Let It Be Known

I had

an admirable

vocabulary

and an even bigger

capacity

for love

For Izy’s 4/30 prompt to the Real Toads: BANG, WHIMPER, HISS

And HEY it’s number 30 of 30 poems for NaPoWriMo! Yo, April, don’t let the door smack yer ass on the way out.

Mr. Clutter

Sensible and sedate

handsome

impressed interior

spongy immense

interwoven

with glittery necessity

learned to cook

celebrated

coconut cookies

charity cake

Spartan breakfasts

neither coffee or tea,

of course he did not drink.

An erasure poem character sketch of Mr. Clutter, one of "the last to see them alive," described in the first chapter of In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. #28 of 30 in April, and sharing with the Real Toads on The Tuesday Platform. Somehow the photo "poetry spoken hear" seems to connect to In Cold Blood. Maybe it's because it's day 28.

Good Housekeeping

One part homework,

Two garbage nights,

Three loads of towels,

Half-serving cat hairballs,

Tetch of frustration,

Handful of mismatched socks,

Generous helping of Mama, Look!

Blend with equal parts mundane

and small joys.

(Best served with kisses.)

Dinner’s on the table.

#27 of 30 in April! For Bjorn’s prompt to the Real Toads: POETIC RECIPES

A-Z Challenge for #25!

Margaret has resurrected the infamous alphabet prompt from an April of yore for her Play It Again, Toads prompt, and I worked on this with my kids this morning! So thank you, Margaret, and here are our efforts:

Able bones

concreted down.

Every Fool gets his

in jealous knowing,

like machine noises

on piano--

quiet rhythm,

staccato--

tick-tock--

undulating Wellspring--

xanthous,

yet Zen.

Kitten Crazy (by Anne)

A bunny can’t drive every fish.

George, hi!

I, Jeffrey, kicking lemonjuice,

mumbling Nyancats on pizza.

Qwerty reality.

Seals tiptoeing under Venus

with xylophones,

yelling zebras.

The Nyan Apocalypse! (by Jack)

A bouncy cat

doing everything funny!

Ghosts hiding in Jupiter

knowing little messenger Nyancats.

Overflowing party!!!

Quacking rhino?!?!

Silly tie-dyed underpants

versus wet x-rays

yet zero....

(In case you are unfamiliar with Nyan Cat.)

Five Years of Shrieking in ALL CAPS!

r u n a w a y   s e n t e n c e

i s

f i v e   y e a r s   o l d !

f i v e   y e a r s

o f

s h r i e k i n g   i n   A L L   C A P S !

At five years, it was time for some sprucing up. My old man Aaron has always been the creative design brains behind this blog, and he whipped up a fancy updated masthead and logo to celebrate the birthday of runaway sentence. Isn’t it beautiful?

Thank you, gentle readers. Some of you have been here since the very beginning (and even before that). All of you are treasured friends. Here’s to another five years of poetry and occasional mayhem!

Clan

5 minutes left

of the requisite 30

after your hot dog

before swimming

picnic table uncle

she’s got legs

that go all the way up

to her butt

diving raft out the lake

wish you were there

#23 of 30 in April! For Karin’s prompt to the Real Toads: Last Legs

Local Author Series: Marian Kent

The best part of this interview is being referred to as a "successful Easthampton poet." Heh. I'm flattered and appreciative of being inteviewed by Vanessa Pesa for this lovely series. Check it out:

Local Author Series: Marian Kent

Perfect, Love, Poem

When first

we made our love,

conspiring together,

we knew not that years would welcome

losses

and gain

in volumes unspoken before,

measured in soft footfalls,

rhyming heartbeat

patters.

#22 of 30 poems in April! For Kenia’s prompt to the Real Toads: The Perfect Love Poem

Invisible Fountain Reading!

Saturday, April 18, 2015
with Florence Poets Society
at The Invisible Fountain

Up With the Storm

Springtime storm-child

bed-bright dream

light

thundering thicket

bare-branched apple trees

wizening toward

earth

run for all you’re worth

collapse in a cloud huddle

here I’ll hold you

#21 of 30 poems in April! Shared on The Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden.

What You Learned When You Had Kids

Seems impossible

to divide love in half

but you learn

about the vastness

of your capacity for love

When you give it all to one

then turn around

and give the entirety again

endlessly

Here

drink from my cup

it may not be running over

but it’s always half full

#20 and late for Karin’s prompt to the Real Toads: Going Halvsies

Mother of God

If I were

the wished-for child

I would float

instead of rebelling

bitter waves

buoyed by regret and salty tears

out to sea again

A small rumination on the origin of my name for Bjorn’s prompt to the Real Toads. This is #19 of 30 in April; now I’m a day behind, having had a wonderful family day yesterday at Mystic Aquarium. Gotta catch up, watch out for sea-life poetry!

Haiku Day!

Grey lifts

incessant chatter

gift of sunrise

   *

Old maple’s

bare branches

soon will give birth

   * 

Conifer

sways to earth

aid after my fall

   *

Sweet sleep

interrupted

by wicked wishing

   *

Back porch squirrel

peeks indoor with longing

I pine for out

Hannah reminds us that it’s International Haiku Poetry Day and asked for nature haiku to mark the occasion. These are unrelated impressions from this morning and are unfinished, but I’m sharing anyway for #17 of 30 in April. Haiku seems so simple, but I think it’s actually quite challenging to write GOOD haiku. I wouldn’t say these fit the bill, yet. :)

Also, looky looky! This was in our local paper yesterday. (I was shocked; I certainly did not send my photo to the paper with a press release!) My poetry group, Florence Poets Society, has a fun evening of spoken word planned tomorrow night at The Invisible Fountain (fantastic art space). If you are nearby, join us!

