Fiffer-Feffer-Splunk (aka: Happy World Poetry Day!)

Say-It-With-a-Poem

Today’s a special holiday

observed across the land

a time to honor poetry

the crummy and the grand.

 

Egads! You cry. You rhymed your blog?

Oh dear, such cruelty

to force the world to read your slop

transformed to poetry!

 

Take heart – for only once a year

deserves such accolade

tomorrow, from your memories

these dreadful rhymes will fade

 

(Nature aims to set the mood

with gray and thunderous rain

as though the weather knows it too,

that rhyming is a pain.)

 

I guess I could have skipped the rhymes

and written in haiku

or flowing, esoteric prose

Like Maya Angelou.

 

Or, break the rules like Dr. Seuss

and fill the gaps with junk

like cats in hats and Sam-I-Am

and Fiffer-Feffer-Splunk

 

But genius poet I am not

so my apology

for this experiment

in lame originality.

 

Well, that’s a wrap, it’s time to go

amazing how time flies.

I’d better hustle back to work

and quit this exercise.

 

Now it’s your turn.

Come on…it’s not like you can do much worse.

Let’s honor World Poetry Day

by writing blogs in verse.

poetry talk

Wings (aka: Two Poems on a Winter’s Day)

Ode to a Caterpillar

 

Oh little caterpillar

who brought such color to the world!

How I remember

tiny fingers grasping

heavy Mason glass

swift

ready to catch, to observe

the free ones

the ones with wings

the ones who flew.

So much you learned, as you curled

safe

in your small, loved home

until today

fragile walls tearing loose

open crack of wide, wide blue

cupped in hands

to test new wings.

Oh butterfly

this world is yours.

caterpillar-to-butterfly

 

Night Angels

 

Eyes lifted toward darkened skies

strapped warm in leather womb

hushed voices mingle with

steady drone.

There I see it

flash of copper light

brief sight of wingless angel

flying in the night.

Warm sigh

fingers pressed, cold against glass

until

once more the darkness lifts

and angel glows.

One by one

on tall, steel legs

they dance

across the stars

halos burning in bronze glory

as my lashes droop

beneath watchful eyes.

street-lamps-shining

Too Much Like Water (a poem)

(I wrote this poem tonight, though it has been in my heart since a friend (or one I thought was a friend) stopped being a friend. What makes a person decide to stop being a friend? What makes a person decide to stay? What do we do with the unanswered questions that haunt us? Was it something I did? Was it something about me? About us? All I can do is turn my obsessions to poetry.)

Too Much Like Water

Maybe I was too thirsty
and you heard the rasp and rattle
when I spoke
with words unused too long.
Maybe I was too much rain
crystal, pouring drops
flooding shallow banks
too soon.
Or together, two strong rivers
flowing, roiling, pushing
for the narrow neck
to the wide, vast sea
Or you, like ice
(like me)
unyielding
ungiving
Or we, a stream
that rippled toward the sun
whose hissing touch
left us only vapor.

Three Poems on Tuesday

Fragile dawn

All the Things We Cannot Keep

Now I lay me down to sleep

dream of sunshine, little sheep

downy dandelion bed

angels dancing ‘round your head

 

Dawn will break before you know

bathe the world in scarlet glow

one by one the stars they fade

as daylight burns the window shade

 

Time will cut the nursery lock

restless feet must take their walk

leave behind the dusty lap

set your compass, draw your map

 

Garden walls shall not constrain

hold the clouds until they rain

push the wind until it blows

keep the seed until it grows

 

Sunrise pinks and palest blue

crystal drops of early dew

lingering dreams as morning creeps

all the things we cannot keep

all the things we cannot keep.

Words

What do you want from me?

More words?

Fine. Have a seat while I

boil them up

pour them steaming in your cup

then stand back

as you scald your tongue on the hot bitter black

words

Shall I melt them down like sugar

sticky and sweet

a child’s easy treat?

Or can you handle something more?

Yearning and sore

for the flowing passion

of my underground river

swift and changing current

reaching, wanting, hiding beneath the surface

in fear of your thirst?

You think this is what you want, what you need

but you never see

that I bleed

words

and that you are the form of every letter.

beware the girl in red

Beware the Girl in Red

“Go into the wood,” her mama said

then dressed her up in velvet red

placed a pail into her arms

“Beware the wolf. He means you harm.”

 

With tiptoe steps the girl made way

and left behind the light of day

weak and cautious little bird

marched to the tune of Mama’s word

 

Weary after many hours

Little Red noticed the flowers

blooming off the beaten trail

and so she paused to fill her pail.

 

It’s always off the trail, I fear

that clever wolves choose to appear

Sleek as shadows, swift as wind

He blocked her path and sniffed, then grinned

 

“Sweet and delicate little rose,”

He purred as the child froze

“Don’t you worry. What’s your haste?

