For today’s prompt, write a discovery poem. That is, write a poem in which you (or your narrator or a character in your poem) discover something. Maybe it’s a box of kittens or a freshly baked pie or something more abstract. Whatever it is, I can’t wait to see what everyone will discover together this week.
Here’s my attempt at a discovery poem:
“Always the Same Thing”
Once again, we arrive at the park
just before dark, and the kids are
ready to burn energy on the play
ground until Tammy and I say
it’s time to walk around the paths
which causes exasperated gasps
because “it’s always the same thing,
just a lot of walking and talking”
and that’s true, but we start to walk
anyway and see a squirrel knock
nuts from a tree (nothing new, see)
and some rabbits (the same three)
but on the final hill we spot a dragon
shaped cloud covered in fire from
the setting sun and everyone feels
our walk was a super good deal.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Get the new Poet’s Market!
The new 2013 Poet’s Market, edited by moi, has now landed. It’s filled with updated listings, great new articles, and 20 brand new poems (some from Poetic Asides regulars).
(excerpt from BBC news: A critically endangered species of whale in the North Pacific, Grays are thought extinct in the North Atlantic. However on May 8, 2010, sighting of a lone gray was confirmed off the coast of Israel in the Mediterranean Sea, leading to speculation of their pending return to old ancient breeding grounds not used for centuries.)
On the Eve of Extinction
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
The Grays have returned
after three centuries of retribution
by way of absenteeism,
coaxed back now by the laughter
of monk seals and porpoises swimming
harmoniously next to their broad flukes,
12 feet across in diameter,
deeply notched at the center
with tapered edges, the shadows of which
slice through topaz open waters
just past the shores of Tel Aviv.
Forty ton baleens descended from
thirty million year old bloodstock,
the threesome is weary from travel and
encrusted with barnacles and whale lice,
gray patches and white mottling on dark skin
(scars left by parasites that have dropped off
in former artic feeding grounds).
One male spanning fifty feet
scoops up shrimp-like krill with long
broom-like mouth plates made of keratin,
unaware of its once use in the manufacture
of corsets, umbrellas, and riding crops.
Still, here they are greeted like biblical
Kings returning to the Holy Land.
Hunted to extinction on the Atlantic side
during the 18th century, news of the
pod’s recent arrival spreads like wildfire.
Was this a splinter group from their
Pacific cousins braving the northwest
passage under diminishing Artic ice
traveling thousands of “what if” miles
just to see what was on the other side
of the World? Or, was this simply
a relic pod tired of hiding,
returning home to face together
the impending melting polar icecaps,
reverse global polarity certainty,
inevitable end of the Mayan calendar?
But for now, amid cameras and speculation
the Grays happily breach and spyhop,
the top half of their massive bodies
thrusting momentarily out of the water, then
affectionately onto their backs before disappearing
into a quilt of white caps and sea foam.
It is said, during a lifetime, Grays will
migrate the distance of a return trip to the moon.
For now however, the Kings are simply
relishing what it means to be home.
© 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
THERE YOU HAVE IT
You,
Think you know so much,
But we hardly talk,
And we never touch.
You,
Think the worst of me,
For reasons I
Just cannot see.
I,
Know I’ve made mistakes;
How do I show you
How much my heart aches?
I,
Don’t know what to say,
But I long for you
Every night and day.
Then I heard
You
Whisper
His name in your sleep;
And it’s a secret
Now that
We both have to keep.
There you have it,
There you go;
Something else I wish I
Didn’t have to know.
There you have it;
There it is;
I don’t know how we’re ever,
Gonna get beyond this.
There you have it;
There you go.
We,
Were happy from the start,
How did he come between us?
How did he take your heart?
We,
Are alone here side by side,
The feelings that we used to share,
We’ve packed away to hide,
Don’t tell me that they’ve died,
Can’t you see the tears I’ve cried…
So…
There you have it,
There you go;
Something else I wish I
Didn’t have to know.
There you have it;
There it is;
I don’t know how we’re ever,
Gonna get beyond this.
There you have it;
There you go.
There you have it;
Please don’t go.
THE SHADOWS OF MY HEART
I must’ve run a million miles,
Trying to leave your memory behind;
Climbed ten thousand hillsides,
But at every turn I find,
You’re waiting at the sunrise,
Sleeping in the dark;
Smiling from the shadows of my heart,
Smiling from the shadows of my heart.
