Gnat Feathers and Butterfly Wings

April 2010 Poetry Challenge, Day 21

2010-04-21T19:04:00.001-07:00

Today's prompt was to write a poem, "According To ______"

According To The Warmth of Your Hand

now would be a good time
for me to stop swinging it long enough
for us to stop and stand
under the pink rain
made by falling blossoms
of the dogwoods--
you said they smell like my hair--
and listen to you wrap your tongue
around my name again
before we rush home.

April 2010 Poetry Challenge, Day 16

2010-04-16T17:33:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was to write a poem about death.

Death

has made me mourn too many, for so long
and if I could
I’d throw rocks at it
push it off a cliff
or a bridge
but all I can do
is dye these gray hairs
slough the dead layers off my face and feet
and keep danger at bay
for the loved ones who remain.

April 2010 Poetry Challenge, Day 15

2010-04-16T17:07:00.001-07:00

The prompt was to write about deadlines.

Last Days

When I stepped onto the elevator
two women were talking about the
volcanic eruption in Iceland
grounding flights in Europe
and how a woman trying to fly out of England
sounded so hopeful about getting back
home by Monday.
"Girl, she'd better be glad she's in England.
I'd love to live there," said one.

"And those earthquakes in China, Chile,
and now Utah. I never know what season it is anymore,"
said the other, rubbing her arms.
"That's it. Jesus is coming back."
"Uh huh, He sure is."
I held the door open for the one pushing her groceries,
silently counting my transgressions and wondering
after my own fate.

April 2010 Poetry Challenge, Day 11

2010-04-11T17:27:00.001-07:00

Today's prompt was to write a poem, The Last _________

The Last Bite

makes me close my eyes
as I savor
rosemary
cinnamon
honey
before I lean in
to give thanks
and take a taste
of you.

April 2010 Poetry Challenge, Day 8

2010-04-08T19:01:00.001-07:00

Today's prompt was to write a poem about a tool.

A Wise Woman's Tool

Nail shop on every corner, I know.

I like the ritual of
soaking my nails in warm water
patting them dry with a towel
and after several cocoa butter caresses
rounding each nail to an even curve
with my emery board.

Every flourish of my hands
beguiles.

April 2010 Poetry Challenge, Day 5

2010-04-05T07:42:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was, "Too Much Information".

Lost

Tea parties and Jesse James
poor Sandra Bullock
the Oscar curse.
Portland women march topless
Erykah Badu butt naked in Dallas
a lot of called-in complaints.
More pixels and pundits at 11.
Time to reload.
One million sleeping in the streets
in Port-au-Prince
10 percent unemployed
job growth in March
mostly part time work
the president is hopeful
earthquake in Mexico felt in L.A.
volcanoes erupting
wildfires burning
women in the Congo
demanding justice
for the wounds to their wombs
budget cuts
targets
bricks through windows
Tiger Woods practices for the Masters
his wife stands by him
bombing in Moscow
security beefed up in New York
hit the back button
Race to the Top
sexting
back to the bottom
i-Phones smart apps
the i-Pad
Karzai and the Taliban
see something
say something
then what
all news
all the time.

April 2010 Poetry Challenge, Day 4

2010-04-04T19:44:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was to write a poem about history.

A History Lesson

He has your hands
your legs
my eyes
my lips
my crinkly hair
and will remember
which one of us
was there.

April 2010 Poetry Challenge, Day 3

2010-04-03T07:36:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was to write a poem titled, "Partly ________".

Partly Responsible

The reason I sit here crying
is because I didn't listen
when you spoke,
didn't heed
when your eyes were wandering
and most importantly
did not believe
in the power
of introspection
or my own
reflection.

April 2010 Poetry Challenge. Day 2

2010-04-03T06:42:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was to write a water poem. I saw "Scandalize My Name" today and was inspired to write about Paul Robeson, although this poem can't possibly sum up his contributions to the struggle for human rights. His birthday is on April 9.

Paul Robeson

Daddy took us
to meet Susan Robeson
when she published
He Had The Whole World In His Hands.

I loved the photographs.
The nude of Mr. Robeson
introduced me to the beauty
of the black male body.

I was nine then,
and now that I know of
Mr. Robeson's brilliance and boldness in
calling America out,
I wonder how Daddy convinced Susan to meet
my sister and I
in her busy office at ABC
and autograph her book
that is still in its worn paperback cover
on his 40 year old bookshelf.

Whenever I hear Mr. Robeson sing
Ol' Man River
his bass voice washes over me
and the enormity of my father's act
coaxes my tears.

April 2010 Poetry Challenge

2010-04-01T11:48:00.000-07:00

Prompt #1: Write a poem about being lonely.

Lonely

My jacket wrapped around lusty hips,
thighs rolling as I'm strolling the streets.

Shades are on, and
I have not been crying.

My watch is on my dresser.
The sunset will tell the time.

Sometimes when I drop the -ly
and add an a,
I have days like today.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 29

2009-11-30T17:44:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to choose a number and then make it the title of the poem.

Seventeen

The family of Izzy Dominguez
is raising money
to have a funeral in the Bronx
before his body is sent
to the Dominican Republic.

He was on his way home
from a party
and was shot in the head.

My son sometimes chafes under my grip
and I wish he understood that is only
so that he will live beyond seventeen.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 30

2009-11-30T17:24:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write about something that has stuck with us.

For Omar Espier

The white casket being rolled down the aisle
is what I remember most. I was thankful that it was closed
so I did not have to see Omar's face made stiff by death.

I cried out of shame. I spent most of our year together
yelling at him to stop yelling at Ursula. I wished that
I knew him better: what he liked to do, what he wanted to be.

My friend nudged me towards his parents. I hugged his mother
and muttered something like "sorry", knowing it's such a flimsy word
for the death of a thirteen year old boy.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 28

2009-11-29T05:01:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to finish the line, "Through This ____" and then craft a poem.

Through This Lens

Idle factories and empty restaurants,
foreclosure signs and ever-changing neighbors.

Parents skipping meals to feed their children,
their stomachs rumbling at work.

Put-away pride,
lines to apply for food stamps, now called
SNAP
(Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program)
to eliminate the stigma for
1 in 8 adults, 1 in 4 children.

Pick up any item in your house or
lift a clothing label.
How many say Made in the U.S.A.?

I walk faster these days, on the right
side of the sidewalk, head cocked
towards the street, pretending deafness,
when people ask for change.

I know they don't believe that I stand
atop my own precipice, two paychecks
away from the edge.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 26

2009-11-27T22:05:00.000-08:00

The prompt, in honor of Thanksgiving, was to write a thankful poem.

Thankfulness

They look at him from across the table
until he lowers his eyes and fork,
clasps his hands together,
and says the prayer with them in unison.

Of all their hopes and dreams for him,
their biggest is that the day will come
when this ritual of thankfulness
comes naturally and willingly.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 27

2009-11-27T21:46:00.000-08:00

Today's prompt was to write about a shape.

