8.16.2017

Hymn

Read this new poem by Sherman Alexie: HYMN

8.11.2017

Reverie

Between
stretchy clouds
   impossibly high
and bass so low
as to bring
vertigo
           Hyper-aware
                of gravity
     nimbus-strong
  and super-wish
           a tractor beam
   would end
All this
Izy’s prompt in the Imaginary Garden: WRITING UNSEEN

8.06.2017

Connections

The first time it happened
I noticed to myself,
all of us
engrossed in other things.

The next day, we exclaimed
There’s a rainbow!
just as the singer sang
about a rainbow.

We looked at each other.
That’s weird.
It happened yesterday.
Yes. That’s really weird.

We decided to take it
as a good sign.

Flash 55! for Real Toads

7.30.2017

With My Daughter at the Ray Touch Tank

Remember how giddy we were,
thrusting our arms
up to the elbow in cold water,
clutching smelt till the rays came
and snuffled them from our hands?

Remember how shocked we were,
squealing with surprised joy,
how tiny teeth felt on our palms
gnawing so gently it tickled
like a cat’s rough tongue?

Remember their smiles,
how we proclaimed cownose rays
the cutest of all living things?
I remember your eyes, glossy
with laughter, and feeling so alive.

Karin’s prompt to the Real Toads: A GLANCE AT NARRATIVE

7.25.2017

Working On a Building

What if
this structure exists
only in my mind,
these rooms
in which I pace
tile floors to carpet
are of my imagining,
our talks and lovemaking
the trusses
of my dreaming-home,
our silence and pain
but girders
for a grander scheme than we?
If so, it will take
more than a crane
to bring this baby down--

Late entry for Kim’s weekend challenge: BUILDINGS
Sharing on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden

7.24.2017

Haiku Observation #4284

Rainy Monday blues--
worn like a home-made afghan,
tastes like cough syrup

7.18.2017

Toast & Syrup

No sugar cereal
only Chex or Wheaties
but any day (or every day)
2 pieces of Wonder toast

spread with margarine
cut in 18 fork-size pieces
soaked in Golden Griddle
This breakfast

seems wrong for adults
(or for anyone in 2017)
but would be fulfilling
in a green year

Sharing with the Toads on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden

7.03.2017

Aubade

When the last of the fireworks
fizzles into grey-green night
under a lonely streetlight,
mosquitos retire, drunk,
the air’s as dense as local honey
and sweet, I’ll retire in your arms

Because upon waking, we’ll miss
this thickness portending loss,
the dozen verses sung in darkness
simply for sake of time, and wait
out pacing hours until the chance
again arrives to imbibe on shadows

Late entry for Play It Again in the Imaginary Garden

6.27.2017

Springing




Gentle Readers, guess what? A friend from college sent me the September 1987 issue of Kiosk, a literary magazine. He had saved several issues, some including poems of his own, and some with poems written by friends. A poem apparently written by me appears on page 14. What?

I have no memory of this poem, or of the literary magazine, or of submitting anything to same. Or much memory of college, to tell the truth. This poem is not among the small stack of papers I have stashed away from when I was Very Young. But there is no doubt who wrote “Springing,” is there? Wow.

Sharing on the Tuesday Platform with my Toads today, who I know will appreciate this! :)

 

6.15.2017

Thursday

I can feel myself retreating
into my own mind while wanting to tell
my friends I love them. I want to do nothing
but lie on the floor holding my kids in my arms
occasionally running off to bed with my husband.
I need to write but want to watch movies, read
a book but my body demands sleep. I want to drink
while sober, take a nap instead of exercise.
I’ll work hard but really want to quit my job,
resist yet surrender. Sparkle and glower. Holler
and whine. I want to run away but stay home.

For Sanaa's prompt in the Garden: OF INSOMNIA AND SLEEP

6.14.2017

Little Bow Haiku

Back door wide open
to morning sounds, garden air
like nothing has changed

6.13.2017

To/For, About, With

    in loving memory of Tracey McCartney

We balk
at the task of writing
about the life of a beloved
because it seems impossible,
the audacity of eulogizing her
rendering us wordless at first
but we try anyway.

We listen to Neil Peart
for inspiration
to pen stories and poems,
write songs and blog posts,
issue proclamations
using words like fierce
and justice, steady and strong,
talent and uproariousness,
passion and compassion
and love.

We search inside ourselves
for the same qualities,
wondering about the unnamed thing
that draws one person
to another
whether across time
and miles and constant change
or tucked in together
belly to back
every night for eighteen years.

We are drawn to her,
our brightest light.
We warm ourselves nearby.
We curl up beside her,
ever-closer as her flames begin to dim,
fervently scribbling down words
describing how much she means to us.


I wrote this poem for a Celebration of Life this past weekend in Nashville and it was read by Tracey’s spouse Nan. Deep sigh. Much love.

Sharing with the Toads on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden.

6.10.2017

The Judgment

Surrounded by beauty
needing no reminders
a peculiarity of souls
lines up to account
for thoughtless actions

The worst that could happen
is likely to happen
& souls judge harshly
but I will persist
as advocacy is my jam

As emerald favors pink
or as moths thrive in moonlight
I’ll observe from the floor
for as long as it takes
then dust off & keep on

I picked a tarot card as suggested by Mama Zen earlier this week, then responded to Magaly’s prompt: I AM MADE OF

5.30.2017

Observing Love, Broken Things

I threw open a window
to melancholia
of cold and rainy spring

Lonely breezes blow in
like electricity
raising gooseflesh
straggled strands of hair

All I can think is
there’s so much love
yet everything is broken

 Sharing on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden

5.29.2017

Birthday

(I wish I had created this. I love it.)

5.28.2017

Living Room

Bare walls,
straight chairs--
the only color
in this room
is his black piano

Kim asked the Real Toads to write about a place through a person or a person through a place: PEOPLE AND PLACES

5.21.2017

The News Cycle

News charges forward
like the kind of train
that encourages counting
while we wait
behind flashing barriers,
shelters all the hobos
and intellectuals,
expects us to keep up
despite its desperate rush
toward the damsel
approaching the tracks ahead,
anticipates everything
except the cunning of women
who have held too much
for long enough
and are done with all of it,
who are ready to wield power
like never before,
who are ready to strike out
and torque that train
right the hell off its tracks
before we have the chance to say
I think I read that somewhere,
maybe in yesterday’s news

Brendan asked the Real Toads to opine in verse about The News.

5.18.2017

#SML

Followed a car
with the plate
   SML

Some drivers might read
   SMALL
   SMELL
   or SMILE

but I could only see
   So
   Much
   Love

and appreciated
the reminder

Susie asked the Real Toads to write a poem from our immediate surroundings: MIXED MEDIA ART (I jotted some notes at a traffic light and wrote this upon arrival. Heh.)

5.16.2017

The Wishing Chair

When
the Tyrant
is impeached
What
will I say
is the reason
for my depression

Sharing with the Real Toads on the Tuesday Platform

5.11.2017

Etch-A-Sketch

Brilliant analysis of modern times in Slate:
Donald Trump Wants an Etch A Sketch Presidency
Everyone should read this to remind ourselves: "[T]heir persistent insistence that we do not see what we see or know what we know is its own form of madness."

That's all for today. Thanks for being here.