I must’ve tossed a thousand sleepless nights,
Afraid to dream alone,
Watched a hundred days of rain,
Sitting on my own.
Waiting for you at the sunrise,
Reaching for you in the dark;
Seeing you smile from the shadows of my heart,
Seeing you smile from the shadows of my heart.
And yet the distance,
Between us,
Is less than we may want to know,
Could it be,
You and me,
Are connected by our souls?
We’re connected by our souls.
I could give a dozen reasons,
Why none of this is true,
But there’s only one that proves it’s so:
I’m still in love with you.
With you waiting for the sunrise,
Holding you in the dark,
Your smile lighting the shadows of my heart,
Your smile lighting the shadows of my heart.
DISCOVERY: ME
Would they know? Would they see? How shy I could really be?
Such a long ago me. Someone passing by. I couldn’t meet their eye.
In the lunch room, walk across the floor, where to sit always a chore.
Was He real? Was He true? Could He do what He said He would do?
Would I change? Would I see? Would I become a new me?
See how the others want you to see
Them, in the center in the big spotlight.
Actually people like it. It’s really all right.
Actually, so do I. There’s nothing to hide.
Yes, I see. Hello, me!
Walk across the floor, afraid no more.
Oops! Spelling! Make that “lunchroom.” One word! Not two!
A Surprise
When I was quite young
I thought contentedly
We all knew where we were from
Grown-ups knew everything
History books laid it out in places, time and events
All that had gone before
Followed on through generation to generation
A tidy continuum
Then one day a teacher said
“We don’t know”….
I sat up straight
Blinked as in bright search lights
“what do you mean don’t know”!
Suddenly not quite knowing where we are from
How things were built
How people behaved
How nature held tight secrets
Like striking a gong
Life changed forever more
The mystical unravelling began
Volumes of words spilled out from books and voice
As I grew to know the more there was to learn on into infinity
Now I sit here today
To reflect on this long journey
Of things I’ll never know
But glad to have been part of the mystery
BRIGHT EYES
I see my dog, eyes a-light as if
she caught a human scent. But there’s no one here.
All I see is empty, barren desert landscape
with a single dusty sagebrush,
which my dog’s inspecting with her nose.
Looking closer, I see I’m wrong:
here’s a sage-green sweater
tucked carefully under sagebrush leaves.
I don’t need to sniff green wool
to figure it smells of whoever once wore it,
hours or days gone by.
I see, again, my dog knows more than I.
An Epiphany
I set out no a journey to discover something new.
I was tired of the same old thing, same old me, same old you.
I drove until the sun set and the stars had filled the sky.
I sat there for a moment just trying not to cry.
I got a cheap hotel room and after showering I prayed.
I asked God what I’m missing then began to write a stave.
I got your text there in the gloom of that lonely, old hotel.
“Just thinking of you, good night my love, I hope you are doing well.”
Again my eyes filled with tears as I remembered all the times
You held my hand or made me smile, or gently dried my eyes.
You fool, I thought and shook my head, how had I been so dumb?
You may not be the perfect man but you certainly are the one
Who held it all together over all these boring years.
I forgot my quest for something new and got my act in gear
For the happiness I thought to find had always been right here.
UGH! A typo in the first line. It should be, I set out ON a journey.
ONE SMALL STEP
Christopher Columbus didn’t have a GPS,
He just loaded up his three small ships and sailed off to the west.
Did he have a clue about what do? Was it an educated guess?
Or did he just weigh up his options and then do what he thought best?
Lewis said to Clark, “What’s on the far side of that hill?”
If they hadn’t stopped to look around, they’d be wand’ring out there still.
It took a little knowledge, a bit of luck and a lot skill,
I don’t know how they mixed ‘em up, I don’t think we ever will.
And it’s funny what you find if you go looking,
Something new is always ’round the bend;
It may be love, or a new-found long lost friend,
But it’s that one small step on the journey without end.
It’s one small step on the journey with no end.
And so now you have to ask yourself, do you want to take a chance?
Do you want to sit there looking cute, or come out here and dance?
I know you’re thinking ’bout it; I saw your second glance.
