A found poem I made a while ago and revisited and edited today.
Designing the physical
Moving into the future
Enter without permission—
For best results
Using minimum pressure
Cut the clear sticky type.
Handle with care.
Hello carefully curated space
My museum of memories.
When everything else is chaos and overflowing.
You have been my constant calm
Though you changed shape as I moved from place to place.
You used to be a jar
My expression of assemblage
From the bits and bobs of daily toil.
But it made me vulnerable
When others saw what I considered worthy of my drawer.
Once you were a box, clever
My trove of small treasure
Like the lonely earring, whose mate got lost in the somewhen.
You still keep it safe
Just in case the lost is not gone forever.
At times you were a leather casing
My mobile raven’s nest of Mnemosyne.
Sorting the memories I wanted to keep
And exactly how
I wanted to remember things.
You were always my haven
My silent partner of reflection
The place I could count on
To have and to hold
When nothing else felt fair or even.
Now you are a drawer at last,
My stash of souvenirs.
From times I went away
And for the times
I need to remind myself I went and came back.
The Quill’s Pitch
Come closer. Step forth if you dare. Be drawn into the world I create with the twitch of a finger, the wave of some hands. Watch with wonder, as my dreams become your dreams become real. What do you hold? Look at your hands. Nothing more than silver smoke, tickling your palm as it trickles from your grasp. Gasp with amazement as I kill my darlings— all the better to thrill and entertain you, my dear. One. By one. They fall. In the name of suspenseful entertainment. I give you the labyrinth of smoke and mirrors scribbled in the pages of your mind. There is no friendly woodsman to save you. Do you really need to be saved? What waits for you outside that compares with the kaleidoscope of sensation found here? Stay. Give me your hand. Don’t worry. I won’t let you go.
Stream of consciousness, dramatic monologue.
So after five days of poetry I’m asked to think about which poets inspire me or I would recommend. Below is a list of poets in order that they popped into my mind. My poetry reading goals for the moment are at the bottom. Continue reading “Some Favorite Poets for Poetry Potluck”
I remember the last time I saw her, it was my face
She didn’t remember.
She told me stories of my childhood, my job, my travel
As if I were a stranger.
I sat caught between forgotten and remembered.
Not knowing what to say.
Because that conversation that made her happy
Made me feel like a spy.
What if a certain question could make her reveal something
She would never say to my face?
Recognizing the subtle shift of responsibility
From the time
She used to scold me for picking tomatoes
Before they were ripe.
Leaving behind the times my many mistakes made her worry,
I joined her misted travels.
Choosing my questions carefully, I played the happy stranger
Taking time to listen.
Hearing stories of her grand-daughter, showed she remembered
Me. If not my face.
Before I knew there was a before
Reasoning that my reasons were really
Killing, smothering the voice
Every dreamer has to separate the dream from the real
No one could tell me so I’d hear.
Then did you really mean to play?
Reasoning that your reasons were really
Unintentional attempts at innocence because
To my dreams covered uncomfortable truths you couldn’t tell.
Day 2 of Writing 201 is limericks. Most of the limericks I find funny are dirty and usually rhyme with “Nantucket” but I try to keep it clean online.
Thinking of what to write, somehow my sushi eating experience came to mind. I like the idea of a cycle of limericks that go from sushi newbie to sushi pro. These limericks are about my journey towards liking something.
It’s a first draft which I might or might not polish up later. It’s a bit fictional since I still don’t like aka-gai and ika.
My first aka-gai in a shop
Was a large sushi, not a fine chop.
Though I chewed and I chewed
The fish was never consumed.
Lucky clean-up required no mop.
My first ika-sushi in years
Required I drink copious beers.
To eat tuna and negi
You don’t have to beg me
But raw ika just leaves me in tears.
Maguro, scallops and clams
Without wasabi are bland
I love the green tea
Enough ginger for three
And the best shoyu in all of Japan.