Legacy

I have no craft
to give you.
Can you make do
with the quilts,
handstitched,
by the great lady
you never knew?
the crocheted slippers
wrapped in tissue
and tucked in
in my nightgown drawer?
You won't be able
to wrap yourself
in the scratchy afghans
of my love
when the night is bitter.

My only legacy
can be my words,
whispered into your
sleepy ears,
scratched in journals
and legal pads,
tossed into the
ether.
Do not look for wisdom.
You'll find only me
hoping you'll want
to know me.

Here we go again

There is no remedy
for a sleepless night
in breakfast
prepared before dawn.
But there is solace
in the simplicity of
frying bacon and eggs,
comfort in the yolk
familiarly broken.
Restoration is promised
with the routine of
a blueing sky.
There is peace
with the child
come safely home.

PAD 30

See you around

When conversation
continues, there is no need
for final farewell.


Today is the last day of the Poem A Day Challenge, and the prompt was farewell. I've never seen a haiku with a title before, but this one demanded a title. Originally, this was much, much, much longer, but I enjoy efficiency and leanness in poetry, so I rethought what I was trying to say, and it distilled itself into a haiku.

This challenge has been very good for me. Whenever I lose my creative writing, I lose something important in myself, and I've lost enough this last year. Earlier today, I reread everything I wrote for the PAD challenge. There's some good, there's some really bad, but that's not important. I'm proud that I set out to do this and completed the challenge. As difficult as writing some of these poems has been, I've enjoyed doing this more than I can say. It's helped me feel like me again, and there were times I felt like I was saying something significant.

I can't imagine a writer who doesn't want to be read, and the bulk of the writing that I do is the completely anonymous variety that serves a strictly functional purpose for its reader. Poetry is far from functional. I think it's important, but it's almost a luxury item. It's the dark chocolate heart in a diet otherwise composed of rice and beans. This blog is a bit of a luxury in my life as well, and knowing that people read it does something wonderful for me. Thank you for hanging in here with me this month.

PAD 29

Never again

Never again
will I lose myself so
my life resembles
an upended purse
searched for a token,
a lingerie drawer
tossed for a pair
of period panties.
I'm looking now
for that runaway pearl,
the broken gold chain
which can be melted
and formed anew,
the treasure
I forgot I was.

Today's prompt was to title a poem Never ____________.

PAD 28

I see your pain,
yet, I know that pull
towards that dark abyss
of the harsh goodbye
I cannot explain.
But it's not because of you.

It's only because of you
that I bear the pain
too murky to explain.
It's magnetic, the pull,
A gift by saying goodbye,
an opening here if I join the abyss.

We're told to look into the abyss,
and that it looks back into you.
We have the choice of hello or goodbye,
the choice of which kind of pain.
It's still so hard to ignore that pull,
saying surrender, and there's no need to explain.

It lies, there's always the need to explain.
Can I let you see inside my own abyss?
And see how I cling to life's pull
I only stumble when I don't think of you.
I want to ease, not cause more pain.
I cannot bear your face when you say goodbye.

It's such a final word, goodbye,
with so much left to explain.
How long will it last, your pain,
if mine is over, gone into the abyss.
I don't want to do this to you.
Yet I cannot deny the pull.

I ride the tug of war, always feeling the pull
to end the struggle, bid it goodbye.
The farewell is not for you.
Maybe because I can't explain,
I run from the abyss
but feel like I spread pain.

Either way I cause pain, and and everyone is pulled
closer to their own abyss. This calls for my goodbye.
There's so much to explain, but how can I burden you?

Today's prompt was to write a sestina. The prompt explains the rules of the form. Sestina...the word sounds like it should be a sort of party or a dance. Hey everybody, let's sestina! It didn't work that way. There is a discipline in writing a structured poetic form, and it can be harsh, but it's a damn good exercise.

PAD 27

Unloosing the cascade

My lips, my lips,
they crave the rasp of stubble
just under the jawline,
yes, right there,
and the quickening
of your pulse
on my tongue,
skin like satin
and nubby tweed,
the slow, deep tremble
of hands and limbs
intertwined,
the feel of grass
bending and breaking
beneath me,
green sharp tingle
rising to my nose...
surrounded with
flowers and incense,
tree sap and spice.
standing,
reverential, inhaling
the stew from the
good cook's kitchen,
floating and blissful
as Chagall's goat,
seeing beyond and into
what all I crave.