C’mon and take that one small step in this world of new romance,
And it’s funny what you find if you go looking,
Something new is always ’round the bend;
It may be love, or a new-found long lost friend,
But it’s that one small step on the journey without end.
It’s that one small step;
That one small step;
That one giant leap, on the journey with no end;
That one giant leap,
On the journey with no end.
Robert, I hope you are well.
This is a wonderful discovery we made while in Newport, Oregon. Just home, so will comments when I can.
Corner Café (a shadorma series)
On beach vacation
one evening,
we spotted
a corner café. Sign said,
Italian Homestyle
Cooking, and Book Shop.
`Cross threshold,
guitarist
sat, strumming acoustic songs.
Wooden shelves stocked books.
Tablecloth designed
with bunches
of grapevines.
Drank Chianti, ate pasta,
and garlic bread squares.
Post cappuccinos,
we scoured books,
used, half price.
With stomachs sated, we left,
arms filled with new tales.
oh yum, this made me salivate, for real …
EXHAUSTIVE
They told me to look into this book
and report what I have gleaned from all
the words I read, once and again, I fall
to sleep, repeating chapter, verse, the hook.
the real meaning of the pages, between
the lines, to take the letters apart, to place
each image for itself, weave into a lace
I spread before you what you have never seen
before. The very volume that you showed
me, takes off in directions I least expect.
You ask me where I found that. The text,
the text itself, the combinations flowed
from my mouth into my consciousness
all the memories, all the dreams appeared
as if I was Ali Baba, and I feared,
like him, that the thieves had arrived, and guess
someone had intruded into their lair to take
the treasure they had accumulated there
yet it looked so orderly, free and fair
like the lists of things. Make no mistake
the work I held was a garden for a fertile mind.
It could have been nothing at all, but lists of things,
or pictures, or dot on lines that sing, that brings
me, and you, and everyone, so much to find.
Zev Davis
SO many great poems! Here’s my belated offering:
DISCOVERING SIGHT.
but as she walked quietly
as fast as her sandals would take her
trying to blow off hours
and days and decades of frustration
breathing hard
checking her heart rate
thinking “how many more minutes
will this take”
burning calories
burning emotions
burning blisters
into her feet
she glanced up
shading her eyes against the
setting sun
and
saw
burning light
burning bloom
pink petals radiant
as though on fire
as it leans into day’s
final evening rays
and
she
S
A
W.
… it probably is
Turns out that Cabrera and Colon were
on the juice, and Armstrong probably was
too, although he’ll take that one to the grave,
the Saints were pressing bounties on the heads
of their opponents (they were not alone)
Indian fast bowlers were on the take
a fencing star rigged the scoring machine,
an East German athlete became a man
and soccer players can’t stay on their feet.
Even Scrabble has its villains – look at
the fuss at the National Championships
when a kid was caught hiding the blank tiles.
I think it was probably always so –
rigged jousting, gladiators with trick swords,
Pheidippides taking a short cut home*
Perhaps every laurel wreath is tainted,
Perhaps that’s the point – sport reflects our life,
And if something seems too good to be true…
(*actually he was probably clean)
I especially love the nod to Pheidippides … lol
Blank paper, empty mind, and a quiet room
Where does it come from, this creativity?
Where are the stimulators and motivators?
It’s quiet in here, nothing but the hum of a computer fan
I have no company, no botherers, no interrupters
Nothing but three sleeping cats and five hundred musty books
How do I fill this page with story?
Where do I find my first word, first sentence, first idea?
I turn my chair and look for inspiration.
Mr. Hemmingway’s name stares back at me
Mr. Richler’s Barney waves and Ms. Austen’s Marianne
A stern Mr. Steinbeck between them
Isaac laughs and Frank looks up
Both Orson’s clap, and Twain starts collecting bets
Will a fight break out? Who will win?
Ray Bradbury begins to sing and dance.
I always worked better in a loud room
A noisy hall is less distracting
Than a silent study hall
Words are discovering the page
We can never be certain,
can we?
We look into this box,
the shadowed corners
menacing and intangible,
and think to ourselves,
if we could ever touch the night
perhaps the days wouldn’t be so long.
But that’s the thing with shadows,
isn’t it?
The closer you get to touching them
the further they chase away.
How can they harbor so much?
Our eyelids bath our eyes in
a blackened wash.
The night carries us on into the morning,
and yet,
it’s there,
lurking,
balking,
and never rearing its head.
