-es all color dim; in a wonderless sky smeared with groundlight we strain for space, craft
-ing dread into dream: mazed, lost, shot, alone. fifty years, so unfinished in peace
-ing phase by phase, layer by layer; your maker heart left to this scream
-ing of wind through the seasons
a poetic exercise in wanderlust
painstakingly blending
red, purple, garden thyme
to reflect fields of splendor
a cup of summer water
The last page of my yes-words journal. Pasting in hard copies of the poems…then what should I do with it?
to do something color-splashed
important as love, a layered thing
to be peeled and savored, sparkling
within, remembered like first spring sun
on your skin, green finger-strong snapping
of marigold heads, spilled apart and all
feathered seeds teased out, cast on
to wind or soil or sand
or why the brilliance
or why have we not
noticed not grabbed
and held in our hands
ideal of ripe life
with no trace of crumble
enough? for the eye
to skip from sky
round crimson clusters
and still green grass
gem-strewn with
that light we can’t
(it has been before)
too warm too dry
too full
to take in
deepest breath
of the day held
and held
to bursting
Firstly, and to my surprise
it gets me out of bed, mornings.
Planning the work—all this trim
cutting, paint, glue. What to do
while waiting for things to dry.
I wish I’d known sooner
not to keep these projects
out of sight, out of mind (spiders
gliding between rough-ridged
roof and basement window).
No, put it smack in the library
incongruously turquoise and yellow
in the mellow, bookish front room.
Cover the writing table with stuff
like paintbrushes, sandpaper, tape.
We said we would. We will.
From piles of unlabeled wood
like any noble endeavor, bit by bit
imperfect. You need to cheer
each day’s slight progress now
that we’ve stopped pretending
you care about construction.
Waiting for the decorating
you are here for color consults
to tell me when I have blue in my hair.
all
silver
no plans no
memory we live
on what washes ashore
on wind and cloud-change
under sea-sky limits dissolve
bluegraygreen we forget
no reason no
division we live
lumpedandtumbled
alike smooth placid
pebbles
all
Jane’s weekly challenge #31 gives us a sparkling beach photo and a selection of atmospheric words.
1.
two centuries since Humboldt
we’re still wrecking earth’s balance
forcing nature to our needs
(my natural need for warmth
told by breath of bright color
gracing gray winter window)
2.
Flowers yearn, hungry as humans
else why their open throats, singing
colors arching to the sun?
There is a clamor here
a desperate pick me.
I have been reading Andrea Wulf’s book about Alexander von Humboldt, The Invention of Nature. Also keeping forced daffodils (and hyacinth) in a pot.
Day after all that rain—a pain
to scrape up these plastered leaves
and this washing clean an illusion.
We are still sugar-coated, sodden
sleepwalking into later and later
dawnings, yawning, undazzled.
Day 1 attempt for the Writer’s Digest November PAD Chapbook Challenge.
bring me canna lilies
red and gold, leaves bold
unfurling palm-like, shading
striped, streaked, splotched
great reedy canes
buds ruffled, spiraling
inflorescent
throats blushed
to bring bees, birds, bats
and if we can’t live on
through frost and dark
we’ll make paper, dye, beads
and music from the seeds
Playing with this prompt from Margo Roby: Wordgathering, also inspired by a gift of canna lily rhizomes from my son’s horticulture class.
1. Devil’s Workshop
One tangled scarf-skein
fails; I no longer want this
choking cloud color
2. Budget Accommodations
On shoestring of doubt
you get the whole shiny house
hollow, echoing
haunting the way you wanted
yesterday, buyer’s remorse
Graceful Press Poetry 