#Poemaday 14: Pinch Hit

@budtheteacher provided a prompt today that pushed me into extended metaphor.  Not sure it worked for me, but I liked the challenge!


Pinch Hit

History hits this second
like ball smacking bat,
or is it the other way around?
Either way, the crack of collision cannot be ignored.

No one is safe.
"Heads up!" we yell,
but most move to a fetal position,
arms protecting a hidden head.

The pitch: My parents were married today,
nearly four decades ago. A curve ball.

The swing: Pretend it was the game plan all along.
It took me thirty years to realize
I was the curve
that had them swinging.

The play: The ball drops into left center;

the runner goes from still to sprint.
A child changes everything,
until it doesn't and life returns to being
what we know.  Inning after inning.
Sunflower seed shells accumulate on the concrete.

Smack! In a second everything is in motion again.

Someone heads for home, someone prepares for the force of the slide.
The sound lets us know,
--the sound of then becoming now, becoming forever--
on the field, in the stands
no one is safe.

#Poemaday 13: Cartography

Big questions from @budtheteacher.  Tonight I need to answer: How would you describe the universe?

Cartography
It is in your eyes.
Close them and tattooed on the inside lid,
constellations will appear --


Shifting pictures of goddesses and cookware,
bears, balanced scales and a winged horse
beckon you to tell their stories.
  
Eyes closed; the universe swirls,
speaks in speeding comets
and hurtling metaphors.


Eyes open, I see the reflection
of a thousand moons, and they are pulling
my heart to shore.

#Poemaday 12: Boundaries

@budtheteacher strikes with another prompt today: Are you going to cross this line?


Boundaries

It all depends.

Will I be in or out?
Spectator or player?
Alone or with a team?

Who put the line there?
Who's watching?
Who's on the other side?

No wheelbarrow, no chickens. 
Only an arbitrary line seeking
to tell me the rules,
in other words,
keep me where I am.

#Poemaday 11: Heavy and Dark

@budtheteacher's interesting picture and prompt -- apropos given today is the first day of testing in my district.

Heavy and Dark

If pencils grew from the earth,
would we realize our roots are words?
Would we know the curve of the vine
and the curl of the S are cousins?

If paper fell from the sky,
would we realize we rain art?
Would we hear the cumulus clouds
and blank canvas calling us?

Point down, my pencil sits in dirt,
drawing the days of my life.
Beneath the surface,
no stray marks.

#Poemaday 10: Speed Limit

Today I was inspired not only by @budtheteacher's prompt, but by the poem Kelly wrote in response. One of the real delights of participating in #poemaday has been the opportunity and nudge to read and respond to the writing of others.

Speed Limit
Add ninety (on the highway)
to noble He and get U --
in '92 it was all I needed to know
about how the world worked.


I thought chemistry was magic,
had no idea it was numbers --
a problem to solve,
equations to balance.

But, I found out the hard way
that two plus one leads to Lie

and even if the atomic number of I
is 53, we all know it is a lonesome one

and the chart might make us think
we know what's solid
and where we can stand,
but heartache turns the world to liquid.

Your foot on the gas,
my heart in your hand.
In '92 it was all I wanted to know
about how the world worked.

#Poemaday 9: Hang Your Hopes

@budtheteacher's prompt is here -- both the photo and the quote pushed me into new thinking.

Hang Your Hopes

Like sugar spilled on a tablecloth of sky,
the stars remind me of sweet what-might-have-beens.

Like us, spread across what we thought was love,
but turned out to be just what was there,
falling into the arms of others before we knew us was real.

Like me, basking in the softness of your old light,
believing it is a wish that might come true,
but knowing it is only what somewhere was me and you.

#Poemaday 8: Where Have I Been?

Not only did I have the prompt from @budtheteacher, but my department chair asked each of us to write some poetic lines during our meeting this morning.  Inspiration and opportunity make writing easier, for sure.

Where Have I Been?
All the signs make me
blink and stop,
question and--Quick!
Decide what to do:

Stay in my lane
behind the white line;
Back up, you turn to
the wrong way on a one way --
windshields frame oncoming
panicked eyes and frantic arms --
Or, ignore those signs altogether,
            Light my own way.

#Poemaday 7: To the Sky, We Are the Same

@budtheteacher's picture prompt inspired this poem about perspective.

To the Sky, We Are the Same
We envy the bird
crafted with hollow bones and wings,
a way to fly to

anywhere, freedom
to leave earth and branches
behind and below.

We dream of soaring,
our bodies unburdened and light,
spirit untethered.

But the bird wants, too.
Satisfaction eludes. You see, 
he dreams of the moon.

#Poemaday 6: My Pieces

Today, @budtheteacher offered this: We are all making quilts.  What are the pieces of yours?

