re-creation

In the moment before you greet me
my mind pauses.
Far away somewhere
something says
Speak to your friend.
Closer by
is the time we have created together:
warm, clear, bright
behind my eyes.
Before them a man
again unfamiliarly beautiful;
I see you newly—

hello.

Vacation

Somewhere between the sand and the ocean,
where the water, unnoticing, caresses our feet,
our minds absently continue to think,
the thoughts gliding away on the receding waves.

And somewhere between the land and the clouds,
where the line of the horizon retreats to the twilight, following the sun,
our gaze chases, and our memory,
sailing forward toward midday and morning.

Our faces and our arms in unconscious repose
are warmed by the sinking sun.

Guest Post: Maricar N.

Who? What? Where? Why?

Who am I?

What type of person do I want to become?

Where do I look for answers?

Why do I harbor these feelings?

Which decision should I make?

What if I'm not good enough?

Where would I run to?

Why am I so confused?

Who am I to ask these questions?

Because the Media Says So

I'm fat, because the media says so.

I'm ugly, because the media says so.

I'm not perfect, because the media says so.

I have to buy these, because the media says so.

I have to buy those, because the media says so.

Rape is okay, because the media says so.

Violence is okay, because the media says so.

Murder is okay, because the media says so.

Blah, blah, blah, because the media says so.

Dear TV,

Dear TV,

Desensitize me.

Glorify falsified truths.

Let us sip your dripping cup of

Tainted information.

Two teaspoons of propaganda,

Please.

Advertise materialism,

Sell our morals for our greed.

Disregard the wealth of individuality.

Turn off the life of a soldier

By the trigger of a controller.

Manipulate and weaponize fear.

With a slight chance of rain,

Come and cleanse a sinful conscience.

*Please stand by…

Brainwash.

Rinse.

& Repeat.

Maricar is about to graduate from high school. She has quite a way with words. These three pieces are part of a larger cycle written in response to her experience attending a performance of "Green Day's American Idiot." At university, Maricar will prepare to enter the medical professions. I am honored to have worked with her. Thank you, Maricar.

Portrait: The Princess In Exile

"Maybe"—yes, small doubts there,
Even though she was born knowing. This
Ladylike creature remembers
In her bones lifetimes as a queen,
So this life feels unfamiliar,
Scanter of domain,
And somehow harder work.
          Making a silk purse of a sow's-ear situation, as
          Only the true royal can, she
          Reconnoiters a new path to a different throne,
          Affirming her nobility.

Semiotics

The languages of hands
are older
than the languages of words
The meanings are older
deeper
The languages of bodies
are older yet
Joints and skin
movement, containment, contents
have their distinct syntax
boundaries required
for discernment and sensation

You ask me to explain
my devotion (with words
     you mean)
but have not our hands already
spoken volumes on our behalf?
And have not our bodies clearly
cried joy, old friends, long parted
(ancient partners of a different sort)
in reunion?

Guest Post! Erin M. Feldman

Watching and Waiting

We are watching the emptiness fill. No,

we are waiting. Waiting

and watching.

***

We can hear the waves lapping

against the hull. We forget the man

in the bird’s nest.

He is waiting, watching.

***

Or, we are seated on the porch,

drinking tea and eating - something.

We ignore the woman

drifting closer, the woman

waiting and watching.

***

Or, we pretend the sky isn’t pressing closer,

isn’t sticking to our skin with its yellow-

greenness and moisture.

We can still breathe.

We can still wait.

The emptiness is not filling.

We are watching and waiting.

Erin Feldman works as the marketing communications manager at TouchSystems,

but her passion is to grow her writing consulting business, Write Right. She has her Master of Fine Arts degree in creative writing and her Bachelor of Arts degree in English and graphic design. When she isn’t busy working at her day job or building her business, she reads and writes poetry, draws, runs, or tries to find people to go salsa dancing with her.