Today's prompt was longing.

PAD 26

You taught forgiveness,
love and peace through parables.
He yells God hates fags.

The prompt was miscommunication, and I had to really struggle with this one. I just couldn't get the core image around which to build a poem to gel in my head. (By the way, that image may never make its way into the poem, but it has to be where I start.) It has only been sheer persistence that kept me from giving up. I can't quit this close to the end of the challenge, but I was darn near throwing in the towel. Then I started playing around with haiku, punning through misunderstood song lyrics ('scuse me while I kiss this guy). Finally, I got my image. What do most of us screw up because it's so far beyond our ability to really understand? What is so hard for us to communicate well? God.

PAD 25

The Big Event

She had a book
just for planning.
Budget and prices,
flowers and favors,
invitations,
seating, colors
and wardrobe.
She only forgot
to enjoy.

The prompt for today was event. I see this so often, and it just makes me sad.

PAD 24

We drove alone,
just a woman and just a girl,
cutting through the wild darkness
of a Mississippi night.

The haunted Vicksburg mansion
you wanted to visit was closed,
but the river curled like a
tarnished bronze ribbon
when morning came.
We spit the seeds,
from tomatoes eaten whole,
onto the Natchez Trace,
after we left the vegetable stand
where they played John Coltrane,
then prayed in the slave cemetery
beside the 200 year old inn.

In New Orleans,
we got henna tattoos,
and I embarrassed you
by moaning over my food.
I blushed as we walked Bourbon St.
but tried to remember
my first time there,
I was younger than you.
Our cab driver quoted poetry,
and you bought art
as your biggest souvenir.

I said,
"We can go anywhere.
You get to decide."
I hoped you'd know
I was telling you to dream.

Today's prompt was travel.

Unprompted poem

I bought myself flowers today --
pink and cream striped tulips --
just to find I had no vase.
I used a beer mug instead.
I'm sorry, tulips.
You deserve better,
but this is right for me.
Such beauty in a make do life.

PAD 23

Swan Song

The laughter stopped.
I don't remember when.
Gone without announcement,
no rush of fleeing wings,
only the void left behind.
You were mute,
I shrill as the blackbird.
Did they steal it and fly away,
to replace their harsh caws?
Now, even the mockingbird
has only the whipporwill's cry.

Today's prompt was regret, another prompt I really, really didn't want to do. I'm not that pleased with this, but considering how many attempts I had to throw away or delete, it'll do.

PAD 22

Two Jobs

For one,
I dress down.
Comfort is required
before unsheathing pen
to strip flesh from bone
and transform it.
My voice goes raw.
I howl,
fanning
this little life
into an explosion.
Thus am I nourished,
soul fed.

For the other,
I polish and adorn,
confine myself among
regal robes.
I am the guardian of
lace and pearls.
Crystals and satin
flow through my fingers.
I speak with
the cultured voice
of hope observed.
The mistress of
evolving ritual,
I am drained.
Thus I earn my daily bread.

Today's prompt was work.

PAD 21

I
mischievous kitten
rolls in ashes of incense,
sandalwood purrs.

II
haiku restrains so.
revelation needs more room
or no words at all.

Tuesday has "two-fer" prompts at the Poem A Day Challenge. Today's was obviously haiku, with the second prompt being to write about haiku.

PAD 20

To be reborn,
you only have to die.
It happened slowly.
Heart racing,
trying to escape
these feeble breasts,
its cadence pushing
everything else aside.
Skin burning,
all other sensation lost,
agonizing its way into ash.
Each breath trembling,
leaving me a void,
then forgetting to inhale.
I woke anew,
unsteady,
no cradling arms,
fearful, squalling
as any other babe,
unsure of what I was,
of what to do,
of what I could become.

The prompt for Day 20 of the Poem A Day Challenge was rebirth. It seems that no matter what I do, the concept of resurrection won't leave me alone. It's stalking me, and I am doing a miserable job of hiding from it. Do I feel like I'm there yet? Heck no, but that often happens to me when I travel. I overshoot my destination and have to turn back to get to where I belong. Sometimes I think my whole life may be a co(s)mic metaphor.