To Love

In a few weeks, I will tuck myself into my dress,
adorn my skin with subtle jewels, and walk down the aisle
as one of my best friends goes to meet her groom.
She will be radiant in white.

As we pose for her wedding pictures, I will smile sincerely.
We will lift fluted champagne glasses, and as
we tap them with spoons, I will cheer each time they kiss.
I will dab at my tears as she dances with her new husband.

Before they drive off to the airport, I will embrace her
and whisper that her mother would be proud.
As I wave goodbye, I will pray hard for happiness
as her new life begins to take shape.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 24

2009-11-25T11:02:00.000-08:00

The prompt was write two poems: Everybody Says _________________ and Nobody Says ____.

A Generalization

Everybody says,
honesty is the best policy,
but face to face speak euphemistically
and behind your back, brutally.

Nobody says why
we are so cowardly
about our cruelty.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 25

2009-11-25T10:55:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write about temperature.

Temperature

We teachers are told
to take the temperature of a room.
There are always those eager faces, but

often it is cold.
Boredom, hunger, stress. I've learned
to listen and read their eyes.

I recite poems, I sing, tell a joke or two,
read a book aloud, or talk a student
through an essay. It shouldn't be about me,

but it usually is.
As the years go by, the chilly days
are fewer.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 23

2009-11-23T15:40:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write about noise.

Noise

Bogged down by demands and stresses,
honking horns, and swerving cars,
I have become one of those adults--
the ones who used to make us roll our eyes
or suck our teeth
when they hissed or nagged or screamed
to turn that music down.

But there is also
the young me that,
when cars with vibrating windows
cruise down the street
blasting hip hop,
bachata, merengue, or dancehall,
will shimmy my shoulders
when I think no one is looking.

2009-11-22T07:59:00.000-08:00

Today's prompt is to write about an emergency. As a mother, I pray that this Bronx family will receive a positive outcome.

For Vada Vasquez

A fifteen year old girl
has a stray bullet in her brain.

She was walking home from school.
She is a good girl, with good grades.

Her family prays, cries, lights candles
so she will open her eyes.

Until then, they will not have
Thanksgiving.

They live a few doors down from where
Amadou Diallo was shot at 41 times by police.

The gang members are in jail, the intended target
is sorry, and guns are still changing hands.

What else will it take before we declare
a state of emergency.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 21

2009-11-22T07:57:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write about invention.

The Heroine

Each night
she sits at her desk,
calendar open,
filling each day
with a new way
to mend her
broken heart.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 20

2009-11-21T02:34:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to finish the phrase, "And Then".

And Then She Wiped Her Eyes

after picking up the mostly blank pages
off the desks and floor,
realizing the only one
she needed to save
was herself.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 19

2009-11-20T01:46:00.000-08:00

Today's prompt was to write about attachment. I had a good cry after writing this one.

Attachment

At first I sifted the mass of papers in box after box--
unopened bills with "Final Notice" stamped in red ink,
credit card receipts for bottle after bottle of
cancer-fighting vitamins,
a letter from the insurance company announcing the end of
his insurance for having a pre-existing condition,
faded photographs of my sister and I,
first grade, third grade, fifth.

At the bottom, was a journal.
His commitments to exercise.
The morning he stood on the Oregon coast facing the Pacific,
the rest of us at his back.
Page after page of his crooked loopy script.
That teacher never should have made him right-handed.

Yes, I have a shredder, but my dilemma remains-
how does one summarize a life?
So the boxes are in my storage closet,
contents intact.

I gave my son the journal.
It is on his desk.
Out of curiosity, I peeked inside.
Daddy's pages are untouched.
I closed it and put it back,
knowing I have taught him well.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 18

2009-11-19T02:10:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write a slow poem. In this day and age of texting and twittering, there is something to be said about being slow to write, IMHO.

A Long Distance Love

Today I wrote you a letter by hand.
I know it will take two days to arrive,
and you will wonder why I did not just call.

When you open it, I hope that you will
inhale the droplet of sandalwood on the envelope
and imagine me.

Trace the loops and curves in my every word
the way I trace the waves in your hair,
the slope of your spine,
and the backs of your legs.

You can write me back if you like;
I know the written word is not your thing.
It just pleases me to be sure that
however you'll respond, you'll take your time.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 17

2009-11-17T21:15:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write about something that can explode or implode.

Role Models

Sometimes it is hard to get out of bed
with plentiful bills and ever fleeting money,
giving abundantly and receiving scantily,
pushed and pulled by the status quo.

Every day as I make my way to my front door,
I pass pictures of my grandparents' stoic faces.
I've forgotten much of what they've said, but what I
remember most is that they did not complain about

segregation or discrimination, financial troubles,
illness, or death. Every Sunday, Pop-Pop was in the fourth pew in the center balcony with Nana, especially when he had to be
without her. Grandma was similarly devoted.

A wooden cross hung over her bed,
and the Serenity Prayer sat on her table.
I seek to emulate their steely faith in God, without which
I might implode.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 16

2009-11-16T15:57:00.001-08:00

Today's prompt was to write a poem, Clouds ______. Thought I'd try a cinquain.

Clouds Seduce Me

Clouds
Water masses
Crystals scattering light
Beckoning meandering thoughts
Charmers

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 15

2009-11-15T13:33:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write about anything associated with hanging.

Hanging

Because my hair was not hanging and swinging
past my shoulders like my godsister's,
I was willing to sit in a chair
as my mother or hairdresser
eased a steaming,sizzling comb through my hair
trying their best to shield my ears
as my tresses were stretched past the nape
of my neck, made thick and rich,
but vulnerable to rain,hot showers, and humid days.

A lecturer called we sisters out about why
we denied our natural textures, and once I knew
shame was underneath my protestations,
I let go.

Love and respect to all--
relaxed, pressed, locked.
Nineteen years later my hair is like the rest of me,
upright, strong, obstinate, beautiful.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 3

2009-11-14T19:49:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write a negative and/or a positive poem. This is a combination of a found poem and a dada.

Ions
Something in the air, and while it may not be love
Some say flat zero
The section of the pounding surf creates negative air ions and we
For a whopping one in three of us, who are sensitive to their
Science 101
You may feel sleepy when you are around.
It’s the next best thing—negative ions.

More mental energy.
Air conditioning depletes the air of negative
decreased irritation due to inhaling various particles
That make you remove--
Ions.
But an ion generator re-releases the ions that air conditioners
Work as well as anti-depressants?
Ions are molecules that have gained or lost an electrical charge
Generally speaking negative ions increase the flow of oxygen to
Effects, negative ions make us feel like we are walking on air
Levels of mood chemical serotonin, helping to alleviate.

