Poem of the Week

Evening

June 15, 2008

At the very moment

the heat of day

melted into

the cool of evening,

the family's conversation

turned to magic.

From Our Budding Linguist-ette

Quoth the Wrig: Let's go play in our fortress! ... You know, it's called a "fortress" 'coz we're all girls ... if we were boys, it'd be called a "fort."

Poem of the Week

forgetful
june 3, 2008

when my fingers forget the taste of your skin
when my hands can no longer grasp a pen,
when the wind forgets the shape of your name,
let diamonds crumble to dust.

when my ears forget the color of your voice,
when memory no longer holds you close,
when the rose escapes her comfortable vase,
let the stars darken to dust.

when my eyes forget the heat of our love,
when my tired feet will no longer strive,
when tides forget the call of the shore,
let dust return to dust.

The Rarely Merry Month of May

May in Review:
Days: 31
Poems: 7
Poems Posted: 2
Poems I Like: 2

Well, at least the math is easy ...

The Year So Far:
Days: 152
Poems Written: 95
Poems I Like: 60.5

Poem of the Week, Slightly Delayed

Storytellers
(after Brian Doyle)
May 29, 2008

Every scar tells a story –
of falling down
and rising up,
of hands that push
and those that lift.

Yes, every scar tells a story –
of the knife that divides
and faith that cleaves,
of the fragility of bone
and the strength of spirit.

Let me caress your scars,
trace them with tender fingertips,
bless them with timid lips,
and I will love you –

not with sympathy
for the wounds
you’ve suffered
but admiration
for the wounds
you’ve survived.

Because Alice Insisted

No, it's not a poem.

But it's a sign of life, at least.

Hello! I'm still here.

Frankly, I grow bored of my brain at times. I haven't done anything slightly interesting in my classroom during the entire month of May. I wrote my first poem in twenty days last night. It was horrific. Even my darling, wonderful daughter fails to be worthy of a blog post.

So.

I'm still here. I'm writing horrible poetry again. And I'll post something Sunday night.

Consider yourself warned.

Poem of the Week

A Day Without Poetry
May 2, 2008

The sun stumbled over the horizon.
It did not arc gracefully like a swan,
it slouched into the sky like a sullen teenager.

Early morning breezes ruffled the flowers,
but their perfume sparked no synapses.
Birds’ songs were singularly unmusical.

When people spoke, they said exactly
what they meant. They left not an inch
for doubt, for miscommunication. For flirting.

Lovers did not hold hands on the
day without poetry. Sweet nothings
dried on the tongue, unwhispered.

And that night, the constellations spun no
stories in the sky. The stars sat stiffly against
a black backdrop like nothing more than stars.

If You Came Here Looking for a Poem ...

... come back Sunday. Sorry. ;)

April in Review:
Days: 30
Poems Written: 31 (?!?!)
Poems So Bad I Had to Write an Extra One as an Apology: 1
Poems Posted: 31
Poems I Like: 20 (but I'll never say which ones)

And for the Year:
Days: 121
Poems: 88
Poems I Like: 58.5