wednesday night poem notes...

photo collaboration with miss geek inc, week 9
click to see larger

circling, shifting, begging
seeking heat
yearning to be touched and twirled and taken
my face tips up
the sun warms my eyelids

yes

*****

in this spot, i used to share poetry on thursdays...i miss it sometimes (well, a lot of the time actually), so it made me smile when LK let me know that she is hosting a day of sharing words today. i am taking part in the fun just in time. to visit other participants, head over to LK's.

and, i also invite you to spend some time with the poetry of li-young lee. his poetry speaks to my core. you can read several of his poems here. ("persimmons" took my breath away one day in 2006. you should read it. right now.)

have any poets wandered into your world lately?

(love)

looking up in st. patrick's park, indiana. 8.3.08

She Responded

The birds' favorite songs
You do not hear,

For their most flamboyant music takes place
When their wings are stretched
Above the trees

And they are smoking the opium
Of pure freedom.

It is healthy for the prisoner
To have faith

That one day he will again move about
Wherever he wants,
Feel the wondrous grit of life—
Less structured,

Find all wounds, debts stamped canceled,
Paid.

I once asked a bird,
"How is it that you fly in this gravity
Of darkness?"

She responded,
"Love lifts
Me."

-Hafiz, from The Gift, translations by Daniel Ladinsky

twirling inside

the plate of the car in front of diane, susan, and me at barnes and noble sunday evening.

i spent the weekend twirling inside friendship, community, and words, lucky enough to spend an afternoon with a friend then an evening with two goddesses and a day writing and listening to poetry and another evening of laughter, words, and truths...

i. love. poetry.

i took another workshop with susan wooldridge. when asked why i was there that day, i said that taking her workshop last year helped me to find another layer of my authentic voice.

yes. yes. yes.

some words i wrote on sunday:

i am a baby blue fifth chakra'd studebaker convertible
i am the fourth from the landing brown-carpeted step on garland circle
i am ignored red lips stroking your hair
i am tangerine fringe tickling the top of her silver damasked living room
i am the comma following the disappearing, webspinning secrets
i am the coocooing echo
i am clutter
i am mending


diane begins the workshops she hosts in a small one-room"house" on her property. we sat in a circle and the air seemed to crackle with all that was about to happen in a little workshop filled with words as people shared why they were here and a bit of their hopes. the sacredness of a circle of women. in this case, women i had never met until that day. i am ready to go back to diane's for a workshop as soon as i can. (you should join me.)

susan invites such a sense of safety and openness in her workshops. listening to the words of others is partly what makes the experience feel like such a sacred one. all day monday, their phrases kept running through my mind. such beauty and truth in their words. you can get to know a person you have just met by listening to their response to prompts like: "i am" "my soul says" "i know" "my mother says" "write one line about the prom"

fantastic.

i. love. poetry.

in just a bit, after i finish packing and somehow complete one more load of laundry, i will leave again. this time i am headed to artfest.

another opportunity to twirl inside friendship, joy, beauty, words, color, community.

i am blessed.
so very blessed.

today, i am sending you, yes you reading this, love, peace, and poetry.
and i invite you to go read a poem. go on. then come back here and tell me about it.
i dare you.

blessings,
liz

PS if you have sent me an email recently, sorry i have not replied. i will when i return. thanks for understanding.

home

The return


You are
the sliver of blue behind the grey
the yellow stripe on the crocus
the pungent plum tree blossoms
the insistent call of the plump chickadee
the arching green tulip leaves

Today,
I whisper prayers of gratitude
to Spring
as she awakens
and brings
you

perspective

the sun shines;
her heart opens (slightly).

*******

tonight,
i take a breath
and another
and i read this again
and again

my sacred life sunday.

another thursday all about poetry

Last week, Tracie Lyn shared the prompt of "utopia." It is a word full of possibility. I look forward to reading your responses to this prompt or whatever else you decide to share this week. Just go ahead and leave a comment on this post with your link.

Please note that this will be the last organized edition of the Thursday "Traveling Poetry Show." A big thank you to Delia, Carolee, Jillypoet, and Tracie Lyn who hosted Thursday posts these last few weeks.

At this time, a new project will not be taking its place.

My plan is to keep sharing posts about poems I enjoy, posts about poetry collections I am reading, my own poetry, and so on here. Probably on Thursdays. And, I hope you will do the same on your own blog. In fact, I am probably just going to keep calling this day of the week Poetry Thursday as that is what it has become over the last year and a half.