It sits and waits
as we endeavor to spill upon its doorstep.
Discoverers
How do they do it, the inventors,
discoverers, pioneers?
Solutions arrive in dreams,
interlocking serpents
into sewing machine needles.
Without microscopes,
they built theories
as others scoffed
as they must have at Noah—
You’re building a boat?
On dry land?
These tiny little things,
invisible and yet they make us ill?
They fail, then patent the results,
and voila! Post-it notes, Superglue.
Meanwhile, I lose my keys,
my phone, my to-do list.
My dreams at night repeat
like sitcoms in syndication,
nothing new, no discoveries.
I worry over problems,
choosing to ignore the solutions,
the hints, the clues
right under my nose—
which I have stuck inside a book,
vicariously playing the detective
in other lives, solving mysteries
not my own.
Rediscovering myself
I’m hiding from myself in illusions
built by myself in memories and thoughts,
And I’m trying to discover
a stronger me.
But my conscience stops me, saying:
“Take out your mask!
Accept your condition!
This is who you’re supposed to be!”
And I rediscover myself
And start living, not just be.
This prompt was just great. I’m just sorry my internet connection didn’t allow to post my poem earlier.
Adriana Dascalu
Lost Connection
I put my fingers to the keyboard,
Prepared for the hurricane of thoughts
Stirring in my mind
To come rushing out my fingertips,
But then I discovered
The connection was severed.
there it was
in the middle of a fluster of papers,
saved so long in closets
and ignored as though unimportant.
a little booklet
signed with my mother’s name,
and holding her poetry,
her thoughts, her dreams,
her sadness and her joy.
I had thought it lost
but now as I sat and held it in my hand
I felt that connection, the tenuous
hold one generation has upon the next.
Lovely! Such a precious discovery.
Climbing the Forked One
During a storm last night
there were over three thousand
lightning strikes
I climbed the four hundred and fourth
forked one
Just before it touched the steeple
of that old Zoroastrian church down near the river
And swung up into the thick
of the greyest clouds I’ve ever seen
Things get fuzzy after that … and stay that way
until early this morning when
I woke up on the bank of the river
Where I discovered my clothes had burned off
And I was a shivering, chilled mess
Some sweet homeless man
Gave me his coat
And an understanding cop
Drove me home and not to the loony bin
Which was his best idea
I discovered not all lightning is meant
to be climbed.
S.E.Ingraham©
Fantastic. This one made me linger.
thks JRS!
I love how your mind skates, Sharon. Not all lightning is meant to be climbed, indeed.
hey thanks Andrew … it’s a truism, or so I hear …
Magic in a Bottle
Sailing on the seas
Was a bottle on its own
I looked out to it
It was clear and had a tone
As I watched through my binoculars
Not thinking any more
Out pops a head
Looking at me on the sea shore
I was shocked
Not expecting to see
Someone from a bottle staring back at me
I dropped them with shock
Stuck for words
Thinking how can this be
A tiny little person
Staring at me
I picked them up
To have another look
Now there was more than one
I could not believe my eyes
This scared me I was shook
I was only seven
How could my imagination
Imagine them
Could this be
As I looked on
A ship was in the bottle
In between
Seen it so clearly
This did frighten me
As I tried to turn away
Something made me look back
Eyes were on me
Suddenly out of no where
Came hot balloons every where
These little people wanted me to see
All of the beauty that surrounded me
As they came closer
They asked me to sail
Along with them
On their wonder trail
I asked them who what where how
They laughed at me
No time for questions now
We must move on
Before I could answer back
They had me along with them
But I was no longer my own size
Looking around everything
Was large to my eyes
How did I grow small
What is happening
Just come on this journey
And you will not regret it you see
As we flowed up chocolate rivers
And down rainbow lollipops
Waving at candy floss
Pink bunny doing hops
Sailing along throw crystal ice
That was sweet and nice
Underneath a sky of beautiful paradise
Mountains of sugar sprinkles of colour
If I eat any more I will surely be fuller
As they brought me back
From this wonderful day at sea
I thanked them so much
For letting me be me
This is the lesson
We wanted to show you
Be your own rainbow
Just be you
Forest of Pleasure
With waterfalls of imagination
Running through her thoughts
She wanted him underneath them
Shifting her silky worn cloth
As rocks gave them a seat
To rest their love
Staring into each other’s eyes
Lovingly she wore her gloves
Taking them off one at a time
As he held her close
Their lives combined
Touching her lips
With his soft subtle kiss
She pushed herself closer
Wanting even more
Throwing her hair back
He could not ignore
Dipping his foot into the water
He pulled her in along with him
Their bodies wet
Longing for what was coming
But had not happened yet
Holding her closely even more now
Sharing how he felt
Someway somehow
Her eyes looked up to the sky above
His were closed
As he really felt their love
Not wanting this moment to ever end
His wondering hands
Drove her wild
He smiled
Knowing that he had giving her
Some of his pleasure
As they lay on the edge of
The forest of treasure
All my life I had wandered the rocky shores,
of the lake I had loved since I was a small child.
