Observingthe straight of your backrefracted inthis morning’s frost,my glare begins to thaw.
You know it’s Thanksgivingwhen you peel your sweet potatoeslistening to the Macy’s parade,when you cry during commercials,drum corps, Rockettes kicklines& Charlie Brown’s holiday meal,when you play Yahtzee well intothe evening after an unplannedbut predictable nap on the couch,when you hug your kids extra-long& consider actually sending yourgratitude skyward in the formof a soaring, bird-like prayer.
Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers! #28 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans. With special love to Kirsten Piccini, who also tears up during the Macy's parade.
As the bruise on my rightforearm yellowed & faded, a newbruise appeared on the left.Can I just say I bruise easilyor chalk it up to clumsiness?
Or, in this season of thanks,is something trying to reach me?
For Kerry’s very intriguing prompt to the Real Toads: Let's Write in Black & White
#27 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans.
Whatiflonelycolumns mergedwith rows, cells above,below, auto-sums filling uppreviously empty space? Desks mightimplode with love.
#26 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans!
Salvation Armybell backgroundsprematurely forlornaccordionistat the market door.Having nothing elseto spare, I thinkto ask him to dancearound just once more,but I don’t dare.
Aaaahh it’s #25 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans!
This latest coming-of-agefilm I’ve watchedis beautiful & poignant,like the others,but I want to seestories about girlsup there on the screen.Real girls, not mean girls.Not pink-sparkly girls,or crazy girls or princesses.Just regular girlsdoing ordinary kid things:traipsing woods, fishing,sharing secrets, swearingallegiance, running away,facing mortality, being hurt,learning Big Life Lessons.Why is that so hard to imagine?
I find it surprisingly difficult to write a protest poem in the spirit of Woody Guthrie for Susie’s prompt to the Real Toads. I revere Woody Guthrie (no surprise) and comparatively, this feels less than poetic. But this is something that’s been on my mind and I feel somewhat alone in my aggravation about it. So, here it is. #24 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans!
In memory of Kim Underwood.Remind menever to saydon’t overdo it nowto my children.No imploring themto simmer down,take it easy,settle,be good now,not take anyunnecessary risks.I’ve done enoughof all of those thingsfor the lot of us.Let me bethe mother whosupports her childrenin overdoing itcompletelytoday and every day.
#22 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans.
She says talk like a woman,make love just like a man, crylike a little girl. Float likea butterfly, sting like a bee,you’re the only one for me.Beauty is as beauty does,sure as hell crazy like a fox.
43 words for Mama Zen, in the voice of the fox.
#20 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans.
I boarded the bus downtown, tooka seat. You smiled, pulled off
your headphones, chatting me up:I asked where you worked, you asked
about my work. You talked aboutmusic, I described a book. I took
your notebook to write downthe title. (You gotta read this.)
It went like this all the waythrough Oakland to Squirrel Hill, so
we did not notice the voice untilit got louder. Louder. LOUD.
HEY, YOU.HEY, YOU. YOU.
GET OFF THE BUS.GET OFF THE BUS.
OFF MY BUS.OFF. GET OFF MY BUS.
You whispered next stop and rosein slow motion, wound your way
through bodies, briefcases, glares.After all, the bus was now late
and apparently you were the culprit.The driver faced you on the street
yelling, pointing, cursing. In a daze,I tried not to hear, could not look.
I heard GIRL. I heard NO. Everyoneon the bus was looking at you. At me.
You vanished as the bus pulled away.Eyes down, I exited the silent bus
at Forbes and Murray. Ran a blockto you. You gripped my elbow. Your dark
eyes met mine: No promise there,only defeat. I kissed your cheek.
We went our separate ways. Now, thirtyyears later, I still wonder how you are.
I first wrote about this incident a few years back, but have been working to tighten it up and allow the story of the injustice to come through. Please let me know if you think I’ve succeeded.
#19 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans.
On MondaysI’m ill preparedto carry the detailsof our affair.Other days, I’ll sailwave to swell, hardto tell where my lovemeets your shore.But Monday roars inunawares. I swearI can hear your voicein the cormorant’s call.
Poem #18 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans.
Push all your air out.Wrap your armsaround the mountain.Inhale deeply,noticing her moonlit pine.
More tanka for Real Toads! This weekend is part 3 of a fantastic series with Dr. Hisashi Nakamura. Please visit and be inspired!
#16 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans.
This ghost in our housereminds me of you:Jarring, but comforting.I wish it would sit,share a cup of tea,its cold hand warmingon my thigh,but instead it just clapsto remind us that it’s here.
#15 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans.
I choppeda ton of tomatoesthat summer,skinned a helluva lotof potatoes, too.The time I slicedmy shin openon that jalapeno can(man, that stung)you were so gallantwith your plastic wrap--a regular James Bond.We coulda been flattenedtogetherdriving aroundin that level F4 tornado,but we weren’t.We coulda run offtogether that summer--but we didn’t.
#14 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans.
Click give,adding your meager dollarsto the relief effortfor the musician’s wife & children,lamenting your own destitution,wondering how much,if any,difference you could possibly make,remembering that tributariesflow into mighty rivers,closing your eyes,sailing a fervent wish across miles,praying folks would do the sameif it were you.
#13 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans.
& For the Love of Charlie Chesterman Fund is HERE.
It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s MY NEW BOOK!
"Pow! Pretty-words purveyor Marian Kent is back with a second collection of super-heroic verse, SUPERPOWERS or: More Poems About Flying. This bold volume showcases Marian's earthy yet extraordinary way of painting a landscape with her words. Other-worldly, sensual, whimsical, tragic, the poems of SUPERPOWERS soar with vision, strength, and hope."
CLICK HERE to be directed to Amazon for your copy. And check out the announcement at ALL CAPS PUBLISHING.
Also! Beloved Readers, if you’d like a signed copy (or if the shipping is wicked unaffordable to wherever you are via Amazon), just let me know. (My email is firstname.lastname@example.org.)
Meanwhile, I’ll just be over here shrieking in ALL CAPS. Wheeeee!
That yapping dogin the yard behind oursroused me from a dreamand some guy with a beardnamed Jesus,reminding me that winterwill soon bring seasonal soundslike tires spinning on ice,sparrows rioting in hedges,snowblower choruses.What would Jesus thinkof this place in winter?Never heard any carolers here.What would Tim say?
#12 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans. Also, read Tim’s book! It’s so engrossing, I even dream about it.
It’s better not to acclimateto those who’d soon appropriateyour novelty. Better choose
your own path, even if darknesslooms through distant trees. Then, unlesstrains don't run, nothing to lose.
|Forest Terminal by Mike Worrall (2007)|
For Grace’s weekend prompt to the Real Toads featuring work by the surrealist painter Mike Worrall. #10 of 30 Poems In November to benefit Center for New Americans.