We inhale in abundance in certain environments. Think mountains
They may also protect against germs in the air resulting in
Negative ions—much more than the average home or office
Owners manual for the brain. Everyday applications.
Depression, relieve stress and boost our daytime energy
When you step outside or roll down the car windows
Being sold in stores and all over the internet
But do they really
Also see it immediately after spring thunderstorms when people
And these are a few reasons we see negative ions
Report lightened moods
Waterfalls and beaches. Once they reach our bloodstream
the brain resulting in higher alertness, decreased drowsiness.
Negative ions are odorless, tasteless, and invisible molecules that
feel immediately refreshed and invigorated.
Open a window and breathe in fresh, humid air.
Experienced the power of negative ions when you last set foot on
Cognitive sciences?

They are created in nature as air molecules break apart due to
building which contains dozens or hundreds and many register
normal pressures of home and work, the air circulating in the
mountains and the beach is said to contain tens of thousands.
The beach? Walked beneath a waterfall? While part of the euphoria

Ions are believed to produce biochemical reactions that increase
Sunlight, radiation, and moving air and water.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 14

2009-11-14T14:49:00.000-08:00

Today's prompt was to write about lines.

A Poet's Dilemma

I never am sure
just where
to end the line--
do I keep it short
to build suspense or irony,
do I stop at the of a phrase
or sentence,
do I break it off to create punctuation,
impress my reader with an image,
or create a poem's shape,
because after all there are no set rules
and while boundaries often comfort
the mystery of it all
is what keeps me intrigued.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 13

2009-11-13T23:47:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write about something that can be renewed.

Renewable Energy

Though I suffer
headaches,backaches,and stress,
it is
the pile of bills
on my table,
the occasional hunger pangs,
my son's constantly open hands,
that usually keep
me going
when hope
is not enough.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 12

2009-11-12T16:40:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write a poem with the phrase, "If Only".

If only

the phrase if only were cliche,
if we curtailed our dreaming
and got busy planning
and enacting
we could give
if only
the proper burial it deserves--
a six foot grave,
white roses,
no tears,
and just so we'd cherish our blessings,
we'd only
say remember when.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 11

2009-11-11T20:11:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write a poem about construction.

Construction

In every city
on many blocks
abandoned stock
is gutted
refitted with new fixtures
and floors,
parks cleaned of refuse,
and new schools gleam.
The For Sale signs are posted in windows,
and The Poor Need Not Apply
is written with invisible ink.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 1

2009-11-11T18:46:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write about something new.

Something New

I brought my laptop to the meeting
to see if my boss could link it to the
internet. No wireless card.

I heard snickers and a comment that I should buy
something new. My boss picked it up,
and joked about its heaviness,

not knowing it is full of memories
of my father's last days and my attempts
to revive him through my words.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 2

2009-11-11T03:27:00.001-08:00

The prompt was to write a poem about approaching something from a new angle. Thought I'd have a little fun with this one.

From a Different Angle

Do you remember me?
When I was in your class
I prayed you'd pass me over when
volunteers were needed to come up to the board
to prove the next geometric theorum.

Why do I need to know this
I demanded
I won't ever use it in real life.

Now that I teach high school,
inundated by adolescents
demanding to know why they must read this book or
write that essay,
I reflect upon myself.

Please forgive my barb.
It was a reflex.
We attack what we don't understand.

Let me be straight.
I thought it wasn't right
that a precocious girl like me
could be obtuse,
acutely so, when it came to angles.

I've come full circle.
Now I am ready to try.
Teach me.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 6

2009-11-11T02:53:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write about something covered.

Covered

I love the way
you insist on the left.

As you sleep, sometimes
I prop my head on my arm

until I feel pins and needles
and gaze at the curve of your long lashes

your heart shaped lips
and caress the rugged softness of your arms.

Most times I find it too cruel to poke you
so you'll quit that bearish snoring,

so I pull my comforter over you and hope
your heartbeat soon lulls me to sleep.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 5

2009-11-11T02:22:00.001-08:00

The prompt was to write about growth.

Growth

I love plants. Mommy always grew them. Ferns. Diffenbachia.
Philodendron. My favorite was her African violet.

When I was in first grade
We were given kidney beans to plant.

Yes! My turn! When I got home,
my mother scooped out cupfuls of soil.

She gave me a small apricot-colored pot.
I poured in the soil and buried the bean.

And I waited. Sprouts emerged,
so I saturated them with water.

Again and again and again. One month later,
every kidney-shaped table was embellished by blooming plants,

except by my lonely seat.
Everything in moderation.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 4

2009-11-11T02:04:00.001-08:00

The prompt was to write a poem for the phrase, Maybe _____.

Maybe It Is

tal vez
c'est possible
vielleicht
può essere
kamoshirenai
labda
robbama
maybe
that propels us all
towards tomorrow.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 10

2009-11-10T19:55:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write a love poem, and an anti-love poem.

1. Love Is

going forth on a journey
with another soul
with your eyes and ears
open,
and the courage to leave
if it brings you harm.

2.Density

When he turned from her tears
she knew that
when they sat by the pond
lit by the moon and the stars;
when he drove her to the hilltop
to gaze across the city lights;
when she sat on his stoop
surrounded by his warm thighs and music of the crickets;
the nights he held her feet in his hands and stroked,
it wasn't love.

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 9

2009-11-10T03:04:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write about something slippery.

Loss

Me
trying to hold on
to you
is like
holding
a wet bar of soap,
cooking with grease,
walking down a muddy hill,
treading a lake of ice,
driving on a rainy night.

Why can't I
just let go

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 8

2009-11-09T15:11:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write a poem, "Should I ______"

Should I Just Be Me?

No manicures,
no pedicures,
or fancy clothes.
A natural
coiffure,
amber eyes in the sun,
ebullient smile,
soft curves,
and an even softer kiss.

Yet it is not enough.
Should I
be his jewel
or my own
woman?

Poetic Asides November Poetry Challenge, Day 7

2009-11-07T11:50:00.000-08:00

I've fallen behind! Today's prompt was to write a poem about a plant by choosing a plant. Here goes:

Lily of the Valley

Lily of the valley
is said to be born
from Eve’s tears as she and Adam
were banished from Eden.

I think it fitting
That it is poisonous.

It should be a sin
for women
to be blamed
for the downfall of man.

Poem a Day Challenge, Day 27

2009-04-30T02:02:00.000-07:00

Fell behind once again. Anyway, the prompt was to write a poem about longing.

Longing

I wanted something made
from my own hands.

After cracking the eggs,
adding oil and water to the flour,
I mixed it all with just a big spoon.
My hand got tired.

The cake pan was too small,
so it came out looking like a
mountain peak.

But the inside was soft and sweet
the strawberry icing just right,
and the beauty of it all,
was that I took my time.

Poem a Day Challenge, Day 19

2009-04-19T13:25:00.000-07:00

The prompt was to write a poem about anger.

This is dedicated to the memory of Carl Joseph Walker Hoover.

See Something, Say Something

School bullies sized him up,
decided he was gay,
and the relentless taunting began.

