You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Poet’s Life’ category.

motivational-quotes-confidence-is-not-they-will-like-me-confidence-is-ill-be

There’s a poem in between those statements.

I moved about eight weeks ago and had to say goodbye to my decade-long membership in a Madison, Wisconsin, writing group Tuesdays with Story. They were smart, supportive, and insightful when reviewing peer submissions.

I need a writer’s group for a few reasons:  deadline, feedback, motivation, and commiserating with like minds.  Assuming any two writers have like minds.

Thursday I’m planning to attend my first meeting of a writer’s group in my new hometown of Green Valley. I’m nervous like it’s the first day of school coming up! Where is my Monkees® notebook?  What should I wear?  Will they like me?  Can I pay attention to them and stop thinking about me?!!

I realize I have to write a poem about this.

The Poetry Foundation site has a cool compilation of Back to School poems. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/68662/back-to-school-poems

 

Advertisements

I spent this afternoon writing poetry annotations for a non-fiction book I’m working on.  It has been enlightening.

Somehow my self-talk got to admonishing myself to trust myself.

I thought of this Najumi quote:

najumi_quote

I have a corollary to that idea.

trust

“The woman who trusts herself is the safest person on the planet.” – Pat Edwards, November 6, 2016

Yep.

I am a Great Aunt again (and I am the best of the great aunts, to be sure).

I wrote this poem for new person, Duke, my niece’s new son. You expect that the parents would respond immediately with love, but to feel strongly as an aunt, thousands of miles away, immediately?? That amazes me.

 

duke

There wasn’t even a hole there.
But now you fill it.
I didn’t know I was missing you.
But now you’re here.
I knew love was infinite.
But now I’ve felt its stretch.

You’re the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
You’re the beat my heart didn’t know it was missing.

You are now a part of this:
a cloud forming to hold the rain
a bud leaning into the light
a bird gliding toward the branch
a wave skimming the shore.

Welcome.

 

I read Auden’s last book, “Thank You, Fog”.  The second poem in there, Aubade (meaning a poem for the dawn or early morning) is a perfect representation of connectivity.  I referenced in my post on http://dayswithoutpirateattack.com/2016/03/18/ripples-out/

“I know that I am and will,
I am willing and knowing,
I will to be and to know,
facing in four directions,
outwards and inwards in Space,
observing and reflecting,
backwards and forwards through Time,
recalling and forecasting.”
– W.H. Auden, Aubade

less_travelled

*no apologies to Mr. Frost, just an additional perspective.

Today on my other blog, I wrote about Thich Nhat Hanh’s song/poem for Walking Meditation.  Snow Sticks

I have arrived; I am home.
In the here, in the now.
I am solid; I am free.
In the ultimate, I dwell.

January 2016 started with one of my poems chosen as a Goodreads poetry finalist  (five finalists).   It was such a lovely surprise!

I did not win, but placed right in the middle.  I will spout a familiar line, “I am honored just to be nominated.”  True.  The winner’s poem, Rose Mary Boehm’s  Absence deserved the win, and  I’m happy to be a hand-maiden.

Here is my finalist poem.

The Music Collection

I pulled out all of your records.
The soldier-straight rows collapsed and left
a half-life disintegrating heap of cardboard sleeves.

I stacked shiny slivers
silvered music re-mastered tinny girl songs
Joni Judy Carol Carly.

Her guitar strums and echoes
until echoes stripe the white hallway.
She would use the word wistful or wishful,
wouldn’t she?

Tremolo, tremolo
Doppling wide, wide, wide, wide.
How far does sound travel before it shifts to gone?

Late afternoon shadow
leans into tomorrow.
I miss
the scritch of the needle.

Yesterday in a meeting I observed that my anger has been “chocolate covered rage.” I think that’s a pretty common maladay.  That’s the root of the “obesity epidemic” people!  http://dayswithoutpirateattack.com/2015/08/11/pirate-emotions/

I’m not one to miss an opportunity to capitalize on a good turn of phrase, but I just can’t quite get it yet.

best I’ve got so far is a haiku:

Chocolate covered rage

coated smooth so dark and sweet

bite down what’s inside.

My New Year’s resolution this year was to send two postcards each week.  I have kept up with it.  Each Friday I send one to my friend, Janet, and one to someone else.  The someone else varies each week.  I’ve even sent them to random Waunakee addresses. nouvelle images tea

This week’s card is one of the beautiful postcard images from Nouvelles Images.

Each week I add a line from a poem or a quote that reflects the image.

This week I wrote a haiku:

A blue teapot still

warm from the stove and your hand

witness to our stories.

Time to go mail them.

I’m typing a poem.  I write a line long-hand in the notebook I carry with me so I don’t forget it.

I just realized

I have loud hands.

They amplify my voice.

I came on to my blog site this morning and noticed a post on my feed.  You must read this!

1.

When I was a little girl, they held my hands down in tacky glue while I cried.

2.

I’m a lot bigger than them now. Walking down a hall to a meeting, my hand flies out to feel the texture on the wall as I pass by.

“Quiet hands,” I whisper.

My hand falls to my side.

3.

When I was six years old, people who were much bigger than me with loud echoing voices held my hands down in textures that hurt worse than my broken wrist while I cried and begged and pleaded and screamed.

4.

In a classroom of language-impaired kids, the most common phrase is a metaphor.

“Quiet hands!”

A student pushes at a piece of paper, flaps their hands, stacks their fingers against their palm, pokes at a pencil, rubs their palms through their hair. It’s silent, until:

“Quiet hands!”

Read the whole post here:  https://juststimming.wordpress.com/2011/10/05/quiet-hands/

It’s poetry.  It’s amazing.