Forgiveness: the drafting process

I drafted a poem the other day in response to the prompt “forgiveness,” and the way it unfolded/evolved in my notebook was kind of interesting. It is my hope that you will find it mildly interesting, too.

the way your teeth sink
into the flesh of a mango ripe
the skin yielding
mango, the skin yielding
without protest
the

***

your teeth sink
into the fleshy ripeness
of a mango         the skin yields
unprotesting before the sweetness
dribbles down your throat
and over your chin
trickles down the back
of your throat         dribbles
over your chin to stain the neck
of your t-shirt

***

your teeth sink
through the fleshy ripeness
of a mango         the skin yields
unprotesting before the sweetness
trickles down the back
of your throat         dribbles
over your chin to stain
the neck of your t-shirt

***

your teeth sink
through the fleshy ripeness
the skin yields
unprotesting before the sweetness
trickles down the back
of your tongue, dribbles
over your chin to stain
the throat of your shirt

***

your teeth sink through fleshy
ripeness as skin yields
unprotesting before the sweetness
trickles along the back
of your tongue, dribbles
down your chin to pool
at the base of your throat

***

teeth sink through fleshy
ripeness as skin yields
unprotesting before the sweetness
trickles along the back
of the tongue and dribbles
down the chin to pool
at the base of the throat

***

teeth sink through fleshy
ripeness as skin yields
unprotesting before sweetness
trickles along back
of tongue and dribbles
down chin to pool
at base of throat

***

Forgiveness

teeth sink through fleshy
ripeness as skin yields
unprotesting before sweetness
trickles along back
of tongue and dribbles down
to pool at base of throat

Five Minute Friday: fall

This is the first time I’ve participated in Five Minute Friday, though I’ve used the prompts (after the fact) on several occasions. I’m not sure this fits with what’s intended, but it’s where I went.

Downhill

From the summit of her life she looks
before and behind — there’s nowhere
to go but down. At least the forward
slope has the faint attraction of novelty. She cannot
mask her disappointment that the rest of the journey
more or less amounts to a controlled fall.

Found poetry: more Alicia

Things got kind of busy the last half of our vacation, but I did find time to read, make notes, and write, even if I didn’t have quite enough time to post. Here’s another striking passage from L.M. Montgomery’s “The Red Room.” If you have ideas about different ways to break the lines, please share them in the comments — I’d love to see them!

Alicia at the Ball

Her gown was of white, and there was nothing
I could liken the stuff to save moonshine
falling athwart a frosted pane, and out from it
swelled her gleaming breast and arms, so bare
that it seemed to me a shame
to look upon them. Yet it could not be denied
they were of wondrous beauty, white
as polished marble.

And all about her snowy throat and rounded
arms, and in the masses of her splendid hair, were sparkling,
gleaming stones, with hearts of pure light, which I know
to have been diamonds, but knew not then, for never
had I seen aught of their like.

And I gazed at her, drinking
in her beauty until my soul was filled, as she stood
like some goddess before her worshiper.

- L.M. Montgomery, “The Red Room”

(from Among the Shadows, edited by Rea Wilmshurst, 1991 Bantam edition, p. 164)

Found poetry: The Red Room

I’ve been reading a collection of short stories by L.M. Montgomery, beloved author of Anne of Green Gables. The stories were chosen because they reflect the darker side of Montgomery’s writing, and include supernatural elements as well as crime, tragedy, and despair. They aren’t grim or gritty, though, and contain some lovely turns of phrase and descriptive passages that have made me smile in delight, such as the following, which simply begged to be turned into a poem.

Alicia

Nor can I paint her to you
in words as I saw her then, with the long
tongues of firelight licking her
white neck and wavering over the rich
masses of her red-gold hair.

All the passion and fire of her
foreign nature burned in her splendid
eyes, that might have been
dark or light for aught
that I could ever tell, but which seemed
always like pools of warm
flame, now tender, now fierce.

Her skin was like a delicate white
rose leaf, and when she spoke
I told my foolish self that
never had I heard music before;
nor do I ever again think to hear
a voice so sweet, so liquid as that
which rippled over her ripe lips.

- L.M. Montgomery, “The Red Room”

(from Among the Shadows, edited by Rea Wilmshurst, 1991 Bantam edition, p. 141)

Prompted poetry: things people say

I drafted this trifle near the beginning of NaPoWriMo; at this point I can’t recall where the prompt came from. I tried to do a few clever things here with line breaks but don’t know if I carried it off.

people often say things
they don’t mean
mean things
they don’t say
coil in their minds
smooth-tailed serpents
poised without
pity

Horoscopoetry

(I’ve been away from writing and posting for several days because my mom had knee replacement surgery and my sisters and I provided round-the-clock tag-team coverage during her hospital stay. The surgery went well and she’s pretty much back to her ornery self, all the more so because PT makes her cranky.)

This poem was inspired by/lifted from Rob Brezsny, who is my favorite astrologist because he makes his recommendations with such creative flair. I often clip his columns to use as writing prompts, and this came from an old column I found while cleaning.

Aries, 15 November 2007

I love it when you forget
your troubles and become lost
thinking about the problems
of your friends.

I love it when you focus
entirely on the heat rising
from a cup of coffee or the sunlight
reflected in a puddle or the mysterious
expression that graces
the face of a stranger.

I love it when you prove
how much you love being
here, now, by turning your attention
onto every little thing
outside yourself.

When I first drafted this, I didn’t have terminal punctuation at the end of each stanza. I not sure whether I like it this way or not. What do you think?

Found poetry: from the library

One of the many things I enjoyed about working at publishing houses was reading Publisher’s Weekly, which made the rounds through the office each week. I always wanted to make poems out of the lists of new titles, but that wasn’t what I was being paid for so I never did.

The lines for this poem came from titles on the large print shelves at my local branch library. I haven’t modified them, though I did run a few together, just for fun.

***

the bone garden twice loved
the house of women
one true place beyond compare

the secret between us
the tarnished eye kissed by shadows
savage vision falling together

once upon a river of fire
Sonoma rose above suspicion
diving in the dark celebration

miles to go wicked all day
maybe this time the blessed exact revenge
the traveling kind