Dreams

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Dreams, Photograph with PicMonkey, Lex Leonard

The hands have passed twelve i have music in my ears not to wake him twinkle lights in my window because they make me happy and i see the black only one porch light lit it is quiet deadly quiet as one may imagine no cars few planes the wind and i think about those dying as i sit in my privileged cocoon wondering if i will be next regardless of my care and caution and i am sad at the beauty that is lost to this world and maybe She is shaking us off slapping us across the face to make us finally listen to stop and just be be who we are revel in just the basics foot bare to earth wind across my face the birds, oh, the birds, and it will go away and we will have learned from it i hope but i ache for the beauty that was possible and will never be and i want to reach out and touch each one and let them know they are loved and they were enough and they brought beauty just by being and i want to touch those remaining and tell them the same tell you the same in my sadness and privilege in my being why did we ever think we couldn’t that it was hopeless that we weren’t enough we’ve missed the beauty we are and we have been given may this time show us look for the helpers look for the beauty let others see you take off your shoes and walk outside breathe deeply celebrate the little things every day always and know you are loved and you are enough and

i love you

 

 

Author’s Note:

I was up after midnight last night, or, is it today. The prompt for today is about dreams. I wrote this as I looked out this window with deep sorrow in my heart. I can’t find the right words. I see silver linings of what we can be, finally realize who we are and what is important and how to proceed from here. Yet, the loss takes away my breath.

I shall leave this here, although it was not a dream. I feel as though we are living in a dream, if we learn. A nightmare, if we don’t.

From the NaPoGloPoWriMo Folks:

Our prompt for the day (optional as always) takes its cue from our gently odd resources, and asks you to write a poem based on an image from a dream. We don’t always remember our dreams, but images or ideas from them often stick with us for a very long time. I definitely have some nightmares I haven’t been able to forget, but I’ve also witnessed very lovely things in dreams (like snow falling on a flood-lit field bordered by fir trees, as seen through a plate glass window in a very warm and inviting kitchen). Need an example of a poem rooted in dream-based imagery? Try this one by Michael Collier.

Kitchen Exoskeleton

 

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Kitchen Exoskeleton, Photograph with PicMonkey, Lex Leonard

I start, I see the primal
hear the bridal roar in denial
a vaginal entrance we all make
to end up here together 

Kitchen vision driven into me
locked with Lycian masks
everywhere I strain to see your faces 

But there is an economy
like a dovekie pitter-patter
an audible homily telling me
what’s right and what may not matter 

In my elemental life, what I
resemble and reassemble

with pencil marks on paper white 

Where coffee rings the page
embodies stroppy space
taking over the gentle poppy
from my brush 

A sweetly water-colored specimen
medicine for the artist
adrenaline
leaving only
my exquisite exoskeleton

Author’s Note:

Day Three of NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo

At the last breath I made it. These days are odd in what we do now. Schedules fade into something lifted easily away in breath. I made it, though, I’m here before midnight.

Today’s prompt:

Today’s prompt (optional, as always) asks you to make use of our resource for the day. First, make a list of ten words. You can generate this list however you’d like – pull a book  off the shelf and find ten words you like, name ten things you can see from where you’re sitting, etc. Now, for each word, use Rhymezone to identify two to four similar-sounding or rhyming words. For example, if my word is “salt,” my similar words might be “belt,” “silt,” “sailed,” and “sell-out.”

Once you’ve assembled your complete list, work on writing a poem using your new “word bank.” You don’t have to use every word, of course, but try to play as much with sound as possible, repeating  sounds and echoing back to others using your rhyming and similar words.

I see her in the distance…

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With one hand free we walk
he pulls and tugs, sniffs and wanders
I touch down off the stoop
careful not to stumble
pulling back on his leash
a safety bar for me
in balance with him

A few steps on scratchy
grey-to-match-the-day sidewalk

right turn around the corner of the house
down the driveway
then a quick left
and we are free

I see her in the distance
Mothertree
as he pulls and zig zags from sniff to sniff
she on top of the hill
waiting for us

First we must cross emptied streets
quiet in their distancing

We maneuver around dip of open space
spindly arms of buff bowing to earth
in honor of sprightly green pushing up,
frosted blue this fine April day

Past the stand of trees
blackened branches cradling bird nests
soon to be filled
then up the hill toward her

Upon arrival we see
her sap flows again
from a old wound partially healed over
but only partially
she allows an opening
a way for me to know she is alive
and well and ready for spring

Author’s Note:

from NaPoWriMo:

“Our (optional) prompt for the day takes a leaf from Schuyler’s book, as it were, and asks you to write a poem about a specific place —  a particular house or store or school or office. Try to incorporate concrete details, like street names, distances (“three and a half blocks from the post office”), the types of trees or flowers, the color of the shirts on the people you remember there. Little details like this can really help the reader imagine not only the place, but its mood – and can take your poem to weird and wild places.”

