This week’s assignment for poetry class was to write a poem around the premise, “You crack me up with all this truth.” I riffed on the two words that jumped out at me, crack and truth.
Of truth and crack
Truth is like crack: the pure stuff
will set you free
but the stuff that’s been cut
with this or that
will really mess you up.
Truth cracks us over
the head like a two-by-four
– which is how the universe gets
our attention when metaphor
Truth continues to seep through
the cracks no matter how well we think
we have insulated ourselves.
Truth is the temblor that cracks
the foundation of every human
The china dolls say: If you tell us
the truth we may crack up; we prefer
During discussion in a poetry class last week, someone posed the question, “Is ice cream a decision?” Rather than allow us to become completely sidetracked, the instructor wisely turned the question into a writing assignment. If you feel inspired to join the fun, please post your poem in the comments or link back to this post from your own blog so I can read it. 🙂
Is ice cream a decision?
It is an imperative, a command
that cannot be ignored, force
powerful beyond the imagination
of resistance, second
only perhaps to air.
Flavor is the only true decision.
magnolia blossoms glow in the night-dark
yard, reflecting the moon’s light
as if they were themselves moons or sea creatures
impregnated with phosphorescent cells,
brightening the fertile gloom
in cool imitation of the unseen sun
I can always count on tarot to spark my imagination. This is from the Fairy Tale Tarot (Lisa Hunt, 2009), a gorgeous deck that is out of print but digitally available thanks to The Fool’s Dog. This image came from their Tarot Sampler IV.
A woman may swallow a seed
that is not a seed and bear
a child that is not a child.
A selfish old man may indulge
himself by pretending
to indulge his grandson.
A child that wants to play
with a box may be a raven
who steals back the sun.
A child may be a raven.
A box may hold the sun.
A thief may be a hero.
Things are not always what they seem.
Yesterday was so busy that even though I wrote something, I opted to go to bed when I got home rather than post. The muse did not approve, it seems, as I slept very poorly.
attendance quorum agenda
minutes motion second
amendment call the question
all in favor all opposed
motion carries motion does not carry
old business new business
tabled if nothing further
Emily Dickinson is a real dickens to trace! Her language is so precise and her images so concrete, it is difficult to create something more than a pale imitation or weak echo. I’ve been wrestling with a couple Dickinson poems for about a week, and this is the first thing that has even faintly resembled something I could call my own.
Moon! You were finding me
the whole night by
gaps in the blinds too tiny
to be seen by day
Beam after beam of silver light
swept the pillow, seemed to hit
my eyes, no matter that
they were tightly shut
This morning I hold you
to blame for my slow
rising, even though
I stayed out past two
(loosely patterned after poem no. 1035 “Bee! I’m expecting you!” by Emily Dickinson – http://hellopoetry.com/poem/2416/bee-im-expecting-you/)
Book titles are a great source of inspiration. I pulled these from some catalogs I found while cleaning. Found poetry, indeed.
The secret library
the odd one out
in the great green room
is lost among the living
no time to clean
the mist in the mirror
in simple circles and quick curves
touch the wild
garden at the dragon’s gate
an antidote to venom
the eve of a hundred midnights
the desire of the everlasting hills
nothing is worth more than this day