Guest Post! Ruth Long

ENIGMA 

Like pieces of a puzzle
you are scattered
across the room
detached, cool as
the moonlight spilling into
the window and stroking
       the line of your jaw

a cat climbs through the window
and your mouth twists
into a momentary smile
enigmatic as a falling star
dark as the midnight cloak
that shelters us
until dawn creeps in
     on stealthy paws

Ruth Long is a reader and writer who enjoys living on the razor's edge between poetry and fiction and passionately believes that the two can happily co-exist.

You can find more of her writing at BullishInk.Com 

On, Poetry Posse!

Songs of Motherhood

IV. Word

(to my mother)

To thank you enough

I have finally found my way

            (my truth, my life).

I give you this oath

(which is your gift to me):

Although for every hour by which

I have shortened your life,

I would gladly give in trade

a day of perfectest joy,

instead, I will redeem

every minute of grief

you ever spent on me.

It is my griefs have saddened you most,

and ever having saddened you is my most grief.

I will set now all griefs aside;

I will be now as happy as you always hoped.

I have known you

longer than I have known breath

from the inside, out,

and still have barely the gist of you

(curious and humble,

grace seeking grace)

who gave substance to my idea,

knit me together

from threads of your own fabric,

then passed the needles on to me.

I give you this oath

which is now mine to keep

(your gift to me)—

and every day will now become

my mother’s day.

Songs of Motherhood

III. 

She teaches love

Sprung full-fledged into being
                       at the conception of her child
             and newly created at every
                                     new conception

             She, the goddess
             She, the universe
             She, all-provident womb
                       and totality of her offspring’s
                                     first self-knowledge

             Her gaze, the first mirror
                       seen over the horizon
                       of the soft, round taste
                                     of need satisfied

             Creatrix and creation indistinguishable
                       The mystery of her generosity is this:
 though giving ceaselessly, she makes no sacrifice
             All she gives, she gives to herself
                       through her creations

Her progeny spin out, as droplets of water
                       from the ocean
At the moment they are realizing their separate being
             she is recognizing the unity
                       of her essence with them

                       Becoming one by becoming many
                                     pupil and matrix
                                                  she teaches love.

Main Sequence

High above the ground
above the orange pink lavender freesia
layers of sunset
that lie behind the black palm trees
past the languorous eucalyptus trees
and the hovering moths that flicker
and past the collage of sounds
rising from the earth the blacktop
the chanting crickets
the warm-evening conversations
the clink of glasses
the traffic sounds
muffled by years-deep foliage
beyond the indigo richness
couching the pearl of moon
beyond breath
beyond reach
and beyond
a blaze a fury
of silence
heat of polymension
thickening in the mass of time
a glitter
a pretty
a diamond
an ancestor

A "main sequence" star is a star in its prime, emitting light and heat (and like most things, 

shrinking toward middle age…)

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XXX

Brush of fine gray hairs

Marking time in tiny lines,

My face, your parchment:

Dig not deep thereon.

Write "mirth" instead, and "grace,"

"Welcome," and last, "peace."

April that was here

Now shall pass into a May;

All shall pass in time.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle)" XXIX

If there come a day
When I can no longer speak,
Read to me, instead.

Tell me what you know
Of yourself, of me, of us;
Talk about the world

And how it has changed
For the better, where you are.
Be my voice for me.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XXVIII

The day's fine and hot,
And the reservoir is full.
Geese stand by the lake.


Centuries away, 
There's a different kind of
Connectivity.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XXVII

Blown dust veils views of
Whitecaps on the Silver Lake.
Strange, hot winds breathe, "Change…!"

And mile-high mountains
Are completely hidden in cloud,
Unfamiliar.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XXVI

Voluptuary

April's in love with itself,

Pollinating all.


Such a narcissist!
Frolicking with bumble bees—
Trollop in the raw.

Samantha Gluck, Collaboratrix Extraordinaire, was in the spirit, and gave us a second stanza! Poetry party! 

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XXV Middle School Guest Poets!

Photo Credit: National Geographic

Guest Poets, also Ghost Poets!

I heart Katy Hickman, who teaches middle school downstairs from me. Her students dash off haiku with, well, dash, and she's letting me share a few with you. But we're not telling who did what…

Lizards live on trees.

