hypnotism

the small snake
i have named
uncoils from stone
slow and wingless
warm enough now to slide
across lawn
& spell motionless
a sparrow
dazzled in the net of that gaze
foolish enough to meet his eyes
for one heartbeat;
the glancing space
of one bright black eye

undone
by his own senses

in an exercise
of similar self-preservation
when i was 22
i promised
to never love
a poet, dazed senseless
where i thought
we were matched
in weapons

like most other things
a good defense
only works
when you pay attention

that bird & i
don’t stand a chance
of flying–
but because i see it
for what it is
& with kinder
motivation
than the whispering
of that garter snake,
i shatter the charm
with the casual toss
of a pebble

as for my trance–
don’t break it

i am having
too much fun
being caught up in it

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , , , | 18 Comments

Haiku Heights: Symphony

illuminating
child voices float through the hall
purer than sunlight

my daughter’s alto
a honey-dark thread woven
through the sopranos

the risers placed where
Stravinsky and Bernstein stood
crafting symphonies

Posted in haiku, haiku chain, haiku heights prompt | Tagged , , | 47 Comments

ohhh–these look like so much fun!

hovercraftdoggy's avatarhovercraftdoggy

Fruits Wall Lamp and Fruits Table Lamp from Hisakazu Shimizu

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Posted in New Free Verse | 2 Comments

September heights: Rain

this cycle of drops
rising and capture to fall
infinite circles

Posted in haiku, haiku heights prompt | Tagged , | 41 Comments

heartbreaking

Noel Ihebuzor's avatarReflections

By Noel Ihebuzor

 

Inert the child lies,

bathed in blood,

still and silent,

 

the silence of the ward

broken by the mother’s aching sobs

exhausted,

 

long labour had drained her,

almost turning her blood blue,

till eventually the blade

 brought relief and pain,

 

baby was curled, drained

 cord twisted and twined

around a narrow neck,

life slowly choked by the connection

that had linked them

and nourished,

 

the emptying evening drags

as she sits and sobs

imagining how this life

she had known in kicks and movements

would have looked

had the cord that nourished

not also extinguished

pondering this mystery of failed procreation

where lives are twined forever,

scars remain after departures,

 

sadness slowly strangling her soul,

like a cord, the pains of an empty womb

 now more acute

as her soul bleeds

above and below the lines of suture.

 

****For the SunChild who lost…

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Posted in New Free Verse | 3 Comments

Silver Quill Blogger Award

Ken from Gladius Poeticus has nominated me for the Silver Quill Blogger Award.  First off, I would like to thank Ken for thinking of me–flattered that he did, with all those great blogs and bloggers out there.  I am thinking this is the last blogging award I will accept for a while (really only accepted it because (1) I love the questions and want to pass it on to other bloggers because I want to know their answers, and (2) I sorta insulted the Dutch this morning in a poem, and he is either punishing me or forgiving me by passing the award on to me).  So, again, thanking my friend Ken for reading my posts (and you know I generate a lot of them)!

The rules for this award, if you choose to accept, are to paste the logo of this award on the top of your post. Thank the person who nominated you. Answer the questions below. Nominate five or more people, list them and let them know that they have been nominated.

My five victims nominees are all women this time (not that you guys are not great–I just wanted to shout out to the powerful female voices on WP this time around):

  1. Rhonda George Hernandez of HelpMeRhonda for her friendship and all the smiles.
  2. Soryaya B from Organized Chaos for her raw strength in words.
  3. Boomie from Boomie Bol for her beautiful spirit, friendship, awesome poetry, and a recipe for Chapman I want to try.
  4. Unfettered from UnferreredBS for her wonderful poetry and awesome friendship (which includes reading all my political posts that she does NOT agree with on FB–oh, that goes DOUBLE for you, Rhonda–you’ve been at it longer).
  5. Eulonia from Eulonia Country–just read her work–you will understand why.  She is AMAZING.

The Questions:

1- Do you prefer rhyming or non-rhyming poetry?  As long as it is not forced, rhyming poetry can be wonderful, too.  I just get rashes when I try to write it.

2- What’s your favorite Shakespeare Play? A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

3- Who is your favourite author? Annie Dillard.

4- Name three people who you greatly admire.  Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B Anthony, and Simone de Beauvoir (keeping with the all-woman theme today).

5- What’s your favourite album ever?  The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan.  Yes, I know Bob is not a woman.

6- Which primary color do you most dislike?  There is no color I dislike.

7- Name a song or a poem that makes you feel emotional.   Sigh.  This one, by Pablo Neruda.

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being.’FROM: 100 LOVE SONNETS LXIX

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being,
without your going, that cuts noon light
like a blue flower, without your passing
later through fog and stones,
without the torch you lift in your hand
that others may not see as golden,
that perhaps no one believed blossomed
the glowing origin of the rose,
without, in the end, your being, your coming
suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life,
blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze:
and it follows that I am, because you are:
it follows from ‘you are’, that I am, and we:
and, because of love, you will, I will,
We will, come to be.

Posted in awards | Tagged , | 18 Comments

thoughts on 9/11

today is a day for remembering,
putting back together something broken;
a day of service,
but these hands can only make, not undo.  
we remember how accepting death
can be sacrifice, but murder
is the last blasphemy.
we remember lives taken
and some offered up freely
given time to choose exactly whose principles
to die for, theirs or the men’s with boxcutters

i call them all victims

i call them all heroes
except for the ones that woke
with suicide bomber resolve
threaded through morning routines;
patterns poisoned with the same logic
of men with assault weapons
opening fire on the street
before turning those guns
on themselves

i call them by name
a list written in blood, in salt,
in iron and smoke

what is a fit sacrifice?
in the end, that final analysis
we are all ghosts inside bodies.   choose how
and who to haunt carefully–
when nothing is held holy
what line is left to cross
but this, making ash
of the force that powers breath
and drives heart

they all died, hate

tearing from fingers this thing we grasp
as long as possible, breaking or stealing
the one commandment stamped inside flesh:
live

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , | 82 Comments