It’s whims and it’s whimsy I knew very well,
In its very nature , a chance it would go wild.
But on sunny days the water sparkled in the sunshine,
Bewitched by the icy diamonds I dove,
When thunder shook the sky and the waves boiled,
I would wait tucked away in a cove.
Over many years I became close to the lake,
The shallows and depths, the islands and bays,
Every point took a share of my soul,
I became trustful, I knew the lake’s ways.
How can water , which slips through your fingers,
Reach into your heart and take hold?
With the hours I spent getting close to it,
One day I became too bold.
Its mood was stormy,
the waves black and capped white,
I had learned not to fear it,
And let the shore out of sight.
I knew I’d made a grave mistake,
I saw the wildness I had not learned to fear.
No forgiveness would come from this lake.
No apology would the lake ever hear.
The boat capsized and I choked with regret,
At my foolishness in trusting something wild.
Never a day passed again without my,
Walking the shores as I had since I was a child.
Walt and Marie got me monorhyming today, but this one was also a self-rant about discovery. Two birds?
Retirement Reminders
Find a day in every week
to look for what you do not seek
on a regular basis: a muttering creek,
a colored stone or minnow sleek
and magnified in water so deep
and cold, it numbs your fingers while you peek
through swirls of cascading worlds antique
on the earth—moreso than you—your cheek
sun-warmed, as your cupping hands leak
cold water down your chin, as your breath eeks
electric in your happy throat, your physique
stirred by something so simple, so meek,
so taken-for-granted as water that seeps
from springs, that swells and sweeps
a path across the ground, majestic, seldom bleek.
Just look at all the animals that slink
past predators to bath and drink, weak
with thirst, fear, anticipation of pleasure unique
to all life—not just you, free after a lifetime of weeks
measured by working, by family, by eyes weak
from unseeing, heart stiff from years of unbeat,
your soul’s voice little more resonant than a mouse’s squeak.
Make time for feeling, for finding words that streak
like stars across a clear night sky. Parse birds’ beaks,
snails’ shells, trees’ leaves, clouds’ hues, all freaks
of nature, kindred now that you have time to tweak
your life-long questions to simplicity, to peek
beyond the confines of your old self’s highest peak,
to find strength in discovering what you do not seek,
to find joy so crystalline that you shine, reek
with happiness and humility, finally yourself, unique
after all these years. Take heart, find voice, and Speak!
WHERE AM I?
My dog has led me to a useless place.
Deserted street of houses; bungalow
with peeling paint, front yard a disgrace
of weedy lawn. My dog goes sniffing, slow
and thoughtful, as if anything could grow
here. Side gate’s hanging by a hinge, the fence
leans to block a passage; now childhood-bright
with honeysuckle, mint, remembered scents
from – where? My dog still leads me, eyes a-light
with seeking. Memory is a second sight.
Damn!
“Navel lint”
Digging
Scraping, prying
Digging
Pulling, spying
Digging
Have to see
Is it just me
More naval lint.
Damn typed too fast…should be “navel” lint!
Early Thaw
During a warm spell
a walk through the parking lot
reveals a doll’s head
poking out of the slush
as well as a towel and clothes
yards away from the dumpster,
remnants of a family’s life,
littering my sight.
When an early melting hints spring,
I ponder what must be left behind
before a new life can begin.
blush upon the morning sky -
relieved to be awaken by the dawn
thankful for another day
“Erosion”
Today
a phone
call taught
me that I am
now at the age
to give orders to
my parents because
our roles are now in a
slow gear shift into reverse
from child to parent and parent
to child
and
I am
mom
to both.
