isn't evil, it's part of how our minds work
But in its speed and obscurity there are dangers that lurk
It can wax hyperbolic on perils that are in reality mild
And in so doing foment fear and send anxieties wild.
The first lesson then is to know, to know that it's there
To know how it works, the effect it has, to just be aware
The voice isn't perfect, it can be right, it can be wrong
And it can be CHANGED, you don't have to just play along.
To catch that lightning voice and make it submit
Is no trivial task, it takes work I'll admit
But the power to take charge of your emotions is yours, in your hand
That is my message, what I want you to understand.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)