Salamanders
Apr. 3rd, 2016 03:02 pmSalamanders
This salamander rests between stones
in clear water. She is stone-color, with darker spots
and small, dark eyes. Her gill-fronds fan lightly in the water.
She lifts her tiny, smooth brown fingers,
then puts her hand back down again.
A pebble over, just the tail—-
a dark stone in the water
the rest of the salamander is hidden.
This salamander rests between stones
in clear water. She is stone-color, with darker spots
and small, dark eyes. Her gill-fronds fan lightly in the water.
She lifts her tiny, smooth brown fingers,
then puts her hand back down again.
A pebble over, just the tail—-
a dark stone in the water
the rest of the salamander is hidden.
Afternoon Brunch
Apr. 2nd, 2016 05:51 pmAfternoon brunch
Every year on the first Saturday in April
our town holds a small parade of Fools.
The four of us walk in, my three dogs and I
in motley, tye-dye and purple fairy wings
three dubious introverts politely keeping
this loud day on the other side of
our extroverted collie, who is certain
that all the party is for him
and glows prancingly with joy.
Briefly emerging from the shade
to put our paws in the parade.
Lunch is part of this ritual. Tolerant
open-air cafes are the best.
I order waffles and sausage;
abrubtly, she who was Entirely Done
with this festival nonsense is soft and focused,
not sulking at all. I share little tidbits,
which they take politely from the fork with careful snouts.
A different fork from the one I am using, of course.
Until at some point I realize I’m not sure which fork is which
and that we’ve been sharing the same one for a while now.
But it really doesn’t matter. What a beautiful afternoon.
Every year on the first Saturday in April
our town holds a small parade of Fools.
The four of us walk in, my three dogs and I
in motley, tye-dye and purple fairy wings
three dubious introverts politely keeping
this loud day on the other side of
our extroverted collie, who is certain
that all the party is for him
and glows prancingly with joy.
Briefly emerging from the shade
to put our paws in the parade.
Lunch is part of this ritual. Tolerant
open-air cafes are the best.
I order waffles and sausage;
abrubtly, she who was Entirely Done
with this festival nonsense is soft and focused,
not sulking at all. I share little tidbits,
which they take politely from the fork with careful snouts.
A different fork from the one I am using, of course.
Until at some point I realize I’m not sure which fork is which
and that we’ve been sharing the same one for a while now.
But it really doesn’t matter. What a beautiful afternoon.
NaPoWriMo Begins Afresh!
Apr. 1st, 2016 01:37 pmHappy April to anyone who might actually be seeing this! It's national poetry writing month, when once again I will attempt to create one poem each day for the next 30. Let's see if I can make it again. Many of these will no doubt consist of a few lines about ducks, and I am certainly not going to do them for all the tarot cards, or even the major arcana. But we'll open this ritual with the Fool.
Fool
The fool took to spring on a morning in April
when the plum blossoms flower and waterfalls play
With a collie in motley afrisk all around her
she danced at the cliffside to welcome the day.
But look where you’re going, demanded the collie
don’t you see the sharp rocks and deep river below?
Great catfish will swallow you and shaggy bears will follow you
You’ll find more, sharper things than we guess at or know.
The fool kissed the collie, her eyes bright and joyful
see my scars, little dog, and know I’ve seen pain
it’s not the desire that makes me the fool here,
but to know what love does and then seek it again.
O taste the cool river, its depth and it currents
take the air, and bespangled in blossoms, my side—-
Then they took the leap surely, with pleasure, in beauty
and beneath the sweet sunset, they danced in the tide.
Fool
The fool took to spring on a morning in April
when the plum blossoms flower and waterfalls play
With a collie in motley afrisk all around her
she danced at the cliffside to welcome the day.
But look where you’re going, demanded the collie
don’t you see the sharp rocks and deep river below?
Great catfish will swallow you and shaggy bears will follow you
You’ll find more, sharper things than we guess at or know.
The fool kissed the collie, her eyes bright and joyful
see my scars, little dog, and know I’ve seen pain
it’s not the desire that makes me the fool here,
but to know what love does and then seek it again.
O taste the cool river, its depth and it currents
take the air, and bespangled in blossoms, my side—-
Then they took the leap surely, with pleasure, in beauty
and beneath the sweet sunset, they danced in the tide.
Noticing, she moves
lizard-swift
as a memory of herself.
*****
OK, I almost lost it this time! I forgot and then remembered and then forgot NaPo until I was almost asleep last night, composed this in my head but didn't want to get up, made myself remember it, forgot it when I got up, either remembered or re-composed it, and finally here it is, yesterday's poem. That was a lot of work for something so small and insignificant, and its story is longer than the piece, but the lizard can skitter out of my head now.
Sometimes I wonder if I should just keep doing NaPo one of these years, just not stop until the first of the following May, to see if I could do it and maybe what it would do to me. Skitter.
lizard-swift
as a memory of herself.
*****
OK, I almost lost it this time! I forgot and then remembered and then forgot NaPo until I was almost asleep last night, composed this in my head but didn't want to get up, made myself remember it, forgot it when I got up, either remembered or re-composed it, and finally here it is, yesterday's poem. That was a lot of work for something so small and insignificant, and its story is longer than the piece, but the lizard can skitter out of my head now.
Sometimes I wonder if I should just keep doing NaPo one of these years, just not stop until the first of the following May, to see if I could do it and maybe what it would do to me. Skitter.
Conversation
Mar. 18th, 2012 10:31 pm"You," I said calmly to the young tarantula
who clung lightly to the inside top of a plastic box
on my bedroom dresser, "are Brachypelma vagans.
You do not climb, are not even semi-arboreal,
but lay quietly in close burrows where you dwell.
You ought to dig."
Do you think, laughed the spiderling,
looking at me with its bright old eyes,
That you know better how to be a spider than I?
It is not so simple.
who clung lightly to the inside top of a plastic box
on my bedroom dresser, "are Brachypelma vagans.
You do not climb, are not even semi-arboreal,
but lay quietly in close burrows where you dwell.
You ought to dig."
Do you think, laughed the spiderling,
looking at me with its bright old eyes,
That you know better how to be a spider than I?
It is not so simple.