Each month, write a new collection.
Finding BlissDoor knocking cramps outlivedHis serious face appearedCrisp with knitted brow.As he hurtled forwardKettled safe by crisp black suits.In my pretense long slaughteredBy ice carved story I stood in still point chamberUnloosed from coaching brain I thrust my hand in his.Beyond the clapping din The grip I met was softRespectful. Kind. Formless. Entangled.
Love the poem Jeanne!!
BlissSun glinted through the gold maple leaves. In the fall you raked them into amber piles.I jumped in and when they were goneyou raked them again.I rememberyou, my first playmate.In the spring you built a plywood playpenand put me in itwith a dozen baby rabbits.I remember the down of their fur against my cheekas I held them like dolls in my toddler arms.When I invented vinaigrette from waterand seed pods and bits of grass,and poured it over dry mud pies,I remember you play ateand didn’t fawn, but suggested other dishes I might make.Gardening with you, I sat under the old mulberry tree while you went from stake to stake, tying up tomato vines.I remember your outstretched hand full of mulberries for me to eat.
I'm so impressed by these words!
Stone walls cut from ancient quarries Laid end to end Layer after layerThick wooden doors cut from mystic treesPolished by many fingers Year after year Glossy brass handrails from anonymous donationsHold up the wearyWeek after weekEngraved Holy altar scented thickly with incense Has heard endless prayers Time after timeHigh vaulted ceilings its rafters full of praiseCover us with shelterSeason after seasonTired old organ the keys yellow and fadedSending up our worshipSong after songBattered pews Scuffed and wornAlways my favorite chairHouse after house
i really like this. "the weary/week" is great, as is the way the poem grows. very understated and yet powerful.
A blissful timeI would saddle the horse and put the straparound it's large barrellike bellyAs I tightened the straphard around the roundnessputting a knee into the horse to prevent it from bloating and having a loose saddleI would ride to the outside of the small ranch and trot on thetrails in the meadows with the birds and the breeze singing as I whipped the rein to get ye up with a click and and clickas I get out of a trotand into a full gallopRiding like the windwith my boyish limbs wrapping tightly aroundthe belly of the horseas the smoothness of the ride was like being on the breezewhipping throughwhen a piece of white plastic napkin rose alongthe trail and the horse stopped in it's tracks catapulting meheadlong into the grassas I popped up and calmedmy ride down as I put mysmall foot into the stirrupand heave myself back into the saddle My memory of riding in the grassy trails in the backof our small ranch made mehappiest when the horse brokeinto a wild gallop out of controlwith my weak arms pulling as hardon the reins as I could muster asI yelled at the top of my lungs toWoe, woe, woe, The horse knew where the stable was as the ride was almost overgoing straight into the stepsof the gated ranchcrossing the street without a prayerin a full gallopThe horse knew nothing of the danger of almost getting hit by a passingcar, not like the little ten year old who was luckyto have a horse at that ageand also lucky to survivethe dangers of riding alone
Love these poems everyone!!!
I decide to commune with natureI don’t belongIn the countryButHere I Am soWhat’s that tree doing?Why won’t it grow?I talk to it and say “treeYOU NEED TO GET IT TOGETHER”I yell at it like a New Yorker tellingThe corolla they’re illegally parkedI shame it like the old man telling thoseGirls not to leave their ice-cream conesOn the bus as in“WHAT”S THE MATTER WITH YOU? YOUSTUFF YOUR FACE WITH ICE CREAM”Etcetera.I tell that tree to look at the tree next to it and“HOW GREAT IT”S DOING WHY CAN”T YOUBE LIKE YOUR BROTHER? HE’S A LAWYER”Although that’s more of a suburban Long Island kindOf yelling and then I remember Shit, I’m in theCountry, whats with all the yelling? And I stop andI try to talk nicey to the tree, and say “come on— lifeIs interesting here on the side of the property thatIs close to the bitchy neighbors, so you need to growTo protect me from them, but seriously tree”I say, “you need to grow to protect yourself and youHave a life to live and so whatIf you’re a bit damaged — aren’t we all? — Yes I know thoseBranches are dead and they’re going to fall off, but theRest of you is OK, and the OK parts should get to talkTo birds — what kind? I’m not sure — but I’m telling you talk To them. Give them a chance. I’m going to talk to them too, and I’ll Look them up later in my birds of the region guideAnd we can discuss all this, when I come back out and Talk to youTomorrow.”
Love the way this flows...like the tempo of it. Really cool I look forward to reading more by you
Joy comes in waves.Sometimes the joy is so deepYou can hardly touch the ground.Other times the tides of happiness pull backLeaving us dry and crusted in the sun.Rough with crystallized salt.During this aridity-when all joy has washed awayAnd happiness cannot be found-We gain the knowledge necessaryTo truly experience BLISS.We do not shy away when the moon tells the tides of happiness to gently lap at our ankles.We recognize and embrace the pleasure!Until, once again, we are submerged.Saturated. Soaked. Grateful.
"During this aridity/when all the joy has washed away" is powerful. great "s" words at the end.