Friday, October 28, 2011

Learning My ABC and D's


I have always liked the idea of writing a poem every day as an exercise. However, without something concrete to focus on, the idea gets me nowhere.
Until now! Somehow a conversation with my dad about a James Madison biography prompted me to use letters of the alphabet as a framework for daily writing. Overall, I'm enjoying this exercise, but am not happy with pieces "C" or "D". With "C", I am not sure about the abrupt ending, but don't like the longer versions I've come up with. "D" is just a place holder until something better comes along.
------
A B C D
A

The afternoon we waited for space junk
to fall, somewhere, probably not near us
in our house in our luminous city

where planes land and leaves spiral
like ladies at the circus spinning off the trapeze
we would have preferred a supernova

seeing a star try to run away
from its own brightness
not another satellite returning.


B


I once looked up the word beachhead;
it refers to enemy space but sounds
like we should climb there on weekends

build a summer house there
feeling wise as we watch shore birds
pluck fish from the water and make

suburban zen of the sea spray
thinking it good to come across
and that we expected it to be

like the girl with a shell to her ear
saying she can hear the ocean.




C




I miss the coast road outlining the end of the country
sugar cane fanning itself by the newly built highway,

how it winds around like a corn maze reminding me
of Mary losing Jesus in the crowded caravan

and finding him, one more story for her to wonder at.
I am not like that, keeping in the heart what might work out

the way of a nursery rhyme: leave it alone, it will come home.
I miss the ride.



D




Diana, my least favorite
goddess, you never let a girl

save herself.
Your modus is change

for the sake of not changing:
nymphs escape because you keep them

moving, cold stream or laurel
like one of your silver arrows

aimed at something higher than a lover.
He will keep hunting

what you would rather remake
hard as the wood of a tree.


Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Pigeon Revision

Pigeon



I hate their eyes
taking in the park.

They show up,
touch crumbs like Midas

rock colored wings
in the rock colored street

beneath lightning arc of starlings.

Friday, October 7, 2011

October Poem: Besides Squirrels, This Is All I've Got


Pigeon


I hate their eyes
taking in the park
like a harvest.

They show up                           for gold

touching crumbs
like Midas
they stay                                  with rock colored wings

in the rock colored street

                                                  beneath rows of starlings
                                                   like airplanes leaving