A Beach House on Mars

I marvel at my simplicity;
everything around you whirls, complex.
You sow oats in a monastery
playing shameless and oblivious,
though everyone knows you're neither.
I watch and imagine shaking you
(as if that would somehow help)
and pointing you in the right direction
to your babies, long abandoned,
the lost dreams you forgot about,
to the potential I see, but no one thinks exists.
My goals may be lofty, a beach house on Mars,
yet my wish that you would find your bliss
seems so much more farfetched.

Green Trousseau

Does she wear white today
while I sit bare?

Her flaxen hair flowered,
mine dark and damp?

Do her eyes hold sparkles
while mine brim wet?

Her concealed blue garter
turns my heart black.

Does she carry daisies
while my smile wilts?


PS. Thanks for helping me pick a title for this one! "Green Trousseau" was my original choice, but I had some negative reactions to it. Glad I wasn't wrong about it!

Do you like bad haiku? I do.

Amazed at the barrage of bad #haiku that runs rampant on twitter, my fellow Artwiculati @JonPowles, @SJHatzi, @Wifsie, and I decided to contribute. The following video of Silia and I reading our creations was created by @harrarp. Enjoy!

Green Movement

I look back, my steps having marred the time-packed earth behind me;

I slip foot from shoe, foot from shoe and pad along silently.

Glancing backwardly once again, I see them: heel, pad, toe prints.

I gaze at the grass, growing silently, reaching toward the sun,

to disturb even one tiny green blade, I am not worthy.

But the stream runs along beside, rocks flattened invitingly.

The sap of the earth flows coolly over tiptoe, under arch;

squashy underfoot, the roan mud is a thick and gracious host.

The minnows glide past, apathetic toward any intruder.

Leaping from stone to stone, my feet splish with each tender landing.

Here, paranoia flees, sun warms, frowns fade. Yes, nature endures.

April 1 writing prompts from Poetic Asides and readwritepoem.

A bit behind on posting, perhaps, but I thought I'd share the poems I've been writing from the prompts of Poetic Asides and readwritepoem.

The prompt from Poetic Asides was to write a lonely poem.

The Lonely Lopped-Eared Rabbit

A lavender wicker basket
tossed haphazardly upon the settee
catches my eye,
it's contents spilled forth:
scattered foil wrappers,
half of a cracked plastic egg,
a sticky, chewed jelly bean,
and there, nestled in the pastel faux grass,
a chocolate bunny.
With one ear having been partially ingested,
he watches me, his blue sugar eyes pleading.
Not one to allow such suffering,
I take heed
with one swift
*chomp*.

The readwritepoem promt was to set your mp3 player on shuffle, write down the titles of the first 5 songs, and use them in a poem.

My songs were "Bulletproof" by Rilo Kiley, "Tiny Vessels" By Death Cab for Cutie, "Joshua" by Dolly Parton, "Paranoid" by Black Sabbath, and "I Walk the Line" by Johnny Cash. (Yes, I have an eclectic taste in music...)

Barrage

Watching Joshua
with the barrage of tiny vessels
bouncing from his bulletproof facade,
left me paranoid.
Afraid to run, I walk the line,
that leads me back to you.

February 11, 1963

You and I, amazing the similarities.
The desire to fit like the rest in a jigsaw,
but with jagged edges, we refuse to stay put.

The want of our fathers, long gone before they loved;
swaddled by our mothers, in tight cases entrapped.

Into verse delving; words fit neatly on a page.
Every dark thought, exposed, held upright with book ends;
the empty feelings, momentarily silenced.

Having used our words to reach out to faceless men,
loving them because of our own inequities,
but having no need to meet them, see, be with them.

Our second child, lost before being held.
You in hospital, I under counselor’s watch;
eyes roving, family whispering, “Is she mad?”
Oh, if they knew, if they had any idea,
locked away, locked away, we’d never see the light.

What makes us poets? A dark worm eating our souls.
Did they nearly save you, your children, as mine did?
Did he stifle you, squander your gift with semen?

Yes, you were powerful, but some dark splotch owned you.
It owns me, is it possible to cut that stitch?
Muse, I’ll house him for you; perhaps he’ll die with me.
I am I. You are You. We are We. Aren’t we?


(I had a headache yesterday, so that's why I didn't post. This is one I wrote from a prompt, which was to write a poem about another poet, using one of their lines.)

National Library Week

(April 11-17)
Make sure you pay your local librarian a visit, it's National Library Week 2010!
The theme this year is "Communities thrive @ your library."

More information can be found here:
American Library Association


In honor of both National Poetry Month and National Library Week, I might just leave with a pile of poetry books!

What are you planning on checking out this week?