Dance
She places her gloved hand into his
as his other hand encircles her waist –
they begin to waltz around the room
gazing without speaking,
wondering what thoughts
flit behind the other’s gaze.
They waltz right through the open doors
and out onto the shadowed balcony
where his lips briefly touch hers
and they both looked relieved
to discover there is no spark
between them,
not one.
The line “Find my footstep already taken” is great! A quiet little poem that says a lot.
Both say a lot in not a lot of words.
Gift
Walking through the field of long grass
waiting to be hayed,
I part the grass with my hands
ready to take a step
but find my footstep already taken
by a small fawn, curled within itself
sleeping in the summer sunshine;
Inhaling the warmth from new life,
I soak up the gift I’ve been given
with my eyes
before quietly backing away.
Beautiful! Thanks for sharing your discovery with us all!!
We come upon a man dismantling
his home brick by brick. A few words
with him and we are asked to enter,
allowed to take what we want–he tells
us that he is dying.
I sit in a chair where I am told by my
companion and best friend about a
powerful V that was reported to be in
this house.
He goes behind the chair he is resting in
and returns with a plaque.
Perhaps, this is the legendary V.
No. I feel it, at this moment, tucked underneath
the arm of the chair I have set on. I retrieve it
from beneath my right armrest, showing it in all
its gilded and seriffed glory to my friend.
We relish in the fact that I have found it.
Beneath the other arm of my chair, I discover
two lavish necklaces. Both are encrusted with
rare gemstones. I ask my mother–who has suddenly
appeared–if she can authenticate a real amethyst.
She responds in the affirmative and tells me that
the two necklaces will be more than enough to
repay every bit of my student loans.
I am elated.
One of the necklaces also bears a set of stones:
tiny skulls carved from rounded beads of jade.
I know that both necklaces are cursed but I take them anyways.
We leave the half-dismantled home on foot, abandoning
the man that was so generous to us. I look back and see
him. He is standing upright, without any struggle. It seems
like he is no longer dying. He begins rebuilding his life and his home.
Suddenly, we are in a van traveling in the
middle of the country. It must be Kansas.
Certainly, this city we are approaching is Topeka.
The sky is dark and ready to burst. Colliding with
the ground, a spiral of smoke and dirt. My heart
sinks into my stomach but my friend decides
to power through the city in an attempt to avoid
the treacherous beast which has just shown
its shrouded face. The road is wide–eight lanes
on each side. An explosion of red beckons to our
eyes, countless families trapped in countless
cars in front of us braking. Like a herd of frightened
horses, they whinny and buck, contorting their bodies
away from the oncoming destruction.
The wall of vehicles part like the Red Sea.
Knife-like winds have cut through, pierced the armor
that was protecting us and the cursed jewelry. Our van
is lifted, remaining rather parallel to the road beneath us.
Thrown about crashing into solid object after solid object
after solid object. Somehow, my body recognizes this feeling
of repetitive impact, remembers it from some incident I cannot
recall.
I end the journey by opening my eyes and worrying about where my priorities have landed.
Is my mom okay? Is my friend okay? Where are the precious luxuries I had planned on liquidating so that I could have my peace of mind returned to its former glory?
By the way, I just have to share this news with everyone: Check out the interview on Writer’s Almanac website with famous poet and author Marge Piercy, whose workshop I took in June. Note her answer to the last question and see if there’s a familiar name there. Here’s the link:
http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/bookshelf/piercy.shtml
Woohoo, you! And rightfully so!!
Bruce,
That had to be such a huge boost! I’m proud to know you!
This is fabulous, Bruce. Marge Piercy is a wonderful writer – what a coup! Well deserved.
Man, I was jealous when I first heard about your workshop with her Bruce – I mean Piercy AND Cape Cod … how surreal is that? And now she is touting you as one of the next best things? Deservedly so but still … meow, meow.
Cheating a little here – I just wrote a poem yesterday that fits the prompt perfectly.
Shard
Sweeping out a forgotten corner
in the kitchen, my broom finds something
little and glittering in the dust: a bit of glass,
about the size of my smallest fingernail.
At first I can’t imagine where it came from,
then I remember three weeks ago, when I dropped
a drinking glass on the ceramic floor
and it exploded into a hundred jagged diamonds.