All he did to piss them off
was go to church,
excel in school,
volunteer in his community,
love his family,
and play football.

Thinking they had protection under the law
his mother fought for the school
to protect her son,
and Carl was to eat lunch
with the bully for a week.

Carl hanged himself
with a cord instead.
He was eleven.

What is a child to do,
when the adults
have no wisdom or courage?

Poem a Day Challenge, Day 18

2009-04-19T07:17:00.000-07:00

The prompt was to write about an interchange.

A Mother's Love

He veers off the path I've laid out
at times,
and underneath his love and respect,
there is bass in his voice
as he wrests his independence.
My son will soon be a man.
In this constant dance of holding on,
letting go,
I still watch him
and stroke the waves of his hair
as he sleeps.

Poem a Day Challenge, Day 17

2009-04-17T14:26:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was to write a poem using the phrase, "All I Want Is.."

All I Want Is

All I want
is to own a spot
underneath a witch hazel bush
along with the time
to inhale its perfume
and put pen to paper.

Poem a Day Challenge, Day 16

2009-04-16T07:40:00.001-07:00

Today's prompt was to write a poem about a color.

Green

Mrs. Lewis
gave each of us
a rexographed picture
of a flower.
I scribbled methodically,
staying within the lines.

When she passed by my masterpiece,
she yelled at me.
I had colored
stem,
leaves,
petals
my favorite green.

Vision blurred
by tears and shame,
I ground the purple crayon
into the paper,
bleeding the petals into a hideous blue.

I was one of the best readers
in her kindergarten class,
and if she’d had a heart,
I would have explained how I
only wanted to replicate
the verdant beauty of
spring.

Poem a Day Challenge, Day 15

2009-04-15T09:20:00.001-07:00

Today's prompt was to take a title from a poem we like and write a new poem.

Still I Fell

As much as intellect intrigues me,
what hooked me was his style,
the glitter of his light brown eyes
the hot sex beneath his smile.

The power and prowess of his kisses,
Always made swoon.
But he had a few years on me.
Daddy would not approve.

One day I was bold enough
To bring “the young man” home.
Mom and Dad were their polite.
They advised, “Leave him alone”.

He was too old, I too young.
He was not college bound.
It was too easy to lose myself
in this passion that I’d found.

Dad saw the way he came and went
and my longing for our sporadic times,
the way he never spoke of love,
or solely wanting to be mine.

Daddy kept his peace, and
let me find my way.
He must have known all along,
he did not come to stay.

And when he disappeared
Daddy was kind enough to know
How very cruel it would have been
To say, I told you so.

(The original title was from “Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou.)

Poem a Day Challenge, Day 14

2009-04-14T10:58:00.000-07:00

There were two prompts today: to write a love poem, and an anti-love poem.

A Love Poem

No matter how I’ve tried to mold you,
you never stay put.

I’ve been tempted to surrender, but
the way every kinky strand of you
twists and turns around my fingers
has seduced me.

I’ll keep searching--
jasmine, peppermint, shea butter, rosemary,
jojoba conditioners,
olive oil hot treatments,
until I find what it is you need
for you to love me back.

The Realist

Love is like a great book.
No matter how much time, energy you invest
into the reading or writing,
it must come to an end.

Poem A Day Challenge, Day 13

2009-04-13T07:33:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was to write about a hobby.

From Scratch

One morning, with sunlight beaming in diagonal streams
throughout the living room,
I was summoned by the rippling bay.
I purposely left my pedometer at home
for the pleasure of unmeasured steps
to the rhythm of trills, whistles, and rattles
from swallows, robins, sparrows, and cicadas.

An elderly woman was walking by.
I stepped to the side of the path
so she could pass.
She pointed one smooth brown hand towards a tree
and said, Those are mulberries.
We used to pick those
and make pies with them down South.

She smiled and went along her way, leaving me to my longing
for Grandma, and her lemon meringue pies.
Despite my love for them, I refuse to eat storebought,
knowing the whipped topping won’t be as light
or the filling as sweet.

Since then, I’ve been in my kitchen,
whisking and juicing to rekindle her magic,
even without her recipe.

Poem A Day Challenge, Day 12

2009-04-12T07:58:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was to finish the line, So We Decided To...

So We Decided To Have Dessert

Get fresh catch salmon,
Ivy said. The rest are full of mercury.
As I perused each menu item, I stopped to check
with her. She's always watching CNN.
But with all the dishes slathered in honey or cherry glazes
sitting on a bed of rice,
caution becomes a burden.
I order fried catfish, and my baked potato
rests on a layer of crunchy salt.
Our plates all but licked clean,
my sister and I fall into our ritual debate.
Should we?

With each mouthful of my apple brown betty
a la vanilla mode
I rock in my seat, rubbing my ample thighs
to keep warm,
and whisper a promise to go to the gym.

Poem A Challenge, Day 11

2009-04-12T03:14:00.000-07:00

The prompt was to write about an object.

My Table

As my aunt recalls great grandmother's
collard greens and homemade Communion wine,
I doubt she would let me explain
why my kitchen table is
sometimes
covered by
dirty dishes
and empty Chinese takeout containers.
With a home
a husband
a farm
three daughters
Christian pride
and dawn to dusk expectations,
not cooking and cleaning
could never be
her option.

Poem a Day Challenge, Day 10

2009-04-10T10:03:00.001-07:00

The prompt was to write about a poem about Friday.

Fridays

make me hot
for late night loving
and sleep-in Saturdays,
so I spend each one
wishing for a fast-forward button
to rush the students out the door
and me through traffic.

Yet
as my days grow shorter
I see the folly of yearning through
five other days
of each week
each month
each year.

The real work is
to find
and cherish
bursts of joy
in each one.

Poem a Day Challenge, Prompt #4

2009-04-10T05:39:00.000-07:00

Still playing catch up! The prompt was write a poem about an animal.

Canadian Geese
bequeath us haphazard rows of foul green muck.
Despite ginger steps, I was once against a wall
scraping feces off my sandal.

As I marched past a group of goslings, nibbling our
newly planted grass, one of the crèche pulled its neck erect
and hissed. Dodging smoldering cigarette butts, gum, and bits of glass
is quite enough. Each day, each goose, a pound of waste.

Research revealed:
methods to end this menace--
an arrow through the body or blunt force;
collies to inspire desperate flight;
capture and transport to poultry processing plants;
trapping, gassing, vehicular slaughter;
pouring corn oil over the eggs to suffocate the embryos;

and that,
so both can mind their young before they hatch
males and females shed the feathers that let them fly,
and geese embrace monogamy in a way that humans have not.

On the day my car was stopped in traffic by a line of geese--
one parent at the head,
goslings neatly in the middle
the other parent in back,
regardless of my watch’s insistent ticking,
I sat with my hands away from my horn.

Poem a Day Challenge!