Social distancing is our way now to show our love, honor every being of this Earth.

 

April 1st: Grace

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Birds were my alarm this morning
Teasing me to open my eyes
Take my first breath
Gentle myself in their call

Without judgement or demand
Their delight lightened my spiral
Changing its course
Leading me into the grace of this day

Author’s Note:

Day 1: NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo

Hello, friends! This is my first poem for National Poetry Month.

Today’s prompt is “to write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life.” It is always optional to use the prompt and I never know if I meet the criteria. And I really don’t worry about that very much anyway. I write what makes me happy and I hope that is what you do also.

If you can, please visit the site. They share some fun resources – a metaphor generator which is quite unique and I couldn’t really grasp any of the rather weird metaphors. I might try again later when I’m in a more playful mood. Oy. And they shared a link to an Emily Dickinson poem as an example of using a metaphor. Wellllll, I won’t lie. I had to Google a commentary on the poem to understand it. Then I realized how obvious it was. There is NO judgement here on myself. It’s all about learning. 🙂 

I have a few friends who are being VERY brave and are humoring me this month. I have such sweet and wonderful friends. They have agreed to jump in and try writing poetry. They are amazing writers but don’t write poetry. They are going to give it a try. BRAVO!!

So I thought I would share one process I do sometimes. Poetry is about the essence of a thought. I see poetry as writing pared down into exact words, not too many and not too few. It is not over descriptive using flowery words. It is about your voice. The one inside your head that is precise and brings images to mind. 

I always have a movie running inside my head as I write. If I am writing a story, I write what I see. If I am writing a poem, I’ve done this long enough that I can edit the imagery into less words for my poem.

So I challenge my friends who are reluctant poets to start with a simple narrative. Then take away the unnecessary words. Especially words like “the” or “and”. Pare it down to just a beautiful image – even if it is not a specifically beautiful image.

Here is my example of my narrative and then the poem. I really didn’t end up taking away words from the narrative. But I gathered the essence of what I wanted to say. The narrative was the movie. The poem, my review. See what you think. 

So here is my process today:

Metaphor: Birds are my alarm clock

I didn’t set my alarm clock last night before I went to bed. It was late and I was feeling the spiral of these days taking me deeper. I thought I should sleep in. It was the birds I heard call me awake this morning. Not the beep, beep, beep of the red eyed glowing demon pushing me out of my warm cocoon.

This morning the birds were my alarm clock. They were a symphony of delight. Gentle in their call. In joy I gave gratitude to all that surrounds me that I may not pay attention to or acknowledge. This is the day of moving into wonder and grace given to me without judgement or me needing to prove my worth. This is the day I step into grace.

 

 

Farewell

I will not be able to post tomorrow, the final day of NaPoWriMo, so tonight it is.

Day Thirty
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FarewellFarewell

Yesterday, in exit, the sun
covered itself in silky
storm clouds
leaving me behind without
a bright or cheery farewell,
just a faint remembrance
of sweetness that once was.

I will not leave you
solitary on your journey.

I will write to you of
brilliant dawns and whispered kisses.
Words in envelopes sealed
with lilac glue to remind you
of me under billowy clouds of
lavender May blossoms.

And I will sing of you, so true and dear,
on wings of sparrows you will hear
a remembrance of my
love for you.

.

.

.
Author’s Note:

And with this, it is the end of another season of a poem a day in the month of April, a month for poets to lavish themselves in words.

Thank you for visiting. I hope you will stop by once in a moon or so.

After all, we poets never fill of our passion for words and sharing.

Peace and much gratitude,

Lexanne

Bremen

Day Twenty Nine
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In the middle of dark night
I am careful in my step.
Gently I move around now empty space
no longer warm from your presence.

I climb stairs hoping to see
head resting on paws, bright
eyes connecting to mine,
hear the steady beat of your
tail against the floor.

I check to see if your
water bowl needs filling,
only to be met by bare wooden
floor boards discolored from years
of dripping jowls.

Our house rings of empty.
My heart still beats but
not loud enough to fill the space.

In gratitude I bow to your
being. You filled my life.

Good boy.