On sand and grace the color of rainy day brine where sand meets grace and castles crumble at a pace only outmatched by ticking time wet grit beneath calcified fine tuning: weeds, shell: drab grace
Two Pink Shells / Pink Shell, 1937
Twinning sweetly blooming like a hidden opal sitting sweetly on the tongue with summer’s peachy mornings, taste a swell of hopeful growth, of pearls and other baubles sitting sweetly
Pelvis IV, 1944
unlikely eye sees the moon in perfect blueness (unlikely) I imagine curves bleached by the sky the sun relentless in trueness to itself: heat and light the best all-seeing eye
These 3 poems are ekphrastic responses to 3 paintings by Georgia O’Keefe – the paintings have the same titles as the poems and can be searched for here.
partial poem / work in progress | iphone photo by author
I wish I could float (with the clouds)
not so much with but above not so much the earth but my expectations leaving them below like unrecognizable neighborhoods from an airplane window a float full of nothing but airy vacancy light as a unicorn on the surface of a swimming pool clouds shining in the reflection like stolid trees on the façade of a mountain lake
This poem is in response to a prompt from my friend and fellow poet Kimberly McAfee (who has a new book! here’s a link to it, and to her instagram). She has a whole list of prompts for the month of September.
It fits in with something that Kirsten Miles of Tupelo Press (Kirsten organizes the 30/30 Program and leads the craft talks, etc) posted in our private August 30/30 Facebook page the other day. I don’t know the origin of this meme, so I’m pasting a screen shot of it below with where Kirsten shared it from.
I feel like this popped into my awareness at exactly the right time, because I have been struggling a lot this past week with the usual misery that crops up in me at near-regular intervals. I’m talking about the kind of misery where I look at social media, or a book, and it dawns on me why I get rejection letters. Suddenly it will hit home how far behind I am from where I would (secretly or not) like to be. I feel crushingly less-than. I wallow in my inadequacy and tear myself down. (I realize this is not a good thing to do, but if I can figure out exactly how to break this cycle forever I will let you know.)
Sometimes social media DOES feel like a competition, though. I look at the posts of more “successful” people and have the uncomfortable sensation that I am involved in a wrestling match I didn’t sign up for. Competition makes me unhappy (this is why I quit gymnastics when I was 12), even competition with myself, but at least that kind can feel productive. I know I’ll never catch up to the people with 10k followers and paychecks from their art. More than likely I wouldn’t like it if I was in that boat anyway, but it sure looks inviting from the bank where all the little people like me stand.
But maybe “making it” isn’t the point.
It IS all so subjective.
How do you “make it,” anyway?
Maybe – definitely – I’m right where I’m supposed to be. For now. Or for good.
What matters is the connections.
Sometimes I will share something on my photography website and manage to reach people in a way where I get replies, people saying “yes! I am feeling this way, too!” When that happens, I know it’s good to keep going. One tiny connection with one person, and I know why I keep at it.
Thanks for being here, readers. Let’s not compete, let’s just create.
photo by author (canon digital, lensbaby burnside 35 lens)
as the archer, you point arrows, fulfilling some sacred oath elastic and flying, half-transcendental, seeking mending from thistledown, they bloom brighter than merciless skies finding the line in the sand while seashells bleach and the 150 year old banyan tree tells how to withdraw a sword from a backyard stone
This poem is a Cento, made from the work of the other poets that participated in the August 30/30 Project with me for Tupelo Press. A centois a poem created with lines written by other people. The link on the word “cento” will explain it better!
I was blown away by the work that my fellow writers shared this month. Honestly, it made me feel like I didn’t belong in the project – I was so impressed that I felt ridiculous being among them. Please, if you get a chance, scroll through and read some of their poems
Today, Lucie Chou published a cento for the group on the Tupelo Press site. You can read it at the link above, but here is a screenshot of it also:
This is our official cento for the project; she composed it from lines we all selected and sent to her.Because I initially misunderstood the instructions, I wrote my own cento that I sent in, thinking for some weird reason that she was going to make a cento out of our centos. Inception! So I had this piece already ready and I figured I may as well share it with y’all here.
It’s a satisfying relief to have completed the month-long project! It was a good experience, and I would recommend it. The hardest part was the fundraising, but if I – who suffer acutely from imposter syndrome and want to hide instead when it comes to asking people for money – if I can do it, you can too! Tupelo Press graciously provided us with weekly “craft talks” that were like mini workshop sessions, so there’s a lot more to it than you might think.
I’m grateful to Tupelo Press for their choosing to include me in this project, and for their support through the process. I am grateful also to everyone out there who read along, shared my poems, and donated to the fundraiser. THANK YOU!