Certain lizards camouflage;

I wish I could, too.

What's analogy?

Comparing with something else—

That is the meaning.

Why have slavery?

No one should suffer that way—

We are all humans.

Live in the moment

Don't mind what the people say

You only live once

I will not divulge

my bizarre desire to sing!

I guess I just did…

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XXIV

Image: National Geographic

Delicate and bold,

April's hummingbird arrives,

Visits the flow'rs.

Quixotic, sublime,

Masculine, he is much like

Someone I once knew.

"You were fun at first:
Lots of laughs, cute debates, but
Now I'm bored with you."

All those things he said,
sharply focused, pierced my heart,
needlelike, precise.

He loved me the best
that he could, but the truth is:
he never knew me.

For L.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XXIII

Whence unpromised rain?
April has dyspepsia, 
A gripe in the heart.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XXII

Earth Day

Early morning songs

announce the joy of young birds

in green trees, blue skies.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XXI

That April night, when 

My life was about to change,

I never knew it.

I thought to myself:

What would I do without you?

I could not go on.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XX - Tanka

We enter this life

with nothing, and have to give

what we've been given,

so in sharing of ourselves

this tired world creeps heavenward.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XIX

Tiger in April

Your prowl: strategic. Your words:

Insinuating.

There in the long grass

you couch in mock repose, eyes

upon your quarry.

You tell me you have

no ulterior motive;

what should I believe?

April Fool! [not] (a "haiku" cycle): XVIII

Apostrophe: cinquain, American style

Fly, black

and fizzing here

and there, harrassing my

hard-earned, longed-for lunchtime quiet:

buzz off!

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XVII

   Violets are gone.

Roses are coming on, and      

     Gophers in the lawn. 

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XVI

She has no conscience.

April never held her tongue

out of mere kindness.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XV

Candlelight, moonlight,

Filtering through the still leaves,

Make me feel at home.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XIV

Out in center field:
The start of a good season.
Crowds cheer, "M! V! P!"

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XIII

Is there half a moon?

Clouds cover all the sky—not

Possible to know.

Farmers' Almanac

Says it will be like this for 

Almost the whole month.

April is supposed

To bring us cherry blossoms.

Instead, it brought pits.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XII

Midway through April,
Joy in spring yields to fatigue.
Blossoms fade and fall.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): XI

The sun goes down on
another warm April street.
There, a man walking.

Tiny in his hands
An infant, only weeks old,
Pressed against his chest.

His attentive mien 
Reminds me of the seahorse,
patron of fathers. 

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): X

The sun's coming up
On a new day. It’s April.
Still I haven’t slept.

"Can writing provoke
An existential crisis?"
Not now—I'm brooding!

April Fool—No April Fool! Guest Post Instead!

War on Silence 

by Iain, known as Beowulfsson


Today, O Silence, I make war on thee.
Here and now, I declare my sovereignty.
Your power is broken over me.

Today I stand strong, tall and proud
Before the hushed and awestruck crowd.
Today I shall strike you down.
Today I will take your crown.

Today you will fall at my feet.
Today I take your royal seat.
“Who will stand with me?"
"Who will open his eyes and see,
Silence has no power o’er thee?”

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): IX

Prosody: One Reason


A prism casts rainbows:

Its obliquity serves the

Peripheral view.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): VIII

I wonder, doctor,
If the fact you have not called
Is good news, or bad?


"Not so good," she says.
"The specter of recurrence
Has assumed your form."


This is a fiction
Concocted in anxious thoughts,
Not reality.


A lab test assures
My own resurrection day,
Remission of fear.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): VII

I am number five
I came up lame in the sixth
Half furlong to go.

April Fool (a "haiku" cycle): VI

Nights are chill, days, hot,

With summer still three months away.

We live chaparral.

The songs of the hawk,

Owl, mockingbird, and blue jay:

They are at home here.

Witch hazel and sage,

Coast live oak and sycamore,

Mesquite and madrone

Tinge the air with spice,

Both wake and calm the senses.

We breathe chaparral.