Monthly Archives: November 2012

The Butcher

by

The princess slumped in a purple puff
her finest dress now wrinkled

She pouted then grinned
and told those who’d listen

“The swan will be arriving soon!”
She wished for the rabbit

the grey-brown one with fur
to greet everyone in the watery deep

mourning room but he couldn’t that day
could not move by himself

so it fell to the butcher
who was honored to play with

the princess her alligator prize
for it no longer mattered

neither swan nor brown-grey
could stay when the place was arranged

after gloves had been donned
clapping muffled the cries

the now crumpled princess
on a service of silver

was set right before their eyes
.
.
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Author’s Note:

Some days are just like this.

Some days greet you with a snicker you would rather not pursue the reason for its presence. When that happens I know I should just get right back into bed.

Today Tweetspeak Poetry came to my rescue and gave me a reason to continue on. Even though I have laundry to do. Even though I must still write approximately 2500 words of my NaNoWriMo novel to keep ahead of this busy week. Even though it is a beautiful Sunday in Colorado and my dog, Bremen, wants a walk.  The nasty grin greeted me this morning. I was able to shake it off until noontime. Thank goodness for Tweetspeak. Their poetry theme this month is surrealism.

I have been collecting their surrealistic images all month on Pinterest at Everyday Poems, but have not had time to write.Today was the day and the princess’s story was told.

Now back to the laundry. And NaNoWriMo. And possibly, the Broncos, but maybe not.

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These are photos that I used as prompts for the poem. Click on each and it will lead you to one of the Tweetspeak or Everyday Poem sites where I discovered them.

Parallel Lines

by

Photo from Every Day Poems at TweetSpeak Poetry

sometimes
it’s just the memory

the power of pain
traveling down the track

tourists and gift shops
walls and checkpoints

daughters and guns
there is light

two parallel lines
not quite parallel

a slight angle inwards
coming together

not fear and retaliation
but dialogue slightly inward

a beginning
finding the light

just a slight angle inwards
an encounter pulling away

from the memory
the power of pain

.
.
.
.

Today is Sunday. I finished my daily count of 2000 words for my current NaNoWriMo novel, The Lion Tamer.

I am enjoying the leftover good vibes from last night’s mass celebrating All Saint’s Day and Seinheim at the Church of the Holy Family.

And I’m wallowing in my daily addiction of Facebook cruising.

A photo from Tweetspeak Poetry caught my eye. It drew me back to a FB post I read a few minutes earlier.

Nadia Bolz-Weber, a local Lutheran minister, is visiting the Holy Land and I am enjoying the updates of her travels on her FB page. I admire those who are fearless and go where I would never dare and do things I don’t think I would even entertain the idea of doing.

Her piece touched me today. And when the haunting photo on Tweetspeak scrolled into my view, I knew I needed to use some of Reverend Bolz-Weber’s words to build a found poem.

So many of our problems today seem to come from riding the rails on parallel tracks and not noticing that we are going to the same place. Especially with the political season in full swing, we always seem to see the other guy as the enemy. We see those at work who don’t agree with us as the enemy. We see the car cutting us off in traffic as the enemy.

But we really are going to the same place.

We are here together on this earth as residents. All of us.

I wonder, if we would just angle ourselves in, just a touch, so those parallel lines come together, as those who founded the Palestinian Israeli Bereaved Families for Peace that the Reverend encountered in her travels, maybe peace could be a real possibility. Maybe we could see through the eyes of those struggling what it is really like, what the situation really is.

Maybe we would find the light to light our way.

Maybe. Just maybe.

The Science of Color

by

law demands that opposites glow
the science of color
place yellow next to blue
tufted fields bending under the sky
but we don’t start there
we can’t begin with the glow

slowing down to begin
strikes and strokes
pencil adapting harsh lines
under candle light
where muddied hands
lift potatoes and tea to cracked lips

you are always dusty
you exaggerate the law
with extreme clarity
drawing me according to
your own principles
adapting the masters’ strokes
strokes of thick paint
paint laid on paper
defying the law
painting me into eternity

it is not impulse
the almond branch
blossoming in a glass of water
your grey hooded head
pressed close almost
touching the canvas
mouths murmuring in reverence
I cannot be
without something greater
than myself
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Where do the words come from?

I ask myself this.

I understand that when I begin to write poetry, I begin in silence. I may have words, quotes, or over-heard conversations randomly scribbled in front of me, this time a photo with a quote from WordCandy.

I may have an event in mind, this time a visit to the Denver Art Museum‘s exhibit Becoming Van Gogh with words from the artist.

With this help, silence leads me to images that begin to flow like water in my head. Soon the images connect the words and the words become a found poem.

But it is silence that draws me in.

Today is my first post as a part of TweetSpeak‘s Sweet Bloggers Project. I am using their new app, WordCandy, for inspiration. Please stop by WordCandy and pick some up for yourself or a friend. I might even be sending you something sweet.

For the next six months I will be posting a poem once a month that is inspired by some WordCandy. So please let me know what you think and certainly come back. I usually post a piece once a week or so, but NaNoWriMo starts today, too. Who knows what will show up here?