I thought I’d cleaned it all up,
but here was a leftover piece of shiny shrapnel
from the wilderness behind the fridge, ten feet
from where the accident occurred.
It’s a clear reminder of the day
when my concentration slipped, as smoothly as
the hard cold surface of the glass through my fingers.
If it hadn’t hidden for weeks, it might easily
have been a sharper, crueler memento, slipping
under the skin of my naked sole and drawing blood.
high chair
food
falls
downwards
every time
you let go of it.
She waves at me, triumphantly,
having proved the world is completely predictable.
I smile. Soon enough she will learn
sometimes we let go
not knowing
how things
will
end..
Great title and use thereof – tells so much in and of itself. PERFECT use of the fib – in form and word choices, as well as theory. Makes my lips smile, my nod in agreement, and my heart anxious, all at once.
This is one heck of a little poem, Andrew. One heck of a little poem.
*head* nod
Thanks, Marie!
This is perfect, Andrew.
ditto that remark from De from me Andrew …
This Summer
I discovered your smile will part
the darkest clouds.
I discovered you can stay up all night
and not make any noise.
I discovered there is a wall in town
where you wrote your friend’s name.
I discovered you rode every
rollercoaster at Six Flags until closing time.
I discovered you eat cheap steak twice a day.
I discovered you take hallucinogenic drugs.
I discovered you cut your hair so often
there is a bare patch in the back.
I discovered you’re a Buddhist
only not totally.
I discovered your back is so hard
it could easily break.
I discovered you drive with one hand
on the wheel.
I discovered you can’t wake up before noon.
I discovered you need a job.
I discovered you play the guitar when no one is in the room.
I discovered you need to wake up before noon.
I discovered that you, not I, will have to find
whatever it is that you need.
Oh, Ann … this stirs a mother’s heart in a major way. Excellent write.
This is excellent.
Another Family
In the empty kitchen, the old stove sat, dreaming
Of long gone days when it was the star
Of a family’s morning, filled with fire
spreading warmth to a crowded home.
A teakettle whistling “Breakfast time”
The men and boys opening its door
And stuffing comfort to all within its reach.
Long ago days, but still its sturdy build
A metal that could be sanded of any rust
And polished until it gleamed and once more trust
to keep a family safe from winter’s cold.
So we approached the old-time stove
To send it to a neighbor’s barn which
Needed heat for all the animals inside
We opened up the door and heard a squeak—
Two tiny eyes stared out at us. And wriggly tails
That did not turn
To see who interrupted their breakfast meal
Deciding that their mother would concern
this unwanted invasion from those two-legged giants
Who wouldn’t let a mouse family eat in peace!
Fortunately no dogs or cats were close.
A basket was provided for their moving day
No one had the heart to send away
This small and trusting tiny group
The boys made some room on the old
Storage shed where chickens once had lived
And now once more would host a family.
A Walk Down a Dirt Road
I set my timer twenty minutes
and walk, then walk back.
I walked to the end of second street.
I thought it was a dead end,
but discovered it continued as a dirt road.
I had eight minutes left, so I kept walking,
the uneven road reminding me
of hiking country paths as a child.
But here in the west–sage brush
bright blue sky with Mesa Verde to the south
(Table Green—the name was fitting
but for a lot of brown ridges
looking like a long row of teepees) and
to the north two blocks a busy highway.
It didn’t take long down that isolated road
before I realized I was walking in the home
of the homeless. Remains of campfires,
empty beer bottles, a discarded shoe box.
All I had with me was a timer. I continued to walk
and saw some of the residents returning.
I told myself they were harmless.
When the timer went off,
I turned around and headed back.
Knowing the men were behind me,
I prayed for protection and noted escape routes,
sad that this could have been a lovely walk
if it wasn’t for my fear.
Discovery
A discrepancy in a bill.
I call and call again.
I speak to people from
other countries,
repeatedly,
and try to remember
their names.
I keep notes.
One said he was named
Jack Dawson.
In a fit of sarcasm, I said,
“Oh really? You survived
the Titanic after all,
Jack?”
(The joke went over his head.)
And on hold
again.
I wonder if one can get
cauliflower ear
from being on a telephone.
