the Joyful Conqueror arm wrestles the Sorrowful Scared Cynic who’s used to losing
Wild Dreamer kicks the Careful Rule Follower in the shins under the table so Sh*t-stirrer starts up, knocking over a chair into Peacemaker, who spills her drink onto the stifled Realist’s crisp white shirt
the Diplomat steps forward but procrastinates for an instant and gets shoved out of the way by the Bitter Gossip
Rebellion lets out a whoop, sensing all-out war, but Purity pokes her head into the door, with Conscience close behind, and it’s all over
with a grumble from reluctant Understanding, everybody comes together and settles back down
This poem is in response to an exercise from Poemcrazy (of course!) that suggested identifying all the different sides of yourself – something like that. It didn’t suggest having them brawl, but this is what I came up with when I let my mind wander into that idea. I had fun writing it, especially thinking about what ridiculous turmoil it is, not just inside of me, but inside of every beautifully complex and ultimately fascinating human being on the planet. (This includes you!)
Up north, trouble is steeping away a cold brew in the works an icy blue cloud on the weather map like a smudge of something borrowed turning up where it doesn’t belong
The kitchen is a greenhouse snug and tightly stocked as the fridge where heat, not freeze, means calamity
But the storm, if it arrives, is hours away so for now we are just waiting as anxious in our anticipation as the crowd who delights to see grumpy, waddling Phil rousted from his seasonal sleep to wink his eyes in the direction of winter
True story: I scratched this out this morning for today, since we are indeed waiting for a winter storm on this Groundhog Day. Repeats are nice, but maybe not of the snowpocalypse we experienced last year down here. . . . Thank you for reading!
stripped down now, she adorns herself with winter an invisible layer exposed by absence a rough coat of ragged bark and spindled sticks with a scarf of last summer’s decay
little birds hop at her shoulders while squirrels dig at her feet the hoard of autumn now silent the revelry of abundance put away but also strewn about
everything suggests the whiff of ice everything harbors the promise of growth and she is asleep but wakeful paused and still, waiting but wandering, a bedhead unbrushed, a bright yawn, a beautiful mess
I am not a fan of being cold, but I love the quiet, bare beauty of winter all the same! Living in a place that has a short, mild one, I welcome the chance to enjoy the season while it lasts. (I will admit I did not feel that way when I lived in New York.)
my shadow is tall she can reach all the glasses on the top shelf
she fills them to the brim with strong cocktails because alcohol doesn’t bother her stomach, and neither does any quantity or combination of food
she drives fast and says “f*ck it” more than I do, because that field of hers really is barren and she lords over it a lanky scarecrow in bright red Jimmy Choos waving a shotgun at the crows who come to troll
she speaks her mind without regret, picks fights, and wins doesn’t hold on to the past or worry about the future: my shadow is the present’s present a gift blissfully unencumbered by memory, family, or responsibility
she does what she does wild and free, hooting and hollering as she passes you in a cloud of dust wheels spinning, middle finger raised in a salute with a perfect nail painted to match the sparkle in her gorgeous, long-lashed beguiling eyes
This poem is a result of an exercise in Poemcrazy by Susan Wooldridge (you can see a photo of it on my homepage). Basically she suggested invisioning your shadow self, in the Jungian sense, and having a conversation with it, among other things. I didn’t stick to the guidlines offered in the prompt, but I did let myself imagine the opposite of what I see in the mirror and feel inside my own skin.This poem is what emerged!
just a scratch and the library bleeds words and sentences fluttering page by page gushing forth a gouge or a stab will yield a hemorrhage of information, heavy stacks, puppets, even CDs, the weighty atlas strains on the reading table with a longing to break free of the bricks and iron that hold it in place, so many maps and destinations burgeoning, just beneath the skin
Hi and HAPPY NEW YEAR! I’ve been absent from here for a while now – basking in holiday time and trying to get myself back together when it comes to my creative life. I didn’t write much over the past couple of months, but I’m working on getting the engines fired back up. My first step was to open up a book that has served me well for inspiration for a while. . . . in fact I feel like I have written some of my favorite pieces over the last year thanks to prodding by this book . . . . .
If you are searching right now, I would highly recommend getting a copy. My local library had it, but I found it to purchase because I like to write in my books (and I don’t think the library would appreciate that much!).
Here’s to a productive, joyful, and creative 2022, y’all! Thanks for reading.
Reposting from my daughter’s blog! The writer’s journey continues. . . .
So I’m back, and as you may have noticed I did NOT overhaul the website like I said I would over the holidays. Instead, I decided “hey, wouldn’t it be a great idea if I rewrote the entire thing in a completely different time period and with a majorly tweaked story?” So. Um. Yeah. I’m […]
After midnight the storm’s breath came fast and fierce between the houses, snuffing trees and patio furniture like errant candles it gripped the stars and stripes like a sail, unmooring our flagship with a single blow so it drifted into the depths of the garden fences folded like a house of cards, harkening to the maelstrom’s beguiling whistle
But you would never know it now – if it wasn’t for the debris, chaotic markers of weather’s late night party, litter from the cold front’s powerful parade – you’d never know the remnant is this blue sky and golden sunlight where the trees toss in their autumn splendor like proud ladies just back from the salon
More on breath, this time from the whopper thunderstorm we had the other night! Thank you for reading!
Breath – indicator “Breath our own personal tie with all the rhythms of the natural world”
The wind that blows in through open windows I pull in through my own musical pipe aeolian tunnel, the long gateway to the myriad of tributaries that swell and feed my body through the river of lifeblood that meanders through its parts east to west, and north to south, pole to pole, tip to tip, in and in forevermore becoming a part of my living self, this body that cages my spirit while I stand looking out of the casement through my own personal, screenless windows.
This wind enters my house and enters me and for a time I hold onto it until my metronomic brain exhales and pushes the wind forth again, upward animating the music of my voice so it becomes part of the push and pull and whispers its way back up to the clouds.
The wind will shift from south to north again as the earth tilts her way along the year and my breath will enter the tapestry as I weave my own way along, in time.
I wrote the above blank verse poem in response to the idea and quote at the top, which I noted come from page 3 although I’m not sure if that was from Mary Oliver’s Poetry Handbook or from her Rules from the Dance. It’s one or the other! Thank you for reading!