I only want a little taste.”

 

Through the brambled wood she fled

But was no match for Wolfie’s tread

He swallowed her scream, devoured her cry

Then lifted his howl to the sky

 

He laid the girl beneath a tree

and shook his head in sympathy

“There’s one like me in every story

You wandered in my territory.

 

“All alone, a tempting treat

Juicy apple, red and sweet.

Beware the wolf – you should have known

Foolish child on your own.”

 

As he left her, Little Red

yanked the red cape from her head.

No more rank humiliation!

No more victim of predation!

 

With weapons fashioned from the tree

she sat and waited patiently.

As wolves strolled by, she took her aim

then made a fur coat of her game.

 

Soon wolf mamas warned their sons

“Heed my warning, little one

for many a wolf has lost his head.

You must beware the Girl in Red.”

People Watching (aka: What I Learned From Dr. Seuss)

Dr. SeussOne of the things I enjoy doing, whenever I venture out of my cave, is to observe people. Not in a creepy, staring kind of way, but discretely, to satisfy my writerly curiosity about people. While those around me think that I am engaged in reading a book on my iPad, I am occasionally taking sneak peeks, or catching snatches of their conversations. People are fascinating, and one can learn many things just by being still and observing. And what have I learned lately?

That Dr. Seuss was kind of a genius.

read to learn to grow to go places

I know. Most people probably don’t look at his legacy of cute, silly rhyming stories for children and think of the word genius. And in fact, perhaps I am overusing the term. However, it became apparent that Dr. Seuss, like myself, and like most fiction writers, was an avid people watcher. And that somehow, he managed to capture perfectly some of the most common archetypes and struggles of humanity through his humorous and whimsical rhymes. Perhaps the language he used lacked the sophisticated eloquence of Shakespeare, Frost, or Whitman, but he was, in my opinion, no less of a talented poet.

racial prejudice bug

Did you know that Dr. Seuss was once a political cartoonist?

When children listen to Dr. Seuss stories, they may be entertained by his clever rhymes and fantastic characters, like the silly but loveable Cat-in-the-Hat, or the persuasive Sam-I-Am and his strange green eggs and ham. However, if you were to take a closer look at the themes of his stories, you may find some strong political statements   and surprising universal truths revealed.

For example, in the famous book, The Lorax, Seuss uses a humorous children’s story as a barely-disguised political platform against corporate greed, consumerism, and destruction of the environment. In The Sneetches, one of my all-time favorite works of children’s literature, Seuss spoke out against racism, prejudice, and anti-semitism. The SneetchesThe Zax, a very short story about two very stubborn creatures who both refuse to budge, and so neither one goes anywhere. Sound a little like Republicans and Democrats, perhaps? And then there is the well-known Yertle the Turtle, another of my personal favorites. Hitler – oops, I mean Yertle is a turtle who lives in a small pond, but gets the idea that he is king of all he can see. He begins to climb upon the backs of the other turtles in the pond, despite their misery, in order to expand his rule. He takes his superiority complex a little too far, however, and down he falls, as all megalomaniacs eventually must.

“I’m Yertle the Turtle! Oh marvelous me! For I am ruler of all I can see!”

To the Infinite Power (Poetry about Quantum Mechanics)

This morning, I read a strange but fascinating article about a new theory of quantum mechanics, which suggests that parallel worlds not only exist, but that the different universes interact on the quantum level. Okay, maybe the idea is a little out there, but my mind has been savoring the thought like an odd and flavorful wine. The result? Why, a poem, of course!

infinite universe

Infinite Me

One me

walking the way I walk

on my sole path

singing thoughts that swirl like colors

toes in the sea

wild of mind, tame of heart

wishing to be loved

wanting to be free

just me.

 

Another me.

Do you walk alone, like me?

Or do we skip together

side by side

like sheep

telling a different story

with the same words?

Do you sense my presence

when we fall asleep?

 

Infinite me.

We are all the same, but not

Different times

roads that split and merged

like land, sea and sky

Do we always dance alone?

Did we learn to be loved?

Are you the better me

or am I?

The Fighter (a poem)

He doesn’t know why he does it

he doesn’t know why he tries

but he shows up strong as they throw their money down

filling the air with their cries.

Like a rock he fills his corner

eyes focused on the game

dehumanize his opponent

as the crowd screams his name

“Hit him! Hit him! Do it again!”

a feeding frenzy of cheers

so he tapes his hands and he takes his place

as they shout and wave their beers.

Then bam! Here comes the money

and bang! Here comes the fame

the sweat and blood rain down like water

till the people love his name.

Black eye, cut lip, broken jaw

his gifts always the same

then he’ll sleep alone with an empty soul

while the people dream his name.

the boxer