Learning to Change

Here’s one for autumn with some of my wordplay and construction challenges exposed.  I’ve already trimmed out words such as “the”, “a”, etc. where they proved extraneous.

A nibble of frost <in the air>

reminds me that this is

fine tomato sauce/soup weather.

Time to take stock and chop

what the garden has surrendered

each in its <place and> season.

Time to save/hoard sunshine away

on orderly, dark shelves.

Time to ponder that blanket

<tidy> over/on the footboard.

Shadows lean north

[and I <am somehow>/stand taller.]

Or [and fall long upon the pumpkins.

<Slant> glare of desert sun/summer fades/dims

as blue sky deepens,

rabbit brush bursts,

tree tips/sumacs/scrub oaks blush.

Here is the “final” version, after  word choice and reordering of the “time” clauses. 

A nibble of frost

reminds me that this is

fine tomato sauce weather.

Time to save sunshine away

on dark, orderly shelves.

Time to ponder that blanket

tidy over  the footboard.

Time to take stock and chop

what the garden has surrendered

each in its season.

Shadows lean north

and fall long upon the pumpkins.

Glare of desert summer dims

as blue sky deepens,

rabbit brush bursts,

scrub oaks blush.

Short Forms, Endings and Beginnings

I've been enjoying using shorter forms lately.  Not because they have fewer words or are easier to write; in some respects they are more difficult to write.  Short forms require you to be concise, to work within limits and still express your intent.  One of the beauties of short forms is the possibility that your work will be interpreted differently by different readers.

American Sentence (17 syllables)

Let fly the things that fasten you down. Leave space for something new to nest.

American Haiku (5,7,5 syllables)

Candles, bread and salt

So many more than 12 steps

Doors start to open.

A 2 part list poem, with the added constraint of increased line length to a climactic line, then a denouement.

I. Taking Leave

Raw nerves

Empty boxes

Wringing hands

Scattered dreams

A life reduced to anonymity

Shame and hope shoved together

Scrub away the despair

Sweep the cobwebs

Expel the demons

Free your soul

Tinny silence.

2. Settling in

Foreign smells

Creaks and bangs

Cardboard jungle

Garlic in the sweaters

Duct tape on the counters

Stigmata on my arms and legs

Beef stew on the stove

Lavender in the bath

A friendly mirror

Clean sheets

Deep sleep.

All Things End

All things end. It's often these times of change and grief that yield poetry for me.


Requiem

Ours was a time of lollipops and kisses:

We hid beneath blankets and rainbows,

and traced growing hand and footprints.

We explored the rocky river beach

and danced on Sunday mornings

to the crackle of bacon and scent of cinnamon.

This room no longer knows our names:

It clinks in its barren chinks

and sighs a hollow who at my footfall.

There are ghosts in the windows

that startle me when I pass.

Blemishes I had concealed now glare.

Pebbles dropped from bridges

leave little mark upon the water

and are carried away by the current.

Leaden rocks leave enduring ripples,

but sink and are consumed by the river bed,

buried by the refuse of time.

Commencement

Today I thought I’d share a bit about my process.  The following piece started as a riff on Tennyson.  I’d been watching a movie a couple of days ago where a poem by Tennyson that repeats the phrase 'In the spring' was recited.  I think the next impulses were  the last line, and  thinking about spring being a beginning or commencement.  My daughter is graduating high school in several weeks. That led to seeking phrases that supported spring, beginnings and graduation. 

As the lines developed, I noticed that the phrases I was  trying out all ranged from 7 to 10 syllables. I tried to bring them all to the same length, but so far, I’ve managed half at 8 and half at 10.  I'm not sure the exact number is important, just the rhythm. At the same time, I noticed that I was using some internal  slant rhyme, such as wonder/wander/under and “relationship” words such as ‘blink’ and then the next line ‘eyes,’ or ‘window’ and the next line ‘panes.’

I’m still working on the single instance of passive voice in the next to last line -

perhaps 'hasty hands jot memories by smiling panes.' or 'hasty hands scribble in memory books.'?

Commencement

In the spring, fragrant blossoming trees froth blossom bluster and snow.8

In the spring, dandelions dot tender green.8

In the spring, orange cones pock disheveled streets.8

In the spring, dusty bicycles emerge  rise from sleep.8

In the spring, eager pale pallid skin faces blink in wonder. 10

In the spring, teen eyes flit wander from textbook to window. 10

In the spring, memories are inscribed beneath under smiling panes. 10

In the spring, tassels flip adolescents to adults adolescence to adulthood. 10

Traveling

I've just returned from a trip to spend Easter with my family in Denver.  We always drive, and it's always a challenge at this time of year, trying to second-guess the weather through 2 mountain ranges and a high desert.  We started out in a blizzard in the Salt Lake Valley, and by the time we reached Price, the snow had stopped.  When we came through the Eisenhower tunnel at Loveland Pass, it was 77 degrees. 

When I'm not trying to referree bored, restless teenagers, these drives are a time for contemplation and writing.  No, I don't write while driving! At the beginning of the trip, I hand my journal to my daughter, and she records the random images that come to me as we drive. Her pen was very busy while we drove through Helper, Price and Wellington, UT.  I suspect these ramblings will rearrange into an Ode to Carbon County.  In the meantime, this came to me this morning:

Soapstone sink and iron pump wait

beneath cedar shakes and redwood beams;

a place apart in green solitude.

River creeps to the sea while

salmon leap upstream and home.

Day 3 and Day 1

I have 2 entries for today.  One is an American Sentence that grew out of a FaceBook status from yesterday.  The second started percolating on Sunday.

Blooms froth the valley, snows frost the peaks, clouds fluff the sky, blue and white day

Sunday Punctuation

Her knitting needles click.

Yarn whispers when pulled.

His fingers tap the keys.

Coffee machine dribbles.

Washing machine rocks in rhythm.

Upstairs feet percuss.

Birds chirp in the pine trees.

Children chatter beneath the window.

Motorcycle roars in triumph.

NaPoWriMo

This is day 2 of National Poetry Writing Month.  It may seem as though I am late in getting started, but I'm going by the practice of posting the day's work on the next day.  I've been out of the habit of writing for several months, but I've not been idle.  I've been a knitting fiend, turning out socks, duffers, scarves and most recently a felted bag and slippers for my daughter.  I'm also teaching a friend to knit. The clicking of the needles and the detached concentration on rhythm and pattern allow thoughts and images to surface without ...needling.  The challenge is remembering them until the end of the row!

Once again, I'm focusing on  distilling language and  expressing it in short forms, but that certainly doesn't dictate how the actual work will appear. So here goes.  This quatrain developed from the last line, and then I followed the  sailing metaphor till it  felt enough.

Do not expect your sails to fill where breezes do not blow.

Do not drop your anchor where rough seas will rip it loose.

Do not lose your compass where gray clouds block out the stars.

Do not harbor hope where it no longer makes its berth.


See you again tomorrow!