Thanks to my poetry mentor, Holly Wren Spaulding, who keeps reminding me to seek the “poem within the poem.” This one sentence poem first appeared as part of Life’s Choices.
Home at Sea
Dune shack dweller these many years
she fancied herself a Crustacean
sliding through life sidewise.
Death waits patiently
leans in close,
hand on sweat glistened brow.
Nostrils flare in and out
release short puffs of damp air
while lips part to blow soft spittle foam.
As pupils grow darker still
she lifts her head mightily
then settles into pungent straw
muscles still, reined no more.
Sometimes, things happen in life that truly truly make you thankful for every day. I’ve been 46 + years now with the love of my life — and we are grateful for every day in this “rejuvenatement” period of our lives (see my About for an explanation of the term). This poem was motivated by a poetry class assignment: look very very closely at things around you and write about something you want to save from oblivion. The mind jumps around and makes various connections, the pen writes, scratches out, and writes again…and this is the result.
Forever
Two gulls skitter about the shore’s edge
leaving track upon track, their dance notation.
Voices sound cacophonous shrills
wings flap, contract, and flap again.
Two children skip, swinging hand in hand
suddenly unjoin. Side by side, in unison
arms wide, they leap and jump
like gulls ahead who splash, lift and soar.
Waves rollick and return, out and always in.
Sea, animals, and children seen in twos
assault my oneness, so recently assumed
etched into being, sears and spills my tears.
Hands rest upon this familiar rail
seek coolness from the seasons’ heat
instead, send chills from hand to heart
my body, an eclipse of the sun.
Let go the rail. Come stand with me, my love
your life, not death, forever.
The large guest room hides
from baby squalls, ice cube maker
coffee grinder and garage door sounds
a three floor climb to indoor heaven.
Double bed entices with heirloom quilts.
Wall to wall, three-paned window
frames tall verdant backyard forest
invites dreams, a portal to the mind.
Mornings are delectable. Sun filters
myriad shades of green, breeze shivers
through leaves, becomes visible in movement
dew evaporates chills to warmth.
Pure luxury to lie in bed, eyes open wide
as sun rays seep through window panes
left to right, flit from branch to branch
like reading nature’s tale revealed in glass.
Morning presents positive possibilities
light unchecked by darkness or distress.
I become the bird that spreads its wings
and flies toward the day.
Caught in depression’s dark place
she hopped a no-name train
out-bound from her no-where life.
Metal wheels grate steel on steel
vibrations scream to emptiness
emotions scraped raw, again and again.
Unseeing people clamber on and off
cellphones plastered to deaf ears
unknowingly define her nothingness.
Surround sound automatically
projects periodic hypnotic names
leads lucid riders home, town by town.
Destiny speaks the loudest words
cut into her ragged soul
Last stop, Wonderland.
Thousands ride the subway system in Boston every day. They’re anonymous people, right? . That idea is the Muse for this poetic story. And yes, Wonderland is the last stop on the Blue Line in Boston’s subway system.
City life can be invigorating. Sometimes I crave the natural of the sea. The juxtaposition of these two got me to thinking about the two sides of myself and voila, this “person” resulted. I do think that sometimes, there’s a “reclusive idyllic” in all of us…..as in today’s Daily Post Word Challenge.
Life’s Choices
Reclusive by nature
she lived everyone else’s dream
a New York-Wall Street-Starbucks life.
She woke ten years ago, exhausted
ignored the ticking clock
sipped coffee slowly and decided.
One greatly, not gently used car
stuffed suitcase, and road map later
she searched the road for seaside serenity.
Dune shack dweller these many years
she fancied herself a Crustacean
sliding through life sidewise.
Exo skeleton deliberately developed
avoids tourists, sudden noises
eye contact and sand castles.
Off-season, she feasts on quiet
vast stretches of sand, sea and sky
shell discarded, she feeds her soul.
Last day of challenge to write a poem every day during April, National Poetry Writing Month. FYI: will be taking a hiatus from the blog until Monday, May 4. Taking a trip to visit family and slip into my mom and grandmom roles. Please do join me again on Monday!! Happy weekend to all and congratulations to all my fellow poets who completed the NaPoWriMo challenge!
Blur
She lives on a merry-go-round
senses dulled by blurred vision
maniacal calliope music
takes her nowhere every day
mired in circle sameness.
She chose the blue horse
its golden mane rich in gilt
matched her lust then shocked
her as its cold cylindrical pole
ignored her calls to stop.
He rides two steeds behind her
eyes wild, hair disheveled
desperately out of synch
up down to her down up
gains no ground moving still.
Hot desire fuels
his mad useless pursuit
anchored by metal plates
bolted to the wildly
spinning floor.
NaPoWriMo April 25. Without Prompt.
Loss
Eyes droop heavy
tear salt encrusted lashes
stare forward unseeing.
Throat gags trying to escape
the cloying flower scent
preserved in artificial cold air.
Silent screams inaudible
smothered in the cacophony
of shushing hushing voices.
Hands folded, cold
should be warm in mine
swinging down our lane.
Comprehension dawns
sun shines out of synch
with the ending of our days.
NaPoWriMo April 24, without prompt. Spending February in Bermuda, we walked many miles on the Old Railway Trail. So many sections were almost mystical – nature can be that way.
Wood’s Desire
The forest seldom traveled
seeks company and joy
trees stand sentinel proud
light rarely allowed upon her ground.
Winds decide to grant her wish
push aside branches high and low
create slivered space amongst the leaves
open pathways for morning sun.
Leaf filtered, bright and spritely shapes
suddenly dance upon her darkened floor
awakened shadows without selves
companions until the calm.
I stare. The smooth white sculpted figure
completely captivating. Cold, unmoving
lids closed for eternity. Eyes created
into white darkness.
Serenely sits, back bent with chin in hands
pondering thoughts, alive in past reality.
Captured contradictory calmness
while lungs clogged and marble dust swirled.
Chisels scraped and coarse hands shaved
layer after layer, coaxing, manipulating curves.
Demanded and willed, she bent to stillness
life siphoned from blood to stone.
I imagine her resentment
concealed in beauty replicated
bent deeper still, pain unseen
words swallowed into stone.
NaPoWriMo — without a prompt. Day 21. I’ve found that since my forray into writing poetry, I look at things more intensely. Has this happened to you? In Bermuda, I came across this amazing sculpture — I couldn’t take my eyes off it. And then I read what the artist said, and I understood.
Sculpture credit: Pensativa 1984, white marble. By Felipe Castaneda….in the Bermuda Art Museum. Of his artistic process Castaneda says “I still consider it a kind of miracle that forms almost identical to human beings are born out of rock – and in some cases the only thing lacking for them to be alive is for them to move of their own accord and speak.”
lillian the home poet 