2009-04-09T16:44:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm coming up from under, I have some catching up to do!
This is the prompt for Day 9, and it was to write a poem about a memory. I remembered my enthusiasm about teaching.

When It's Just a Job

On that first day
I thought my knowledge
and sense of mission would be enough.

Years later
I've learned to bite my tongue
look the other way
pass along to get along
cross days off on a calendar
and keep rowing
rather than rock the boat.

Wednesday's Poem

2009-03-19T15:59:00.000-07:00

Prompt number 41 was to write a poem about something that does not belong.

The Obstinate

The date is set to celebrate
Daddy's sixty-sixth birthday.

He would be there with us,
if he could.

After four years of practicing
to laugh at memories
and pack away grief,
we're ready.

Our favorite photo of him
will be in the center of the table,
and Sorrow will have no place.

Wednesday's Poem

2009-03-05T17:13:00.000-08:00

The prompt was to write a poem about correspondence.

Dear Husband,

I read my email every day
but none ever seems as sweet
as those letters
I slipped into your locker
with the hearts I drew over my i's and j's
angular lines crossing my t's
yellowed drops of Baby Soft
spritzed along the corners of the paper
that still sit in your favorite drawer
and smell like love.

Wednesday's Poem No. 38

2009-02-25T21:20:00.001-08:00

The prompt was to write about dieting. Thought I'd try something a little different.

Dilemma

Worries and work
latch on like a leech,
guzzling my focus,
my imagination,
my resolve.

Books abound at home, unread.
Since skipping a book is like
skipping a meal,
my writing sometimes falls flat.

When I get hungry enough,
I gorge.

I am learning that
regular nourishment
will help my words
maintain their weight.

Wednesday's Poem

2009-02-18T11:46:00.000-08:00

Trying to see if I can sustain my poetic exercises. Work had taken over! Here goes! Prompt #37 was to write an ode.

An Ode to the Perseverance of Wonder

In this season
of broken hearts and homes,
robber barons and outrage,
warring parties and waning hope,
I am awed
by the alabaster beauty
of the hungry moon.

2009-02-18T11:14:00.000-08:00

I heard about this cartoon on Facebook.
Check it out: http://www.nypost.com/delonas/delonas.htm
Here's the letter I sent to the editors of The New York Post:

To The Editors,

I am saddened and dismayed by Sean Delonas' unfortunate cartoon in the February 18, 2009 edition of The New York Post. To equate President Obama with the chimp that viciously attacked someone is the height of insult. It is one matter to disagree with the recent stimulus package that President Obama recently signed into law; it is quite another to use a well-worn racist tactic to make a point. As I'm sure you are aware, racist forces have created such depictions to oppress and degrade the intellectual capacities of African-Americans, and I am deeply disappointed that your editorial board approved this cartoon.

As a New York City educator, I am working to teach my students about the evils of racism. As part of my mission, I will share Mr. Delonas' cartoon with them to generate a discussion about racism in the media and methods for combating racist attitudes.

I can only give my money to organizations and people who respect others without regard to race, gender, or creed. I will no longer patronize your publication.

Sincerely,

Carla Cherry

Wednesday's Poem #35

2009-02-05T13:43:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I've posted! I've missed doing this weekly exercise. This week's prompt was to write a poem about a view.

Views

As the train hurtles past
boxy building atop bodegas and pharmacies,
liquor stores and nail salons,
I wonder about the bold souls
who part their curtains
allowing the curious
to glimpse the colors of their walls,
boxes of cereal on kitchen counters,
and private moments.

Wednesday's Poem #25

2008-10-26T15:11:00.000-07:00

The prompt was to write about a topic from current events.

Numbers

Sarah,
can you put on that pretty
$2500 cream colored silk
Valentino jacket--
it's a bit chilly in Rhode Island--
there's a family I want you to meet.

Four members have lost five jobs
one needs health insurance;
he had prostate problems.
Another is a single mother;
she can't afford hockey for her kids.

Can you come, Sarah,
when you get a minute?

Wednesday's Poem #24

2008-10-16T14:00:00.000-07:00

The prompt was about a confrontation. Of course, I watched the Obama-McCain debate and felt inspired.

The Undecided

With hard blinking eyes
and tightened jaw,
he threatens that if That One
Over There is chosen,
I will be overtaxed.

My pots and my wallet
are a little less full
these days.

I think I'll give change
a chance.

Wednesday's Poem #23

2008-10-08T17:47:00.001-07:00

Today's prompt was to write about rainy days.

Obstinate

A forecast of light showers
couldn't stop me.

If I had to stand outside all day
until rain and sweat
became one in rivulets down my back,
I would wait.

At last they fluttered out
from their tree-limb shelters.

I read that butterflies flap their wings
faster than humans blink their eyes.

It is confirmed.

Wednesday's Poem #22

2008-10-01T14:02:00.000-07:00

The prompt was to write about the new season.

Every Autumn

fall of leaves
in purple, pumpkin, marigold at my feet,
cooling of temperatures
but not of passions,
with your arms around my shoulders
shielding me from the chills in the air,
trees dangling apples
inviting my nibbles,
the nape of my neck enticing yours,
laughter over first days of school,
graying of hairs and skies,
promises of nights by crackling fires
in our eyes.

Wednesday's Poem #21

2008-09-25T13:56:00.000-07:00

The prompt was to write about a change.

Foxy Brown

Raking my fingers through my freshly colored hair
I stared at the glint of the scissors
in my stylist's hand.

How much are you going to cut?
Just this much, he said, holding a tuft of my hair
straight in the air.

With sleight of hand, he lopped off four inches
all the way around my hair. I tried not to stare
at the black tresses floating down around me.

His phone rang.
That's probably my mother, I quipped.
He smiled.

After he picked out my hair,
I strolled down the street, past a young dude
whose eyes stayed on my form.

That's a ba-aad afro, he called.
I raised my fist in the air, and drew myself
two inches taller.

Wednesday's Poem #19

2008-09-17T18:40:00.000-07:00

Fell behind last week, so I'm playing catch up. The prompt was to write a poem, "Blank Is Blank".

My Poetry Is...

sunlight breaking through a storm,
the shade of a weeping willow,
the rush of a waterfall,
the crunch of freshly fallen snow;

a pair of bedroom slippers,
a night by the fire,
and falling asleep under a feathery blanket
at the end of day;

a wink,
a coy smile,
a quick kiss,
an embrace;

an open book.

Wednesday's Poem #20

2008-09-17T14:15:00.001-07:00

The prompt was write about something you love.

Temptation

I am the happiest
when I can spoon you,
when you are
between my lips,
your vanilla sweetness
melting against my tongue,
your coolness pressed tightly
against the roof of my mouth,
coursing leisurely down my throat.

If only
I could
consume you wildly
every day
without squeezing
your aftermath
into my shrinking jeans.

Faring Well....