PAD 19

how we mourn

you threw my lamps,
broke my angel statue,
and shattered my crystal vase.
my cheekbone bore your
unintended bruise.

i could have crushed you.
it would have been too easy.
holding you softly was
so damn hard.

i hate being big enough
to understand your rage,
to restrain your flailing arms,
and whisper
it will be okay again,
someday.

The prompt was anger.

PAD 18

The Mortgage Broker

Keep it at arm's length
was a spoken rule.
They laid their dreams,
their sweat, their toil
their failures, their foibles,
brutally documented,
on the table.
I handed them a blue pen
and said sign here.

PAD 17

All I Want Is To Know

All I want
is to know
what I really want.
To see
the destination on a map,
highlighted in yellow,
circled in bright green ink,
a dozen possible journeys
to get me there.
I want it defined,
solid and clear,
a crystal in my hand,
loud and sharp,
a court room gavel
that hushes
the diversionary whims.
I want the voice I know,
whispering in my ear,
this is who you are.

Today's Poem A Day Challenge prompt was "all I want."

PAD 16

The Virgin's Rape

So red
the flame, the wine, the blouse,
the lipstick smudge,
the blood.
So pale
the skin, the fading moon,
the dawning sky,
her trembling wrist's
earth bound thud.
So black
his eyes, his hair, his heart,
the pummelled soil,
the canker on
the rose's bud.

Sometimes I get surprised by where a poem takes me when I'm writing. Today's prompt was color, and I chose red, because it's one of my favorite colors. I look wonderful in red, and I associate it with energy, confidence, energy, warmth, and charisma. If a sales person is asked their favorite color in a pre-employment personality test, the preferred response is red. Red is the color of the power tie. NBC's Today Show did an informal study that showed that men think women in red are more attractive than women in attire of other colors. For me, the emotional associations with the color red are more positive than negative, yet this dark poem is what emerged.

PAD 15

daddy's jitterbug

oh, daddy, who knew
you were ever so smooth?
dancing in the foyer,
feet cutting on the black slate floor,
laughing at the mistletoe
on the chandelier,
christmas tree lights
sparkling your eyes,
shoulders straight,
knees hopping,
hips gliding,
momma, twirling out
and laughing back in
to the curl of your arms.
your girls,
on the couch,
clapping and laughing.
oh, momma,
oh, daddy,
do it again.

The prompt for today's PAD Challenge was to take the title of a poem and change at least one word. My first thought was to do Intimations of Immorality (a play on Wordsworth), but that wouldn't quite do. I remember lines and phrases of poems, rarely their titles, so I grabbed one of the anthologies we have around the house and started looking just for a title that would grab me. Of course, I settled down and had a good read. Then I came across My Papa's Waltz by Theodore Roethke, and it made me remember a Christmas when my parents danced, laughing, after we'd opened presents. My parents loved to dance and indulged themselves in weekend country club dances regularly, but I rarely saw them dance at home. It's one of my favorite memories, and it did me good to rediscover it today.

PAD 14

An address to love

I love you, love.
Transformed in your gaze,
in your arms,
to pulsing flesh, electric and warm,
magically beautiful
my skin my home and yours.
My eyes see only bliss.
My heart turns and
longs only to give.
I love you love,
you make me strong,
able to carry, and labor
and tend,
and rejoice that I do.
I hate you, love.
You leave me too open,
nerve endings so alive,
your pain eclipses all.
Skin thinned to where
there is nothing I can hide.
So weak I must be held up
by you.
You leave me raw, love,
and I hate it.
I want to close this
beating heart,
be invisible
in this monstrous world,
but I can't.
You changed me, love,
and without you,
I am not me.

Today's PAD prompt was love. I most emphatically did not want to write a love poem, but I do want to complete this challenge. I could not and would not write another love poem, though. In many ways, the grief poems have been some of the purest love poems I've written about a person. This one though is not about a person. It's about love itself. There have been times when shutting down my heart seemed the smartest thing I could do, but luckily, I was smart enough to learn that the cost would be too high.