Sunday, April 26, 2009
It keeps raining
cold gray skies with window wipers that squeak
because it is not raining enough
It would be nice
if it would just pour and the sky would empty
and we could move on.
But instead I deal with this slow trickle
Vivaldi's Seasons plays for my two-year-old
daughter, as she tilts her head
to see a visual interpretation on a DVD.
A golden retriever plays in autumn leaves,
a fall-covered mountain passes by quickly,
as she tilts her head.
She holds her blanket that she has had since birth and she is calm -
looks reflective to me.
And I wonder if she
Sunlight streams across my keyboard through the blinds behind me,
from the sun outside.
unlike the TV, where it is Fall, out there,
it looks like Spring,
and I hope it is,
(I am reflective too, reflecting on:)
We could both use a little bit of spring.
Like an image tattooed on the sky
it's public record
tell the untruths
Like an image
a sunflower that browned
falling to the earth below
You have lost everything
only your untruths remain
tattooed on the sky
The rain continues on without stopping
Our white plastic balcony chairs are wet.
I sit on one anyways.
I smoke a cigarette long and hard,
as I miss him.
Everything is wet and the rain
Night comes early to one who has been too long
in the day. One who walks and walks like a worrier, like a hummingbird,
hum hum, worry, worry,
One who sees tomorrow only in possibilities
of black and gray,
and sadness, seagulls have become more plentiful straying
Far from the ocean, you can now find them anywhere
digging through trash. They are vultures. She is a vulture onto herself
seeing everyone, everything, as feeding on her.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
This quote was sent to my igoogle yesterday, and it really struck a chord with me.
Which I think I am going to write about in my other blog, A Year About Smoking.
But to talk about this poems in a literary way, I would like to say:
I like the not-so-typical take on April. When I think of a poem about April, I don't think about April is the cruellest month. It is a very refreshing take, and I like literature that does that: gives me a different perspective. This quote makes me want to pick a month and write about in a surprising way. Now, I have not read The Waste Land. (I would like to and have tried but have been intimidated by its length.) So in its broader concept, this reference to April may not be so surprising, but for now I like this quote for what it has to say isolated from The Waste Land.
I like that it ends the first three lines with verbs, and I like the choices he makes: breeding, mixing, and stirring.
I also love this imagery: Lilacs out of the dead land and Dull roots.
I have not been working on the exercises in In the Palm of Your Hand not since my post Raw and Naked Prose Poems,
but I am hoping April will stir my dull roots.
I just finished my twenty-two page poetry lesson plan for my grad class, so yesterday I was depleted.
However, it was a creative process about writing imagery and metaphors and I have this definition of imagery settling around in my head:
Language that appeals to the senses. Descriptions of people or objects stated in terms of our senses.
Also settling, is that same website's list of figurative language,
and this poem that I included in my lesson plan:
Looking Down in the Rain
In the big puddle
at the bus stop
I see the city standing
on its head.
Tops of buildings
move under my boots.
A wavery red light
The school bus
orange as a pumpkin
wobbles in on its roof
In the puddle
I see small faces
and yellow leaves swimming
-Barbara Juster Esbensen
These poetic ingredients are may be breeding, and I hope that soon they will be mixing and stirring my dull roots.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
I have not had much time for creative writing or blogging as I have been working on a long lesson plan for one of my grad classes. But the lesson is about poetry. It is intended for a sixth grade class to teach imagery and metaphors and I used this poem:
a new sheet of paper
for you to write on.
Whatever you want to say,
folds it up
and files it away.
The bright words and the dark words
and a new day to write on.
- Eve Merriam
In my lesson plan, student will write their own metaphor poem with the topic being life.
So I thought I would try doing one of my own.
a long highway
for you to drive on.
Wherever you want to go
there are bright green signs
yellow lines to keep you in your path,
and exits when you need to get off.
The paved road
can hide potholes
and others may crash into you.
but if you drive carefully and purposely
and make choices,
you will get
where you need to go.