Caprock Canyon State Park, TX | polaroid photo by author
there’s something sacred about a canyon how the land gave way to river power water’s carrying works will never be done
some majesty gets measured by the ton lips that graze are busy every hour in their bones they understand the canyon
acknowledging sacredness in action where rainfall meets land, and time empowers the water to carve and never be done
geology gathers runnels, functions godlike to determine weather’s dour realty, while the sacred canyon
goes on, sheltering the new herded spawn whose old roaming gave way to manpower restoration work will never be done
at least someone is trying. wisdom runs down hill, delicate as prairie flowers in the sacredness of the canyon apologize to the land and be done
This is the villanelle version of a prose poem that I published today on Tupelo Press’ website for the 30/30 project. It was a hard decision which one to send them: this, or the prose version. You can read it here:
Polaroid photo by author (Great Smoky Mountains National Park)
Illusion hills smoke signals further vision blanket memory, summer-warm consciousness dreaming a boulder for a pillow battling angels to climb ladders everything leaves a mark low-rounded, still-sacred some of those illusions carry ancient names some of them carry the bones of the sky
I love how mountains fade into the distance, how it hardly seems real. This poem is the second one I wrote for the polaroid at the top. The other one, a villanelle, is over on Tupelo Press’ website today.
Polaroid photo by author (Nag’s Head, NC – I think!)
the boy does tricks the woman
stands watching the sand is
too foot-stepped to notice the
camera makes them all
silhouettes watching the sand
is everywhere playing tricks
This poem is a companion piece to the one I published on Tupelo Press’ website today for the August 30/30 Project. You can read the other poem (a villanelle) here:
Guess who finally got some little books of William Carlos Williams‘ poetry? So, YES: this little poem of mine is a direct response to reading his work, and my attempt to play with words in a similar style. My local library doesn’t have anything by him (either that or it’s always checked out) so I decided I would just add to my own library instead. Any fellow bibliophiles out there?
BOOKS I LOVE BOOKS I LOVE BOOKS
And speaking of books, and poetry: I am THRILLED to announce that, thanks to an artist friend’s donation, I’ve met my fundraising goal! I’m so happy to be able to raise money for the press, and so grateful for my friends’ generosity in helping me! You can still throw in, tho, for as long as the page is active on the website – which means you can still get a copy of the poetry / photography zine I’ll be making once this month is over.
Golf town sand and spa pines and pubs coddled traditions and legends around every corner
My Grand-mere always spoke of azaleas sparkles in her milky eyes and soft hands around a pottery cup of chicory coffee
another time another place another south
This poem is a second one that I wrote for the photo, with the villanelle being shared on Tupelo Press’ website for this month’s 30/30 project. It’s been a journey!! I don’t know what’s been harder: writing the poems and submitting them daily, or trying my hand at fundraising. PHEW.
I’m thrilled to report, however, that thanks to the gorgeous generosity of a few friends I am super close to meeting my goal. I’m double excited about this because of the zine I’m going to make donors as a reward; I’ve decided I’m going to include some other pieces that I only have shared so far on Medium, too, since they suit the general theme. Yay for making something in print!
There’s still time to get in on the party if you have $30 you can spare (or less, or more – but $30 will get you the zine!) HERE IS THE LINK TO DONATE.
Pinehurst Village is a beautiful place. I can’t think about golf without thinking about my maternal grandmother, my Grand-mere. She loved the sport! I know azaleas are a Masters thing and that takes places somewhere besides North Carolina, but still: golf = Grand-mere, and Grand-mere loved to see the azaleas on TV during that tournament every year.
Jared Coffin House, Nantucket | instant film photo by author
Glass-eyed Narcissus hiding too tall for me to see him in his past place abiding
The summer days go sliding a boat upon the pond skims glass-eyed Narcissus hiding
its deceptive depths, chiding obsession’s inviting grin in its sin-seat abiding
What seeking brings is finding with a cup full to the brim still spy Narcissus hiding
Hours confidently striding distances the kith & kin of past places abiding
A shine of gladder tidings ringing in a new day’s whims glass-eyed Narcissus hiding in his favorite place abiding
This poem is a companion villanelle to the one I published today on Tupelo Press’ website as part of the 30/30 Project. You can read the other poem here:
Thank you for reading! I’m over halfway through my month of writing and publishing, so it’s time for me to add another request for you to kindly consider donating to my fundraiser for Tupelo Press. I’m going to produce a new zine, but only for people who donate $30. Want a copy? Here’s where you can donate!
Padded quiet morning, here where life has barely thawed out the birds wait to raise a cheer
to summer. Sunshine appears with warmth, flexing its new clout in the padded morning. Here
and there flying bugs appear but the earth-dwellers have doubts and birds wait to sound the cheer.
Chased by needling cold fears pine doesn’t worry about much here, soaks up the morning.
Sap slows thoughts, fills lungs. Clear blue tries to break through the clouds. The birds start to tweet out cheers.
My heart loves this high frontier, while my limbs long to thaw out in the padded quiet here I join the birds in their cheers.
The truth is that writing a villanelle each day is HARD. Some of the photographs I chose to prompt me aren’t very easy to work from, and keeping myself on task with the form while also trying to break some kind of incredible creative ground JUST DOESN’T HAPPEN every single day. This was the best I could do for this photo, and it was a labor getting it out of myself.
If you look at the Tupelo Press website, I sent in something else for the same photo. It’s a kind of mashup of haikus and tankas used as stanza, which I know some purists will say is all wrong but hey it’s what I chose to do.You can see that poem at the link below; scroll down a little please.
Thank you, readers, for being here! Please if you can, consider donating to my fundraiser; I would love to meet my goal but I am a long, long way off. . .
The Poetry Patio 