Turning

I’ve not written in weeks nor posted in months, but the frenzy of summer is giving way to the winding down of autumn, thank goodness. This poem was inspired by a lovely post from Michele Bledsoe at The Secret Kingdom: https://secretkingdombook.wordpress.com/2019/09/13/42-dogs-and-the-art-of-repetition/

Imperfect analogy

an artist titles her painting “42 Dogs”
and I think about dogs like snowflakes

unique and beautiful, infinite
in variation: size, shape, color

and then I realize dogs are nothing
like snowflakes, which are more

or less uniform in size and color
and pile up by the millions

on the lawn and front walk, and blow
into drifts against the house

and I am so grateful
that dogs are warm and soft

eyed and that snowflakes are not
in the least bit like dogs

 

Volunteer ironweed (Vernonia sp.) that appeared in my yard

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Reading and writing

After many, many days of sleeping, hours of coughing, and two rounds of medication, I’m finally feeling human again. I read when the throbbing in my head permitted but didn’t do much writing. Thanks to the amazing author notes that accompany the poetry at Rattle, however, I was able to think about writing.

This poem was derived from the author notes with poems posted at Rattle on July 17, 19, and 22.

Poetry workshop in three stanzas

every day she writes
with a sharp pencil
on lined paper
in a notebook – like this one?

he often ruins poems
working them to death
he believes they are not lost
but find other, better makers

we lose stuff all the time –
pets, people, wallets, jobs
a good poem makes a sound
readers recognize as their own

(https://www.rattle.com/city-of-refuge-by-katherine-barrett-swett/,
https://www.rattle.com/object-lesson-in-over-attachment-by-hayden-saunier/,
https://www.rattle.com/prozac-ode-by-craig-van-rooyen/)

Hibiscus moscheutos ‘Blue River II’ in my yard.

 

Holiday reservations

I was raised to understand that patriotism is placing the welfare of the whole – community, nation, society – above personal interests, trusting that service to others becomes, in the end, service to ourselves. Those ideas seem lost amid public expressions of individual freedom that grow louder and more ostentatious each year.

They say birthdays cease to have meaning after a while, and I always thought that was a comment on the passage of time. Now I’m not so sure.

Holiday reservations

This year on the Fourth we have plans to celebrate family birthdays –
except for Uncle Sam’s – he’s been acting so strange of late
we feel like we don’t know him anymore, which is saying a lot
because we have a pretty high tolerance for strange in this family.

Most of us are afraid for him – his health, his stability – but some
are afraid of him, of what he might do next. We don’t really know
how to talk about any of this – with ourselves, let alone with him –
but he doesn’t seem to be listening anyway. So we’ll have cake

and ice cream, and candles but no fireworks – not even sparklers –
and sing “Happy Birthday” and open cards and maybe a few
gifts. Then we’ll sedate the dog and turn in early, burying our heads
in the pillows to muffle the sounds of gunfire and other explosions.

 

Purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea) from my yard

 

 

LexPoMo 2019, Day 20

This was inspired by the paintings of Carolyn Young Hisel, seen in Luminous, a 50-year retrospective of her work at the Headley-Whitney Museum. My poetry circle took a field trip at the end of April to see the exhibition, which was amazing.

A woman is leaving

A red piano waits to carry her
on notes we cannot hear; a red boat
is moored at world’s edge

like a patient pony. She will dance
to the threshold, draped in lace;
she will step into the green wave

where the sun sets. Her head turns
to the luminous door, to the view
beyond the open window.

(Reposted from the Lexington Poetry Month website: https://lexpomo.com/poem/a-woman-is-leaving/)

Bearded iris and English daisies, my yard, early May

 

LexPoMo 2019, Day 18

This is pretty much how my day begins, every day. Most days I manage to respond before we reach DEFCON 1, but sometimes I don’t move fast enough and the cat has to pull out all the stops.

Alarm cat

soft whisker kisses
and delicate snuffling
on my nose, eyes, lips
with faint, most intimate
purring

vigorous edge and corner
rubbing on bedside table
and pile of books that slithers
to the floor with muted
thudding

deliberate stroll along headboard
to select, with care, which items
will be batted onto my head
and which will be sent
flying

soft thump as the bed is abandoned:
final stage has been triggered

silence long enough for me to drift
back to sleep, then unnaturally loud
sounds of moist mastication
and plastic, followed by
retching

objective achieved
I am up

(Reposted from the Lexington Poetry Month website: https://lexpomo.com/poem/alarm-cat/)

…butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth…

 

LexPoMo 2019, Day 16

I took today off from work, which means I had a little time (and a little inspiration) for some writing of my own.

Overheard at brunch

I don’t like to wait
for anything
if I don’t have to.

not a boast
but a moment of candor
free of bluff or bravado

a quiet revelation within
the safe circle of breaking
bread and morning coffee

(Reposted from the Lexington Poetry Month website: https://lexpomo.com/poem/overheard-at-brunch/)

Insect damage on a old log

 

LexPoMo 2019, Day 13

Today is lucky 13, the day I finally get back to writing and posting a little poetry! That pesky work has been getting in the way (not really; I’m working on a couple of very enjoyable editing projects, but they do necessarily take precedence over my own writing). I guess I need to manage my time a little differently so I can do both things I love…

Necromancy of the everyday

the dead are not as gone as we think
nor as quiet – their bones rattle
us when we least expect – early
asparagus in the produce aisle, the vigorous
bowing of a double-bass, pipe smoke
drifting from an open window

no incantation can settle our minds’
restless associations, the constant
monkey quest for pattern – past and present
overlaid until the light that shines
through or the shadows that fall
between trigger recognition

(Reposted from the Lexington Poetry Month website: https://lexpomo.com/poem/necromancy-of-the-everyday/)

Storm-downed burr oak leaves at Woodland Park, Lexington