think diamond
is passion
jagged and obtuse,
or egg-shaped and small?
many thousands will think
and ask together.
we have a frantic need to know this.
while existing in burning air and suffocating space
spalling red blood tears
between each moment of sweetness
bits and pieces starting as wax, not honey.
it does not pour or flow,
rather builds and solidifies as stone
clashing with the surrounding sediment
to sharpened edges:
a gem that scars and heals.
that’s what love never tells you.
Soothing Refrain
Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
~Langston Hughes
I went for a walk in the rain
because I wanted to soak.
I had an umbrella, but didn’t bring it with me,
keeping instead to the tree-covered lane
in the center of the boulevard.
Large drops penetrated the canopy
to drench me, but yet still
was coddling and consoling.
Passing people with ponchos
who smiled at my foolishness.
Street vendors stared and then
covered their wares with tarps and old towels.
There was the splash as I shuffled my feet.
The penetrating damp crept through my sleeves
Far from idyllic,
just a steady rhythm
of cascading drips through rattling leaves.
The trickle of rainwater down my cheek
as I awoke at the end of the street,
gave the vague clarity
of having just been kissed.
Crafting Memories
At my parent’s house, my mother has a glass topped table in her kitchen. The table base is the wrought-iron base of an old sewing machine…it has a pedal. It is only natural to want to push the pedal and make the wheel rotate. For years, members of the family have taken turns sitting in the seat with the pedal at our feet, cranking away while we drank coffee in the mornings, ate our breakfast, held late night discussions… sowing conversation and weaving stories. Our children, from the moment they could reach the pedal from the seat, wanted to sit there and work the pedal. It was a moment we could engage them in a conversation. But more than that, it was a time to share our memories with them.
…until the axle finally broke away from the wheel. We could rest our feet there, but the pedal would not move. It was as if time conspired. Everyone was older, people were moving faster, things break down.
During one of his recent visits, my nephew attached the axle to the wheel and wrapped it with rubber bands. He is ten years old. He understands the value of memories and wanted to fix it.
We noticed it this past Thanksgiving and pedaled again with joy.
Rubber bands don’t last forever either, and they will in time dry out and become frangible. Those attachments, unless welded or firmly adhered, will become loose and broken again.
Time can take its toll on things, but memories fashioned with craftsmanship and ingenuity will last.
Our children see to that.
New Publication
I am pleased to say that another one of my poems, entitled Tephrostratigraphy has found a home, and has been published online in The Front Porch Review, alongside some other very fine poets and writers. I hope you will check it out.
Reversible Poems
Responding to a challenge/contest over at Earful of Cider to write a reversible poem, one that can be read forwards/backwards. I couldn’t decide which one of these I like more/less.
Her Allemande
she weaves and winds
through Lombardy poplars
in the fence row
reaching the sky,
the sun shimmers on her delicate hands
through the tiny green branches
she grasps the stand.
Allemande left,
Allemande right,
skipping and passing from new twig to stem
she hums her own songs,
praising her hymns
in golden wheat sunlight
singing and mounting her gait
through Lombardy Poplars
she weaves and winds
- -
she weaves and winds
through Lombardy Poplars
singing and mounting her gait
in golden wheat sunlight
praising her hymns
she hums her own songs
skipping and passing from new twig to stem.
Allemande right,
Allemande left,
she grasps the stand
through the tiny green branches
the sun shimmers on her delicate hands
reaching the sky
in the fence row
through Lombardy poplars
she weaves and winds.
oooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooo
To Write A Song
That’s how the chord progressions go
With strum of strings, or flexing bow
The one, six, four, then five to show
just how the music builds, then rests
a lovely shade of wistfulness
A warming sun, a sweetened taste
Of touching love with all due haste
A charming sigh concludes the tryst
With strum of strings, or flexing bow
That’s how the chord progressions go
- -
That’s how the chord progressions go
With strum of strings, or flexing bow
A charming sigh concludes the tryst
Of touching love with all due haste
A warming sun, a sweetened taste
a lovely shade of wistfulness
Just how the music builds, then rests
The one, six, four, then five to show
With strum of strings, or flexing bow
That’s how the chord progressions go.
*********************
That versatility thing…
Soooo….I’ve been nominated for the Versatile Blogger Award by Sarah over at Earful of Cider, which is both interesting and very nice.
///////////////////////////////////////////
Rules for The Versatile Blogger Award.
1. nominate 5 fellow bloggers for The Versatile Blogger Award.
2. add the Versatile Blogger Award logo.
