Category Archives: poetry

Sticks and Stones

this certainly isn’t the worst day
but it is a spitting Tuesday, dark, gray,
November where the leaves have lost
themselves
and given up and died.
i see them lying in the street wet, glistening
like they’ve been crying.
i see the trees now twigs
perfectly skinny but strong,
and ripe for a hanging.

we all hurt each other daily
with slices and cuts and stabs of words.
the constant sticks and stones
that strike so regularly and steadily
it reminds me of Chinese water torture,
so much so
we don’t even notice anymore,
it’s just the background white noise that is
slowly driving us mad.

it is certainly not the worst,
it just is one of those every days
like the spitting rain,
relentless
drips.

the pacific northwest (and a haiku to Mt Rainier)

i have returned full of Chinook salmon and pictures of mountains…. that Mt Rainier~ captured my imagination like none other (except perhaps Denali, but i don’t think i truly appreciated it then). so happy and can’t wait to return someday….

timber trucks whipser
legends of a mountain top
so serene and blue

capped white she rises
older than my brittle bones
prouder than Tatoosh.

happy mother’s day~ "a mother’s heart"

Happy Mother’s Day~ spent a lovely weekend with my family and am so thankful for my mamma. She is the bestest!! A poem from my great-grandmother Alice that is especially appropriate. Shows that some things never change…. [taken from her book of poetry The Fruit Thereon]

A Mother’s Heart
A mother’s heart is tuned to listen for
The groping sound of hands upon a door —
The midnight striking of the mantel clock —
The turning of a key within the lock.

A mother knows when waiting hours are past
And each loved one is safe at home at last.

Travels in Europe, 12 days by Coach (haiku)

talk of days before
as if lifetimes ago but
i’m still on the bus.

[NOTE: my cousin and i did the whirlwind American-style tour of Europe~ 8 countries in 12 days… the kind of bus tour that all Europeans make fun of. i was reminded of this when talking with a German friend the other night who, currently living here in the States, now understands why we do these fly-by-the-night breeze-throughs of Europe; we don’t get enough vacation time to do it any other way!! and let’s face it, when you have limited time, you want to see as much as possible. anyways, the feeling on our coach bus was like the scene out the window~ days blurred past us faster than we could dare process, yet somehow we were always back on the bus….]

the re-reading of The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock

wrote a rough rough sketch of this several years ago, just after college i guess. revised slightly here today. here’s a link to the poem, one of my all-time favorites: http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html

the re-reading of The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock

the silence after
roars like a night train
it shakes the house so
that Eliot and I
curled in our green tea
must turn twice, and again

i sense your
presence absent
who to guess that nothing
could be so heavy to move
the weight of all that air
blowing precarious

to and fro, to and fro

alone with time to think

slight respite
from a day wrought
with surprise, I
believe this silence
punctuated with breaths
this alone on the floor
time to think is
an exceptional rarity
to be cherished
held carefully in quiet
long hands
with tiny spots of age.

[biographical note: I have just, in the space of one week’s time, found and moved into a new place, received news of my sister’s engagement, been offered multiple jobs, and been told the date of my half-sister’s wedding. I also eagerly await news of my cousin’s new baby and am dealing with the realization that I will be 30 this month… among other things! This follows 4 months of relatively static stale nothing after my life fell spectacularly apart in Jan. As you can imagine this quiet time is welcome today!]

moving!

hey blog readers! i’m moving this weekend so the poetry might have to be put on hold for just a few days….so don’t forget about me come Monday. and pls, take this opportunity to check out my past work and leave me some comments. i wonder, do you like when i preface the pieces or do you prefer to draw your own conclusions? that is the question for today!

Moving

back aches and a dream
surrounding boxes of my
life wait patiently.

an accidental spill of ammonia and bleach

just when your
guard goes down
when you know that
incredible happiness
the sun looks
brighter
your laugh more
contagious, when
fellas smack your
back and say
“brother,
you are untouchable”

that’s when
a careless mistake
an invisible vapor
drifts undetected
into your lungs
and that tender life
constricts with awareness
and your ground
is actually air
and when you look down
it’s over

to pay attention is
the lesson my brother
pay attention.

the scent of coffee

currently watching antiques roadshow (love it) over a nice lunch, thinking about what i should post on a day like today. here i am, celebrating that i will be moving to my own apartment and yet thinking about a friend who is coming back to life after a sudden collapse. all of this stews together in my brain…. and, when all else fails, a cup of coffee usually does the trick, hence the following…

The Scent of Coffee

that familiar earthy vapor
compelled by something larger
[by the principle that states hot air
must move on and up]
gently steams my pores.

spindrifts of hazelnut waft closer
with a memory of my mother
telling me of her mother
who would, in early morning car trips,
open a canister of coffee.

oh how it would fill the car
how it would fill them with excitement
those children conditioned to know
that the scent of coffee then meant
a trip to the beach.

slightly cooler, my coffee takes
a shape much like a ghost who,
against its will, is caught on film.
the scene feels just within reach
then quickly vanishes

playful, wistful, gone
rich aroma lingering.