I remember the days
before 800 numbers
and online help desks
and internet accounts
and I remember
letter writing campaigns,
which somehow, though
just as frustrating,
were more satisfying
and probably took
about the same amount of time
to get resolution.
Diana Terrill Clark
It’s sparse out here today, probably due to the late start. Sparse, but grand! Great start, alchemy, Pearl, De, and Barbara!
Hope you feel better FAST, Robert!
A ‘Matter’ of Perspective
I have unearthed a curious gem:
I am me, you, her, and them.
Short, but a gem indeed!! I like it.
Thanks Miss R! I often come up with rather off-the-wall shorties.
Be well.
Circumnavigation
She misplaced things now.
Nothing was lost
(perhaps the milk,
discovered warm,
beside the Raisin Bran,
and no longer worth
spilled tears)
though she said:
I would lose my head
if it wasn’t tacked on to my shoulders.
The thought of loss
disturbed her peace:
when she was young she lost her innocence,
gladly. Now she wonders
if it might not be rediscovered
Discovery Phase
Let the record show
that we
(party of the first part,
party of the second part,
partly partied out)
have finally
put all the cards on the
(broken
– remember? You got mad
and it got split; better it,
I suppose, than my lip)
table. The evidence is clear,
though willing witnesses
are few
and you
still claim some kind of
ignorant innocence.
I have
notes in your handwriting
to not me. I have
tickets to movies
I did not see. I have
all nighters
at that hole in the wall
and the holes in the wall to prove it.
And I
(solemnly swear)
I have this certainty
in my bones that says
(to tell the truth)
that you haven’t given
(the whole truth)
this the slightest chance in
Hell (and nothing
but the truth.)
Oh, well.
So:
help me, God.
.
Been there (here?)… found that…
Well done…
With sympathy and understanding…
g
Thank you, tunesmiff.
Thanks for the prompt RLB and the lovely poem…now enjoy your chicken soup – the ever kind and loving Tammy and take care of yourself…
One Heart
There long ago
Kindergarten graduation
Eve
Summer sun gloaming
I watched
From a high window
Sparks shooting
From two wheeled
Spokes ridden by
Deep dimpled delight
And
Found the wind
In my hair
His laugh in
My heart
As he rode
Away from
And with me
That was a really sweet poem, Robert…loved the image of the dragon-shaped cloud.
I’m kind of cheating and posting a poem I wrote a couple weeks ago…but I think it fits the theme.
“Pocket”
I discovered a ball of courage in the pocket
Of a jacket at a thrift store on J Parkway.
It was like moss, but more—less—comforting,
Like something you want until you have it.
So I bought it for 50 cents,
But then found as I carried it with me
It kept mixing the wind in my lungs,
The electricity in my flesh,
The flood in my veins,
Making me desire to seek out the wild things
That would immortalize me,
Make me an idol for some
And a nemesis for others,
And as I palmed the flaky wad of bravery
In my pocket
I thought about tearing down oppression,
Combating injustice,
Standing up against The Fear Mongers and Deceit Sellers,
Finding it imperative that I save everyone.
But there are differences
Between heroism and folly,
So I tuck that ball of courage deeper,
Deeper,
Deeper,
Into my pocket,
Where it keeps festering and growing,
And one of these days it may burst
Or it may wither away, if I don’t use it.
All I know is
I don’t think such things should be considered worth
So little,
Because courage can end up costing the owner
So much more.
And yet, the world would cease to be without it.
…So, if you think you need a little courage,
Start checking your pockets.
Oh, to write with such intrigue! EXCELLENT.
Wow. This is wonderful.
“Like something you want until you have it.”
“It kept mixing with the wind in my lungs”
Just excellent.
this is delightfully entertaining and insightful.
Wow – Robert – feverish or no, I think this is one of the best things you’ve ever written; strong throughout and summed up perfectly with that ending …
oops – this is embarrassing … I’m giving kudos to Robert for Imagine’s poem – sorry to you both … egad
just read over that last comment and realized what a dip-stick I sound like so … I love both poems … obviously I was VERY taken with Imagine’s poem; there’s no way around that …
But, that’s not to say I didn’t like yours also Robert – it’s very sweet … am I just stepping in it worse? Probably. I hope you’re feeling better.
This is AMAZING!! Such an original take on the prompt.
I could hear myself breathing as I read this.