3. thank the blogger who nominated you with a link to their blog.
4. share 7 completely random pieces of information about yourself.
5. include this set of rules.
6. Inform each nominated blogger of their nomination by posting a comment on each of their blogs.
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
It is interesting, because I don’t consider my blogging to be that versatile at the moment. On the one hand, I’m new at this and haven’t accumulated a great following of readers. Further, I typically only post poems, though I have also published a few other notes off to the side there, that I don’t think many people have read…at least they’ve never gotten stats or likes or comments. In addition, Sarah fully admitted she was down to the last people on her list…(wink).
However, in the spirit of giving, and because it was nice gesture in early 2012 to be recognized by a fellow blogger…I accept this award. Now comes the difficult part for me. I have to nominate 5 other bloggers who I deem worthy of the award. (Note: See my comment above, I probably only have visited 5 other blogs, several of which already have this award).
Chances are, I’m gonna have to go out and read somebody’s blog just to get the nominations done…kind of the blogosphere’s version of Ding Dong Ditch. This might take me a while…
Secondly, I have to share 7 factoids about myself. This should be reeaaaally interesting*.
1. As a young toddler, I bit the head off a pet turtle. One of those small turtles, that you keep in little terrariums. My mother swears I did this, I don’t recall it. I lived over it…the turtle…well…no.
2. I once sat behind Chick Corea and Pat Metheny on an airplane flight to Wisconsin. My wife and I were going to friend’s wedding. They had just played at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival the night before. In retrospect, I’m surprised they were flying coach. If you’ve never heard of them…never mind.
3. Though I’ve been to Europe a few times, I’ve never been to the US West Coast.
4. I don’t like hospitals. I’ve been in them more times than I care to count.
5. One of my personal goals is to visit all the major league baseball parks for a game. So far, I’ve been to Great American (Cincinnati- too easy not to), PNC Park (Pittsburgh), Wrigley Field (Chicago), and Miller Park (Milwaukee). Eventually, I’ll have to see the West Coast (#3). We are managing about one trip per summer and I’m running out of close options…it’s going to get more difficult in a few years.
6. I like movies. Field of Dreams is probably my favorite movie. Blazing Saddles is the funniest movie ever made…and I don’t think it would ever be made in this day and age. I prefer the Lord of the Rings to Star Wars. They shouldn’t have made the newest Indiana Jones movie.
7. I have a soft spot for nostalgia. Anything about old memories, old stories, Old TV shows photos, music, books, furniture, technology, etc., I’m hooked. I used to refinish/refurbish old furniture pieces for our home, but ultimately ran out of room. I collect old poetry books. I look forward to visiting flea markets.
Done.
Now, I have to go nominate 5 people—4 of whom will probably have never known of me before now—when I visit their blog for the first time—leaving a note about the Versatile Blogger Award in the dark of night or early morning light…then stealthily sneak away. Once I get that done, I’ll update the post.
Who was that masked man?
*As a side note, I’m a shy person by nature, so sharing information is much easier behind the veil of “secrecy”…pay no attention to the man behind the curtain…I am the GREAT and POWERFUL OZ!
********************
And I would like to nominate the following wonderful people:
1. Kim at Lovely Shades of Nostalgia - she always has an interesting take on the past, whether it be music or family, toys, diners. A fun blog to follow!
2. Sherry at Too Much August, Not Enough Snow- A wonderful poet, writer, photographer and story-teller. You feel like you are with her in the mountains of Montana.
3. Gabrielle at Gabrielle Bryden’s Blog: Another wonderful poet, photographer, and writer from Down-Under.
Oeuvre
Characters written in fresh milk
on paper
- when her heart
was full of longing,
Did she divine this as a song
in a pentatonic key?
Elevating her joy to ignition by dusting
her soul with gunpowder,
then showered down from the sparks
to low crackles and hums.
Guiding the hands of one
to accompany her riff
on Summertime, she
adorned her melody
with a solid chord structure
and a bounding rhythm.
It was sincere.
It was breathtaking.
It was…
Bouncing Down
The lightened drip of single voices
droplets fall to meet the stone,
sing with resonating choices
a pebble, repeats its tenor tone
in mellow, normal phrases.
And gathering then, another sound,
cacophony of voices mold
as chords and dissonance abound,
a single roaring river’s hold
on ebb and flow in places.
In counterpoint, with rise and fall,
the song meanders as it seeks
annointed clamors ring and spall
a rush ascending to its peaks
with nothing heard in spaces.