2008-09-07T18:19:00.000-07:00

Another successful day as a vendor! I sold another batch of tote bags, t-shirts, and copies of my book of poetry. I am thrilled to announce that I am fresh out of tote bags, running low on t-shirts, and have only one book left, and that one is reserved for a friend. I made almost $300 today, and I am donating 80% of that money to the Lambi Fund of Haiti. Haiti was hit particularly hard by Hurricane Hannah, and my only regret is that I couldn't do more.

I am so thankful to my family, friends, and neighbors who have supported these endeavors. Publishing my poetry and starting my online store, www.cafepress.com/gnatfeathers have been two of the most daunting things I've done in my life. Having people to encourage and patronize my efforts to exceedingly gratifying, especially when I'm able to give money to worthy causes.

Daddy, I hope you can see me up there and that you're proud.

Wednesday's Poem #18

2008-09-03T16:09:00.000-07:00

This prompt was to write about food.

A Game

From when she was three,
I would fold my niece into my lap.

Uh-oh, I'd say
I found a little neckbone,
and blow a raspberry on her neck.

I found a couple of chicken wings,I'd sing,
and squeeze her little arms.

I found a little pork belly,
and poke her navel.

Pass the salt and pepper,
I found a couple of drumsticks!

And look! A little rump roast!
She'd giggle, and toddle away.

The other day, I snatched her up
and before I could begin
she sighed and rolled her eyes.

Wednesday's Poem #17

2008-09-01T02:09:00.000-07:00

The prompt was to write about something you found.

The Mirror

With an armful of apparel draped over one arm,
I entered the fitting room and closed the door.

After I undressed, my eyes roamed
over the dimples in my thighs.

I stepped into one pair of pants and pulled them
over my hips with ease. Slipped on a matching shirt.

I turned around, and seeing how the outfit firmly hugged
what my man likes to hug, I grew brave.

I tried on another shirt, a skirt, a dress, and more
pants. Each time, I found beauty.

I bounced out of the room, and the glitter of sterling
silver brought me to a rack of jewelry. A sale.

I brought two pair to my ear. They gleamed against
my skin.

The cashier rang me up, plunging me a little deeper in debt.
But as I walked down the street, I swung my bags, front to back.

Poetic Prompt

2008-08-26T11:34:00.000-07:00

The idea here was to write a "text-message poem" with 160 characters, or less. This was inspired by the 2008 Democratic National Convention.

For Ted Kennedy

He'll be back, he promised, to make health care a right for every American. I stared at the bald half of his perfectly coiffed white hair, and prayed he will.

Wednesday's Poem, #14

2008-08-06T16:21:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was to write about marriage.

Marriage

gold and platinum promises,
squealing joy,
diamond celebrations,
paper to cotton to wood to tin to silver
to gold, then emerald hopes,
sly kisses up the arm,
dedicating a love song on the radio,
hot words and erotic makeups,
bills,
financial wrangling,
conception,
held hands,
growing children,
shared worries,
morning snuggles.

Most of all
it is
by invitation only.

Wednesday's Poem #13

2008-07-30T07:42:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was to write a cento, which borrows lines from other poets. This honors the work of Phyllis Wheatley, Nikki Giovanni, Maya Angelou, Gwendolyn Brooks, Sonia Sanchez, Mari Evans, Lucille Clifton, Margaret Walker, Audre Lorde, and Jessica Care Moore.

For Those Who Came Before

Black cat that will bring you luck,

aphrodisiac you’d love to suck.

I am a black woman, tall as a cypress, strong, beyond all definition

I am so perfect, so divine, so ethereal, so surreal

and

Nobody ever stops to think about my side of it.

So,

Remembering with twinkling and twinges,

I stand up,

Tell her glories with a faithful tongue.

This woman, wet with wandering,

Reviving the beauty of forests and winds.

My grandmothers were strong;

They have many clean words to say.

Make room for me to lead you

beyond this rage of poetry.

Wednesday Prompt #12

2008-07-23T08:05:00.000-07:00

The assignment was to write a "How To" poem.

How to Give a First Kiss

Search his eyes for your reflection.
Trace the outline of his lips
with the tip of your finger.
Wrap your arms around his neck.
Stand on your toes and let him
inhale your scent.
Press your strawberry flavored lips against his, and
after a quick slip of the tongue
pull back
smile
wave good night
close the door gently
and check the peephole
to see how long he lingers.

Wednesday's Poem #11

2008-07-16T10:07:00.000-07:00

The prompt was to write a poem for a specific audience, alive or inanimate.

Ode to My Telephone

I've mastered the art
of not running to you
each time I hear
your urgent cry.

For all those times
when I don't hear
him
on the other end,
I've trained my voice
to be a singsong melody
until I can
ease you into
your cradle.

Wednesday Prompt #10

2008-07-09T07:59:00.000-07:00

Today's topic was about crowds.

Aftermath of the Great American Celebration

The 6 train screeched into the station. I spread my arms
like a mother eagle, to keep the anxious tourists and drunken fools
behind my family.

The doors opened, my wall broken by shoving.
I eased into a seat, pulling my arms to my chest
to avoid foreign touch.

Tears trickled down my niece's cheeks like raindrops
on a window pane. What's wrong,
I cooed.

Somebody pushed me into a pole!

I scanned the crowd for supplicant faces. Finding none,
I announced:I wish I had seen the person who pushed you.
I'd have smacked them in the face.

The bass in my voice, mocked by
laughter, casual conversation, and the roar
of wheels against tracks.

Wednesday Poems

2008-07-02T11:54:00.000-07:00

Although I hadn't written a poem each day during the month of June as I would have liked, I have been doing poetic exercises very regularly. Here are just a few, and I think I'll polish a couple of them into publishable pieces.

Prompt#9 (vacation)

My Stay-cation

Skipping through the grass
like a 10 year old
with a 10 year old
peering at the birds
pointing out ladybugs crawling down leaves
hair blowing in the breeze
fingering bluebells and dandelions
climbing the big rock
skirting dragonflies and bees
racing down the road
to see
who gets home first.

Prompt #8 (A Shardoma)

Rapture

Long distance
love. You said no, yet
each day our
voices bound
the miles tending our hearts and
stoking our passion.

Prompt #6 (You're the reason I)
Scars

As you walked towards me
that day
snickering wickedly,
I raised a chair.

I still recall
your smile,
height,
broad shoulders
and my relief
that you sat down.

You must have been 13 then.

Upon your incarceration,
I remember next
your letter
admitting to
false bravado
and regret.

My sorrow for you
tempered by your
jagged razor blade rip
across John's perfect face.

You're the reason why
I teach.

Prompt #5 (near-death experiences)

I Believe in Guardian Angels

Since the minute hand was a quarter past
I was speeding

Black ice unseen

My foot on the brake
my wheels, my world
spinning

screaming

burnt rubber smell
crunch of the fender
against the guard rail.

