While I Wait

Where do we go to find peace when those we love continue to crumble and fall despite our best efforts or intentions? How to find solace when past decisions stand unyielding with fresh honed blades before every doorway but the ones we cannot imagine taking? How can a person be expected to say goodbye to friends that never became as close as I should have let them?

Wine swallows fast and only polishes pain.

I try to get lost in books but find myself reading Night again and again.

I never wanted to stay here but now that the end is coming I cannot stand the thought. The journey won’t kill me but the same might not be true for him.

And the hardest part is proving to not be saying goodbye. If the end would come, at least it would be over.

Hope’s blade is proving to be the sharpest and shallow cuts inflicted slowly always cause the most pain.

Missteps

There is an island that stays strung with Christmas lights

until March or June

where the people wish you a “Happy New Year”

all year round.

You can hitchhike from one end

of the island to the other

by pointing in the direction that you want to go

but only middle aged American expats will pick you up.

 

On the resorts, the palm trees have been neutered

but on the wild beaches

if you can heft a rock high enough

and hard enough

you can knock down a coconut

and spend half an hour tearing hair

from the clinging surface of the nut

for a few gritty mouthfuls

of sweet cloudy water.

The Word Unspoken (NaPoWriMo Day 12)

I have not been the best at keeping up with NaPoWriMo this month but as long as I’m writing more poems than I would have, I count it as a win. This one has nothing to do with the suggested prompt but I did take a couple ideas from the excellent page that they linked to here. Check it out for some good poetry writing prompts.

Earth and its overlords

look like fluffy clouds

to the sheep on the moon.

The word dominion was a mistranslation

I lived it well and still

happiness eludes me.

 

The strangest word

is the one that has been read

but not yet spoken.

The strangest path

is the one I walk–looking ahead,

behind,

one path over to the right.

 

Anywhere but here.

Anywhere but where I am.

 

How long did it take to fly all those sheep to the moon?

Can they see me?

The View Out My Window: NaPoWriMo Day 7

Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo is a really fun one. The challenge is to write a poem made entirely of declarative statements, with a single question at the end. I had a lot of fun writing weird declarative statements, but I ended up going off of the view out my window: two trees block the view and they are just drenched in pink flowers. It’s beautiful and meditative and so peaceful that I couldn’t bring myself to write something silly.

I think I will post another poem later, based around the idea of ridiculous statements. That will be so much fun. But for now, here’s this:

 

Storm clouds are rolling in.

Pink speckled flowers hang heavy on the branch.

 

The last time we walked this way, we were going to the fair.

You held my hand that day.

We played skee ball and didn’t win.

We tossed rings to win goldfish and we didn’t win.

We rubbed soft rabbits, poking our fingers through wire cages.

You put your arm around me and told me you loved me

three times that night.

 

The night is dark and full of wonder.

When will I walk this way again?

 

 

 

A Valediction For The Mainland

As the boyfriend and I plan our exodus to the Caribbean, I have been reflecting on the things we’ll be leaving behind. The prompt for day six of NaPoWriMo conveniently asks that we write a valediction, or a poem of farewell. This is my attempt to say goodbye to North America as I prepare to step into the unknown.

A Valediction For The Mainland

When the sky begins to blue,

when thick pink petals fall like rain from mossy branches,

when goslings drenched in yellow are just beginning to learn how to swim

Then is the time to say goodbye.

 

When coats come off

and pasty legs salute the sun

as it rises ever higher in the sky.

Now is the time to say goodbye.

 

Goodbye to the seasons

and Christmas with snow;

Goodbye to the reasons

that I don’t want to go.

 

Goodbye to wide rivers

and the long open road.

Goodbye to big cities

and the heaviest load.

 

Goodbye to everything I have ever known.

Goodbye to traveling the world alone.

The Abyss

On land

you may see stars

but not like those at sea

that gleam beneath the waves as

they sink.

NaPoWriMo Day 3

Fozzie walked a fine line

at the beach that day,

drawn in the sand, it was.

He walked it down a long long way

Hop-skipping he hippity-jumped.

 

If that makes no sense

(as you might say)

Then imagine that Fozzie

didn’t go to the beach that day.

 

Imagine he didn’t flap round in the sand

or whistle foam bubbles out his nose

as he ran. Imagine he didn’t

Imagine he wouldn’t.

Imagine he simply, not possibly couldn’t.

 

Do what you will

imagine or don’t.

 

I’m guessing you wont.

 

 

 

 

Just a quick note- the prompt today was to write a “sea shanty”. I’m tired and in a whimsical mood right now so a silly little rhyming story happened instead. I actually kind of love it. 

 

Lies That I Wish Were True: NaPoWriMo Day 2

Today’s prompt from the lovely people at NaPoWriMo  asks that we think about lies as we write today. I, personally, love lying. It can be such a thrill to use words to convince people of things that are not true. Not that I lie regularly, but I have been known to make up back stories for myself that are not entirely true when I meet people who I know I will never see again. It reminds me of the tenuous nature of our reality which depends on our words to sustain it. What we say, the stories we tell, become their own sort of truth when we believe in them and although the following poem is a (somewhat ridiculous) study in lies, I hold to the belief that it contains some truth.

Lies That I Wish Were True

You can get anywhere in the world by walking

if you tie a feather and two fish scales

to each shoe string

But when you get there you may find

that all of the people who live there

have their heads in the clouds

and if you try to talk to them

you will be greeted by silence

and the soft rustling of their long, swaying forest of necks.

 

If you turn around

stretch out your arms

and look to the sky,

you will see a lazy spot of haziness

above the horizon.

If you stare at this spot

do not blink

as you approach

and watch carefully that wispy air

you may find that you can reach the horizon

if you do it sideways

while whistling Yankee-Doodle.

If you do all of these things

and if your face has the right number of moles

(seven)

then you will find the road to this place to be easy

and smooth.

But when you blink, or fall

and the horizon stays the same distance away

no matter how hard you try,

turn your toes another way.

 

You can get anywhere in the world by walking.

 

 

Thirty Days of Poetry: NaPoWriMo Day 1

I am so excited! Today marks the first day of NaPoWriMo; the wonderful holiday (challenge? festival? I don’t know.) that asks that we push ourselves as writers and as interactive creative beings. I’ve been doing so much blogging and writing for work that poetry and fiction have gotten pushed to the back burner. I can’t wait to do some creative writing. But bear with me, it’s been a while! I’m a little rusty.

NaPoWriMo  publishes a prompt every day for the month of April. I may not always use the prompt, or I may change it a bit, but it’s always nice to have a jumping of point. Today’s prompt suggests that we start our poems with the first line of a famous poem and then take it somewhere new. I dislike the idea of using someone else’s words in my work though, so although I used a line from Pablo Neruda as my prompt, I didn’t include it in the final poem.

(The line I used was from Vuelve el Otono or, Autumn Returns. It was the first line, “A day dressed in mourning falls from the bells”)

Pink Flowers Bloom First

The morning cracked alive

with a bite deep in the flesh

of a perfect apple.

Blossoms fell pinkly to where

petals turned brown, silently underfoot.

Leaves that were dead yesterday

are alive today–

branches chalk mosaic on brown skin.

Gnats like dust float in periphery

drifting on tears and skittering

further

away

with each

glance.

Next to me there is you.

I feel apples through the canvas bag in my hand

and my feet point homeward.

 

This is our last springtime.

I can tell that you’re afraid.

 

the angelfish in our hands still swim south.

 

 

March

the warm wind started to blow in the Spring

when I walked down the street with my mouth open

there was a green edge on the air