Make of Our Hearts

At hospital

for another baby

you warned of pain

But you knew

pain

was my sister

The brain

not the body

experiences pain

And the head

not the heart

is what gets broken

You stroked

my hair

but I thought of her

#15 of 30 for National Poetry Month!

Write Minds, Spring Edition

 

  

Tonight, tonight! Poetry tonight!

Outside Listening In

Grey lifts to chatter.

I tiptoe, hover, listening in,

bewildered by verbiage,

maze of fanciful descriptors

entirely out of context,

challenged to even begin imagining

context for your best ruffian argot.

Where are you inside your pillow fort?

I wish I could go there.

But you recognize

despite my languid protest

that adult concerns counterbalance

your bright menagerie of words

with which to play I am no longer invited.

Instead, it is my privilege to witness

from a short distance--

#14 of 30 in April! Sharing on The Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden. Sigh!

Time Is the School in Which We Learn

An old story,

Not for nothing,

Older than

Time--

Heaven turning its face toward

Earth,

Refusing her.

Recalling

Earth’s

Sisterhood amongst the wise

Pines, coniferous forests bereft

Of envy,

Never knowing heaven’s sweet bounty

Should have been

Earlier than then.

#13 of 30 in April! For Susie’s challenge to the Real Toads--my title is a Joan Didion quote.

I had the day off from work today and wrote acrostic poems with my kids. Typically, they totally smoked me in this exercise. Here are some of theirs, the first two by my daughter and the last by my son:

OLIVE

On the couch sleeps a kitty

Lying, waiting, dreaming of tuna

Instead of squirrels

Very, very sleepy kitty

Every cat dreams of tuna

BUNNY

Bonk! A bunny hopped on your head.

Uhhhh, a bunny hopped on my head?

No bunny jumped on my head!!!

No no no, I know that a bunny did not--

You know there was a bunny!!!

THE HAUNTED WOODS

On a cold Autumn night

Lying in the moonlight is a black cat

Dancing in the shadows are the ghosts.

Witches flying high in the sky

Over the blood moon.

On a hill is the Pumpking

Dragging the dead away.

Spider hissing in the distance.

The Sad Man

The moon, that sad man,

Comes through tears and protestations,

That sad man.

His almond eyes heavy

In shadowy backyard half-light

Stay awake.

Disenchanted stars

Stand still while mourning doves

Stay awake.

I sleep, wake, toss,

I sleep, wake from screaming,

Stay awake.

The sad man sighs down

Grasping heartbeams and resisting arrest,

That sad man.

#12 of 30 in April. Grace challenged the Real Toads to be inspired by the poetry of Wallace Stevens, someone whose poetry has long been an inspiration to me. This poem is something of a response to his poem The Brave Man. Not long ago I wrote this one: Ways of Looking at the Snow Moon

Star Stuff

Madness swirls

fuzzes in like static

out like late-night television haunts

waking hours as well as dreams

   darkening darker

still deeper each day till summoning

will for living seems

      wait

          your daughter

My children remind me why I am here. Thank you for asking, Sherry: MESSAGE FROM THE LITTLE GRANDMOTHER 

#11 of 30 for April. Today is my daughter’s ninth birthday and I am a bit ferklempt. Love to you, friends... Love one another.

To Posterity

Sorry

for leaving you

lurched aching like android

unsettled travellers farther

faring

Sorry

but we disbelieved in further

gestures hoping wayward

longing would wave

goodbye

#10 of 30 in April, for Mama Zen’s prompt to the Real Toads: DEAR PAST, DEAR FUTURE

Surface Principle

In writing

on losing you, memory

allows only mundane elements,

lists of almost-facts stacked up

   like matryoshkas,

lathed half-truths layered impossibly

deep, revealing only

fine luster.

#8 of 30 in April, for Real Toads prompt EVERY DAY I WRITE THE BOOK

Kittentime

We don’t know

when you were born

but spring is kittentime

We don’t know how

you were harmed

before you came to us

Who would want to hurt you?

Years and a girl’s grit

drew you out

with the blood moon

And now is the perfect time

for us to renew our vows to you.

Flash 55 for Real Toads, #5 of 30 for National Poetry Month.

My kids and I wrote poems about our kitty together and they wanted to me to share their poems with you. You might recognize that we were studying Gertrude Stein. (Smile!) Our kitty’s name is Olive. We sometimes call her “tiny bully” because when we tried to adopt a second cat, she engaged in a long series of terroristic behavior and drove the other cat out. Meow! The first poem below is by my daughter (who is 8 years old) and the second was written by my son (who’s 11). I like theirs better!

Cute Kitty

Cute scratchy

Cute sleepy

Cute cute kitty

Look kitty

Look tiny

Tiny tiny bully

Can’t kitty

Can’t bully

Shrinking shrinking kitty!

Olive

Oh for a cute bully.

Jumpy loud

Crazy weird

Lazy weird

Lazy tiny

Lazy sneaky

Lazy lazy kitty.

What of a fluffy kitty that loves us.

What of a loud kitty that is hungry.

What kitty.

A cute little kitty.