Starting in the middle
It’s been a crazy busy season for me and I have been living all kinds of big moments and feeling inspired and overwhelmed and productive. I’ve written my way through many of these moments of change — my daughter’s wedding, a friend’s retirement, another friend’s celebration of life — but the truth is that between work and life and all the times of in between, I’ve had precious little energy for this blog. What I have had energy for, though, is collecting my thoughts and observations and sometimes, other people’s words and scribbling them into something I vaguely refer to as poetry. I’ve been in a kind of poetic training frenzy and although I’m not terribly thrilled with any one of these poems, I’m very satisfied with my ongoing practice of working on being a poet. And just when I think I’m going to just keep doing what I’m doing and abandon my little blog schedule completely this month, I read something very smart from a writer I admire.
When asked for advice she would give to other writers, Nobel laureate, Anne Carson said simply: Start in the middle.
So that’s exactly what I did this month.
If April Was a Color
It might be emeralds
or shiny apples in a bowl
ferns waving
deep in the woods
or the front lawn, dewy and cold
a blue-ish fir named Douglas
a clover named lucky
cool as a cucumber,
new, as in sprouts
a spiky shoot of crocus
poking through winter at
the edge of the park
or the gardener’s thumb
the oldest pine against the bluest sky
the youngest colleague
a field of new daisies
the smell of basil
and fried tomatoes
stalks of asparagus or
the scent of mint or fennel
rosemary or sage
watermelon stripes
and maple trees, avocado
ivy creeping, moss seeping
a tiny little frog leaping
a turtle, a tea
a lily pad or lime
to be with envy
or a light to go
if April was a color.
A Regular Day
Am I alive or am I just waiting
in line at the drug store?
Am I still sleeping? Or am I a gull
standing guard over the sunset?
Or an otter splashing in a river?
If love isn’t water cascading over a cliff
let it be lobster dripping with butter
or a black halter dress
that shows off my shoulders
Let it be losing my breath
in a high mountain lake
shocking and cold
or the first sip of coffee
on a regular day
Or maybe just, a regular day.
Heartsick on the Open Sea
(a triptych in haiku)
this place is an ache
a still harbor of deep love
and breathtaking loss
salt and tears and glad
memories mix and my heart
nearly drowns in a
terrible beauty
and longing that both anchors
me and sets me free
Hold Still
Hiding, arm in arm
I find our fingers
Tangled in your pocket
And a million moths
Dart and dance
Teeth laugh and speak
The language of bells while
Waves of glass
Shatter and reflect
Wait, hold still
Come too close
Look here, as you do
With eyes that smile and
Feign love
Please let your mouth be true
All hot breath
And secrets
Unfolding in my ear
Let your skin be a
Place to feel too much
And touch what can’t
Be kept
Wait, hold still.
My Favorite Word
Come over here, look at her
Isn’t she lovely
She’s everywhere, but I dare you to take her for granted
I love the way she rolls off my tongue
All syllables and sexy sounds
Ending in us, as all the sweetest words do
At first, she seems like everyone else,
But when I looked her up
I remembered her clearly
Come over here, let me use you in sentence
I like the way you taste in my mouth
and sound in my ear
Ubiquitous, mmm, you are
Pervasive, universal, omnipresent
But really, your synonyms don’t do you justice.
Change
Can I see myself there with me?
I can see me there, with myself.
Notes on My Phone
The space between things
Start in the middle
Edited memories
Ungovernable
Collected observations
Dignity in a dive bar
A needle pulling thread
Me, a name I call myself
Far, a long long way to run
Trail magic
Running out of august
No for an answer
Dream count
A vivid life
A lecture on corners
The outermost house
Places that make me feel like holding still
The spiritual imperative of desire
Thick as thieves
Speak to my contradictions
It’s always exactly right now
Speak truly
Code switching
Home seeking
The moon burns my hands
A starving brain is surprised
An x-ray of himself
Faithless
Politics of sin
A splash of laughter
Tongues are made for more than talking
Who knew that teeth could laugh
Giving is not an investment
Build a life you want to live in
You wonder this
Throbbing with rich treasures
Triangular economy
Rule of three
Unready to wear
An inventory of heartbreak
Prompts for this post:
Write a poem about a color, without naming it.
Question prompt that begins ‘Am I alive? And ends, if love isn’t this? Then let it be this.’
Write 3 haikus about how a place makes you feel and put them together in a
single poem.Build a poem around a short phrase that you heard often as a child.
Write an ode to your favorite word.
Write a two-line poem, where each line contains the exact same words.
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