As I examined the small crack
in the metal frame,
I fought to recall
how I managed to stop
and a voice told me
to look towards the heavens.

A Dream Confirmed

2008-06-01T21:13:00.000-07:00

I once read somewhere that one way to promote one's poetry is to print up t-shirts decorated with original poetry.

I thought that would be a cool idea!

I spoke to a wonderful artist I know, Demostina, and she created a lovely design. I set up an account with Cafepress, and created clothing and tote bags featuring one of my poems, "Still", which is about the need for Black people to reject this inferiority complex many of us have about dark skin. I emailed a bunch of people I know and advertised it on my MySpace page, and began to have sales!

The website is www.cafepress.com/gnatfeathers.

Then I had the great idea to set up a table at my local community fair yesterday, June 1. I prayed for sunshine and generous customers.

Forgot to ask Mother Nature to still the winds.

My merchandise--and my hair-- blew everywhere, and although nothing was lost, I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of my venture.

People began to make their way to my table. I sold several of my books and spoken word CD, t-shirts and tote bags. I made close to $200, and have designated that most of the money I've made thus far will go to Project Rise and Walk, and the Lambi Fund of Haiti.

At the end of the day, I looked up at the Heavens, smiled, and said a thank you. I have worked to mold my life into one in which I leave this planet a little better than I found it.

Wordplay on Wednesdays!

2008-05-11T14:22:00.000-07:00

The Poetry Challenge was such a success that our group is continuing to write poems in response to prompts every Wednesday. This one was supposed to be about the weather.

Forecast

Yesterday's rain,
and tears,
are forgotten
dried by the
warmth of the rising sun.

Day 30, Poem 30

2008-04-30T18:37:00.001-07:00

Wow! I can't believe that April is coming to an end! I really enjoyed this Poetry Challenge, and I will be developing at least five of these poems for publication. I don't know if I can sustain the daily poem workout, but my creative juices are flowing.

I Don't Fear Goodbyes For Long

Leaves and petals fade,
cascade to the ground
stems wilt
grass turns brown.

What gives me comfort
is that each spring
brings
rebirth.

Day 29, Poem 29

2008-04-30T03:34:00.000-07:00

The prompts for today were to write a poem about exercise, and to write a poem in second person. Two for one!

For That Cute Trainer With the Bulging Biceps

Yeah, baby
I like the way
you work me

kinking my hair
sweat dripping from my brow
and careening down my back

Yeah,
I know
I can do it

I like the way
you work me

And that the other women
are watching
green-eyed
gets me off
and running
faster,
yes
faster
just for you

my waist, cinched
abs tight
thighs and buttocks (af)firmed

You got me
turning heads
in the gym.

Shall we
meet again,
same time
same place?

Will that be cash
or charge?

Day 27, Poem 27

2008-04-27T17:27:00.000-07:00

The prompt was to write one half of a conversation.

Daughter to Mother

Hi, Mom.
I have a confession to make.
About Grandma's plant.
The one that sprouts those pink flowers in early spring.
It's wilting.
I really meant to water it.
No, it's not dead. Yet.
I got busy is all.
Yes, I know she had that plant
for at least 20 years.
Really? She bought it after Uncle Don passed?
Oh no.
OK, OK. Hold on.
I'm pruning it now--
Wait. I just disposed of the dried stems and leaves.
Huh?
It's the kitchen sink you hear.
I'm filling up her porcelain water jug
right now
so I can water it.
Yes, I'm putting plant food in the soil.
No, I'm pouring the water inside the pot after.
Please, Mom.
Stop crying.
Don't you know
that nature often
gives us second chances?

Day 26, Poem 26

2008-04-26T07:36:00.000-07:00

Today's prompt was, "I'm so over...". This is just a first draft, but I definitely want to develop this one.

The Awakening
(for Sean Bell)
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31

Hold up, gotta reload

32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
bullets
1 body
and no justice.

I don't yet know
how I will fight
but
I'm so over
being polite.

Day 25, Poem 25

2008-04-25T12:57:00.000-07:00

I am infuriated over the Sean Bell verdict, but I'm not ready to write that poem yet. Played it safe for today. The prompt was to write about an occupation.

The Postman

Monday through Saturday
around 1:00
he comes around
holding
pieces of our lives
in his hands
and
I am grateful
that he
always
gets it right.

Day 24, Poem 24

2008-04-24T11:44:00.000-07:00

At Teotihuacan

There were twelve
compelled
to march
the Street of the Dead.
Hands bound.
Mouths stuffed with beads.
Buried alive
with
wolves
pumas
eagles
a falcon
and rattlesnakes,
their commingled
suffering muffled
by screaming
teeming thousands
around the Pyramid of the Moon.

Their faces
frozen
in poses of pain
for eternity,
they are now
poked and prodded
for fragments,
to be strung
into narrative.

Day 23, Poem 23

2008-04-23T09:33:00.000-07:00

It's time to go to the salon, ya'll. A little tribute to the inevitability of fate.

On Aging

At 36
my flesh,
firm.
Mind, right.
Perspective
on hindsight.
Goals
in pursuit,
critics
on mute.

Gray hairs
sprout
here and there.
I stare,
wonder why
they gotta feel
like wire.

When they're plucked
each time,
their laughter
rings
like chimes.

Still the best thing,
I know,
is each chance
and
to live
and grow.

Day 22, Poem 22 of the Poetry Challenge

2008-04-22T22:23:00.000-07:00

As I drive
rays of sunlight
seep through
gray, indifferent clouds.

Soothed by
my passenger's Jamaican lilt
I ask,
where are you from.

St. Mary's.
It's a lil country town.
It's quiet.
No chasing after
ten o'clock.
There
you wonder
where it is.

I dream of
sitting on sandy shores
as blue see-through water
laps at my toes,
with a plate of
green bananas
and callaloo
balanced on my knees.

Will you ever go back home
to live,
I ask.

No, he says.
We all say
we will
but we don't.

I suddenly close
the windows
as smoky air
leaks in.
I clear my throat
trying to expel
the odor
of progress.

Day 21, Poem 21

2008-04-21T18:49:00.000-07:00

Living Out Loud

Two women were talking

I never use birth control
one says

not only do I wonder
after her motive
and why I am allowed to hear
but
how many children she has

are they educationally
disaffected
dysfunctional

do they roam the street
with red
blue
or yellow rags
hanging from their pockets

will there come a day
when one
of hers
harms mine

I turn away
and stare
at the polish
on my Pay-less
shoes

I'm Getting There

2008-04-21T18:06:00.000-07:00

Before I post my entry for the Poem a Day Challenge, I just wanted to celebrate yet another small victory. I went to an Open Mic at The Hue-Man Experience Bookstore in Harlem, and read two of my poems, "Still" and "A Love Poem". I was warmly received, and was able to sell one book and one CD. I am now just $50 away from being able to give my cousin Keith a $200 donation for his Project Rise and Walk. I am so grateful for the love and support I found at that venue, and from strangers.

