Music of a Fallen Year

Rain on the roof.

Water strumming down eaves,

ants strutting single-file,

snap of nitrile gloves,

steam rising from black coffee.

Skyward maples,

shadows pattering on glass,

entering and embracing.

Not a small amount of terror,

over-loud laughter rising.

Come to bed.

Grapeling’s final Get Listed for 2014 included these words: music, fall, water, glove, steam, shadow, embrace, rise, bed

They Say Love Won't Pay the Rent

It’s a quarter till dawn

and the sky above the nativity

glows iridescent black-blue

like the backdrop

of The Sonny & Cher Comedy Hour

Here they are, the first family

Baby Chastity

played by a studded tire

(because the baby Jesus was stolen)

Here they come a-caroling

I Got You, Babe.

Heroes We Have Heard on High

Snorting their astral

saxophones, exhorting us

to bend in supplication

like solemn boughs laden

with adoration, bowed

but not breaking, we sing

their glorious refrain

in starry harmony, cowed

and waiting for the coda.

Late entry for Kerry’s word substitution challenge, Christmas Special Edition!

Another Cavalcade of Seasons and Songs

Fold the year’s pain

into renzuru--

everything you lost locked

in the heart,

head full of yearning,

embarrassments

like showy tailfeathers,

all your melodies memorized

in the wings.

Keep your crane of ghosts

and minor chords

creased in your notebook,

carry it with you,

stashed in your pillow for dreaming.

For my Real Toads, inspired by Kevn Kinney’s Broken Hearts and Auto Parts

The Storied Rose Glasses

Life’s

like onion skin

stings like hell

before inevitable

rancidness

But in dreams

everything’s

washed in pink

& it’s your waves

lapping at my calves

Inspired by Hannah’s prompt to the Real Toads: LAKE HILLIER

Shut Down Due to Ice

Forgot coffee

on counter apples

in drainer feverishly

navigating roads slick

with worry concerning

apples of your cheeks

flushed fever-red

never noticing red light

rode late night only

countering

your argument perfectly

too late to respond

having forgotten black ice

night-drained

concerted

just how slick you can be.

For Mama Zen’s prompt to the Real Toads: HOMOPHONES

This Writer's Process

Write every day for a month,

then stop. Don’t write for one day,

two days, then a week. Take a break,

all the while admonishing yourself

for lacking productivity. Curse,

but colorfully: Jesus Christ

on a bike, I am lazy as shit,

and even less talented. I give up.

Then start writing all over again.

True confessions for Flash Fiction 55 at Real Toads!

This Week in Poetry

On Wednesday, all the Cool Cats will be hanging out at the Thirsty Mind in South Hadley, MA. If you are local or in need of a sanity-saving between-holidays road trip, see you there! It will be wonderful fun.

Having actually pulled off writing a poem every single day in November, a task about which I had much doubt at the start, I am feeling pretty good. Mama might just have her groove back!

It’s never too late to make a contribution to Center for New Americans to acknowledge this feat, if you are so inclined. A gift of any size will be very much appreciated by yours truly, as well as by this great organization and the people it serves--the newest members of our community. Click here:

Thank you, Gentle Readers, for being here and for all your love and support. Carry on creating!

Marian's 30 Poems in November fundraising page