My Pieces Are Making
morning shower where i plan my day
ask my questions
imagine my someday
when i'm ready
it is socks and pants and t-shirts
in several boy sizes
lunches sacked and named
kisses and locking the door behind me
then, hallways confettied with the young
men and women of tomorrow
but more of today
of right now text messages and
ringtones and the hope
that the world will still be here when it's theirs
and it will have a place for them
words and words and words
from pencil tips, our lips,
laptops, iPhones, headphones
three ring circus of words and the stories they tell
we tell stories
pieces of us, fabric scraps of us
then back through the front door
to dinner prep and kisses from daddy and
just for a minute sitting down
bathtime, prayers and too many whispers
until we are tucked in
safely wrapped in the tales of the day,
wrapped in pieces of us, fabric of us,
stories we tell
stories

Five Days In -- Poetry Month

I am five days in to writing a poem a day for the entire month of April, and today, five days in, I finally felt like a poet again.  When I sat down to write my poem tonight, it seemed to river out of me, a strong current from heart to hand.  I am writing in response to the poetry prompts offered at Bud the Teacher and each one has been great, but today's took me to another place.  When I saw the photograph of the empty park bench, my mind's eye immediately began to sketch my grandma on to the park bench with me sitting beside her.  I have been thinking about my grandma so much lately.  I haven't figured out why.  But tonight, I made a little bit of headway by working through a moment I had with her when I was about eight years old.

I am not saying it was the best poem in the world, but the act of writing it took me into my artist's mind. I want to return to that place again and again.

#Poemaday 5: Web

 @budtheteacher provided a prompt today that I immediately knew would cause me to write about my grandma.  I just didn't know it would come out like this.  Honestly :)


Web

Let me tell you a secret.

I lied.

That night when you asked me what was wrong.
I was in a strange bed in a strange state.
It was dark downstairs
because you had closed the door at the bottom.

Still awake? you asked.
Nightmares, I lied.

Dad was on the road,
headed back to L.A. for Mom and the rest of our things.
Now I wonder how we could have had enough
in those thin times for more than one trip.

Then TV won't be good for you.
And you closed the door again.

I wasn't having bad dreams,
just wanted to be close to someone who sort of
felt like my mom
and loved me like only grandmas do.

I lied and lost my moment.
Don't think I ever got it back.

If I had a park bench that let me have you back,

I would sit for days and listen,
even if you didn't speak,
I would listen to you.

For days on that park bench,
I would tell the truth.

Let me tell you a secret.
I lied.

#Poemaday 4: (Pre)tending

Check out the picture for the prompt at Bud the Teacher where he asks the question, "Are you the rocks, or the river?"

 

(Pre)tending

 

I am not the person I used to be

river around your rock

pretending to chart my own course

while running in circles.

I am not the person I used to be

satisfied by your thin edge

pretending to be my own width

but defined by your circumference.

I am not the person I used to be

blue reflection of a sky you touch

pretending to be my own hue

yet exposed in my transparency.

 

I am not water; I am not stone.

I am art created by my own eye,

pretending to let go

but still drowning in your shallow earth.

#Poemaday 3: Above the Rain, I Hear It

Today's Bud the Teacher prompt was a picture only.  I found that more difficult than the others.  Or maybe it was that I was trying to write while my boys wrestled, played video games, argued, laughed and screamed (concurrently).

Above the Rain, I Hear It

I live my life to the song of boys

a song whose lilts and twirls are balanced by the blue notes

a song of short sleeves, baseball caps, faded jeans

a song that stills my heart and moves my feet forward.

No matter the road

the baggage

the weather

I will always be serenaded and sunshined

by the boys’ song.

#Poemaday 2

With one done, it is easier to continue.  I guess that is true with good things as much as with the bad ones.  Hopefully, this is a good thing.

Bud the Teacher's Prompt for Today


Peek-a-Boo

Baby fingers hide eyes always wide

open with the call,

"peek-a-boo!"

But my mother tongue wants

to keep you

from the truth.

We keep on, you know,

with this baby game,

even when our hands wear the years on their skin.

We cover our eyes convinced 

that when hands move,

the world will be new.

 

We smile in the face

of no surprise at all,

     pretending the hiding is temporary,

only a peek

at the truth.

Again, But With Poetry

Last month I participated in the Slice of Life blogging challenge at Two Writing Teachers and am proud to say I posted a Slice of Life for 30 of the 31 days!  It was the perfect thing to get me writing with more consistency and even a sense of determination.  And it was such a wonderful blessing to be in a writing community, responding to the work of others and hearing feedback on my own pieces. 

As National Poetry Month loomed, though, I was wary of jumping in to another daily challenge.  Poetry takes a certain something from me that I was worried might not be there anymore (if it ever truly was).  But then I decided, that's just fear talking.  Then my husband said, "Hey, just because your Slice challenge ended doesn't mean you should stop writing!" And he was right (I love it when he is!).


On Twitter, I saw that Bud Hunt would be providing a daily prompt inspired by/connected to a photograph.  Other Tweeters began tweeting about #poemaday, and I admit, part of me wanted to write just so I could be a part of the same stream as these, what I call, Rock Star Teachers.

So, whatever my motivation and regardless of my fears, I am committing to a poem a day throughout the month of April.

Today's prompt from Mr. Hunt is: What's waking you up lately?

What Is Waking Me Up Lately?

 

All green lights on my way home,

Suns rising, snows falling,

The nest building in the eaves,

Wedding invitations

      (delicious, embossed cardstock),

Baby showers,

Umbrellas and the rubbing palm on belly

Eulogies, happy endings, 

A son wanting to be near me,

Wordswirl before I open my eyes

The thing with feathers