But that's the thing about Harlem. The African-American community there, whether it's in churches, bookstores, or sometimes on the street, it's family.

This black butterfly is in flight!

Day 20, Poem 20

2008-04-20T13:34:00.000-07:00

Love Is

a waiting game

first hurts
second chances
golden rings
solemn
sanctioned
sanctified
promises

conception

birthing pains
sore nipples
aching arms
baby nestled
in between

tiny hands
wrapped around fingers
a safe haven

that lingers.

Day 19, Poem 19

2008-04-19T20:57:00.000-07:00

A tough day today. Tomorrow will be better.

April 19

Thirty-eight years ago
my father held up five fingers
when asked how many children
he wanted
and my mother
held her hands to her face
in feigned surprise.
In their wedding album
they are standing still
downcast eyes
hands locked.

Today
my sister is 34
I am 36

I would have baked
my parents a cake
to celebrate
but since Daddy
is no longer here

I didn't see the point.

I hope when I awake tomorrow
I will be able to smile
when I think of Daddy
holding me as I took my first steps
or holding my hand
on our way home to see
my newborn baby sister.

Day 18, Poem 18

2008-04-18T16:11:00.001-07:00

Untied

A girl breaks a mirror,
drags the shards shallowly
against her wrist.

There is no connection.

She lays in
her hospital room,
aside the bassinet of her
newborn son.
Down the hall,
laughing
husbands and wives
clink glasses
brimming with bubbly.

As she swallows her dinner
her vision is a watery blur
and the food tastes like brine.

There is no connection.

Chubby-cheeked toddler
licks his ice cream cone.
His mother sees the
milky dribble slide down
his smiling face.
She kicks him,
yells
you're so motherf#@$%^^ stupid!

There is no connection.

Years later
son leaves space
for father's name
blank.

Day 17, Poem 17

2008-04-18T16:07:00.000-07:00

Humility

Mic check
Mic check
One two, one two!

She sat mesmerized
time after time
as each spoken word artist
spit masterful rhymes

She, of leaden tongue
with hermit-like life
wished her words could splice
air like a knife

She wished she could dance
have each poem memorized
She of shaky hands
and teary eyes

She tried to remember
To honor all that she knows
And not be jealous of others'
ability to flow.

Day 16, Poem 16

2008-04-17T03:25:00.000-07:00

The Rushing

From work to class to a meeting.
When I park my car,
no one is afoot.
There is peace.
My sweetest part of day
(OK, it's night).

Time to ruminate
about the
stubby blades of grass
emerging from the newly pregnant soil,
opening buds
of tree leaves,
the fragrance of cherry blossoms,
and shedding of winter clothes.

I sneeze.
My eyes water.
Damn.

I boil a cup of water,
drop a bag of goldenseal tea
in a cup.
I'm feeling sick
in the middle of this poem
that is supposed to end
with a twist.

This lemon
will have to do.

Day 15, Poem 15

2008-04-15T18:34:00.000-07:00

The assignment was to write an insult poem, and to write a poem about tax day. It is April 15.

The Great Put Down

After a long day’s work

I come home

kick off my too-tight shoes

and thumb through one

of the copies of

my published

poetry book.

I have two boxes full.

I see potential sales,

poetry readings,

and my presence on

bookstore shelves.

In my two boxes

of my published books

my inner critic

sees evidence that

my work is

clichéd

trite,

and promises there’ll be a day

when they will be covered with dust.

This is a battle

I intend to win.

There used to be

three boxes.

Taxes

When April 15

approaches

I shrug.

Taxes

set by law

do less

than grief

to tax

my soul.

Day 14, Poem 14

2008-04-14T17:48:00.001-07:00

How My Hips Behave

As I was growing up

I put my hands on my hips

Loved the way the roundness

Would feel

And when the children

were babies

I’d swing them on my hips

Just to hear them squeal

Oh, how my hips

behave

They swell

With each sweet I eat

So I sway them

to tantalize

each man I meet

On future nights

they will cradle

my love to sleep

And during each day

He’ll think of me

rave about, and crave

the way my hips behave.

Day 13, Poem 13

2008-04-13T09:31:00.000-07:00

A Poet

As I sit here,
I've no company
except the heat.
The only sound,
is the spinning blades of my fan.

There is no one to ask
if this poem is good
before I click on print.

If you want
to share
there is the risk
that your work
has far to go.

Critique can feel
like being
run through
with a sword.

Sometimes
I'm the only
one
who gets it,
so
I've learned
to take what I can use
and throw out what I won't.

My voice,
my choice.

It begins,
then ends,
with me.

Day 12, Poem #12

2008-04-12T17:46:00.000-07:00

For Uncle Reggie

My shelf boasts a navy blue binder
with your poems,
(the beautiful ones)
along with your photograph--
the dimple I envied is quite prominent.

My secret shame
is that when I last heard your voice
that unfamiliar rasp
repelled my bit of usual small talk
about school

To ask how you were
would have been cruel

I should have just said
I love you

I was too busy praying
that Mom would take the back the phone
and rescue me
from our interminable silence.

Day 11, Poem 11

2008-04-11T15:48:00.000-07:00

Note to Self

This evening, I will give thanks to

my metaphoric shield against insult,

keeper of blood and bone,

my skin.

When I am cold,

my pores tighten against the wind.

When I am hot,

they expand,

secreting salty water

to keep me cool.

As I bathe

I scrub at its flaws

with pumice-like roughness,

often forgetting the way

it soaks in the sun

turning me deeper brown

or exudes my scent.

When I walk

my thighs collide sweetly,

their soothing friction

a reminder

of pleasures to come.

Lest I take my skin for granted,

from now on

I vow

to always

touch it lightly.

Day 10, Poem#10

2008-04-10T23:57:00.000-07:00

A long day today! Had to take a nap, and barely got this one out. Needs work, I know, but it's still a poem and I've written one each day. Whoo hoo!

New York, New York

My friends have moved away.
Some have gone South,
because they want to own a home
and some quiet.
I wish them well.

I love Central Park in spring,
Museum Mile,
the jazz clubs of Greenwich Village,
the hot spots for Open Mics,
the restaurants for every palate,
the blast of wind from passing subway trains,
the glittering lights of Riverside Drive at night,
the cacophony of music from speeding cars,
and Sundays in Harlem.

My friends have moved away.
I wish them well.

Day 9, Poem #9

2008-04-09T17:54:00.000-07:00

Openness

To be open
is to be vulnerable
to hurt.

I used to lock
my heart up tight,
but when my feelings overflowed
into my pen,
a book was born.

When I sent you,
my beloved book,
out into the world
I feared your covers
would be opened
and my poems torn to shreds.

But today
a woman told me
she opened my book,
and she's been
reading it on the train.

Now I see the beauty of openness
everywhere.

It is in every opening leaf
and blooming flower.

To share
is to be open
to love.