If doing your own thing on Thursdays isn't quite enough for you, there are several other projects out there to prompt your creativity as well (Carolee has a great list in her sidebar). Also, check out Susan Wooldridge's book Poemcrazy if you are looking for some poetry and writing prompts to get yourself going (you won't regret checking out this book).

*****

A couple of weeks ago, a good friend said to me that I hold my cards close to my chest here in blog world. I guess I hadn't thought about this until she mentioned it because it feels like I spill and spill here on my blog. And, I do share a lot. But I don't always share details I guess.

The truth is that some things have happened in my life lately that lead me to know that, just as I knew a few weeks ago when Poetry Thursday ended, this is not the time for me to begin a new project in blog world. I need to move on from a few things in my life, and this is one of those things. And, even though that is all I am going to share right now, I deeply appreciate your kind understanding.

Thank you for everything really.

One thing I do know is that life it too short not to listen to the whispers of your heart. And, right now, I am in a time of sitting in the quiet listening to those whispers. I am also spending quite a bit of time with the books of poetry that live in my home, because it is always the poets who remind me I am not alone.

I hope that, for you, today and every day is a day full of adventures and truth in the world of poetry…

i come to the water

more poem notes (or maybe an early, early draft of a poem) on this thursday...

I come to the water
to breathe in
salt,
hope,
shadows
I come to the water
to remember
her laughter
I come to the water
because I fear
forgetting
everything
I come to the water
to open
a space
inside me
I come to the water
to find
pieces of the past
I come to the water
to grieve
I come to the water
to let go
I come to the water
to seize life


head on over to jillypoet's for another thursday of the traveling poetry show...

i almost...

Carolee is hosting "The Traveling Poetry Show" today, so please visit her blog to read her post, find out next week's prompt, and visit her comments to link to some posts about poetry.

*****

Yesterday, thinking about the idea of fear that Delia posted as the prompt last week, the writing prompt "I almost" sprung to my mind. I wanted to just write and write all that came from thinking about that phrase. Fears can spring from that word almost. The following phrases aren't current feelings necessarily, just thoughts that came to me as I wrote for several minutes without stopping or editing (much):

I almost

Sat until I couldn't feel
Closed my eyes to truth
Got in the car and never looked back
Quietly allowed the world to happen around me
Believed that things just seemed to happen to me
Stayed in a belittling, suckerpunch-filled relationship
Wished it all away
Felt so much envy I forgot me
Stuffed anger in until my belly bloated
Forgot to remember myself
Slept my way to stagnation
Thought I didn't have a tribe
Didn't believe someone could change
Didn't own all of it
Didn't allow for possibility
Didn't dream of something breath taking
Lost my footing


And from this free writing came the following little poem of sorts:

I almost slept
my way to stagnation
but instead
I swim inside
possibility
balance
and breath

thoughts from the last few days

I first want to say that I am delighted that so many people have participated in a Thursday poetry post over at Delia's blog. Thank you for keeping this community alive!

Now for some thoughts of a more personal nature: With the end of Poetry Thursday last week, I was sad but felt like my time to be connected to a specific poetry community as a leader of sorts had come to a close. However, when some emails over the holiday weekend let me know that the new poetry community was not moving forward, I started thinking about the possibility of continuing my involvement in new ways.

At this point, I want to be honest that I am sitting with what to do. The announcement of the new project not moving forward needed to be made before I have had a chance to catch my breath after a holiday weekend and some other things this week.

To give myself a little time while giving the community formed at Poetry Thursday a place to go, I have asked a few participants to host the Thursday community post for the next few weeks.

I recognize that this means that people who were happy to participate but wanted to have more of a role might start something else to attempt to fill the shoes of Poetry Thursday. From my perspective, the more of us spreading the good news of poetry, the better. I must admit though that I can't help but say this:

Please do not use the Poetry Thursday name, logo/button, or banner in a new or "reconstructed" project. A few people have mentioned in comments, emails, or blog posts their desire to do so. Poetry Thursday was a partnership between Dana and me. It actually began as a small project here on my personal blog in early 2006 before this partnership was formed. Please honor these things. Thank you.

edited to add: After reading the comments and a couple of emails, I realize that there might be some misunderstanding about what I meant in the previous paragraph. I meant that I would hope people wouldn't start a new poetry project (meaning a blog or web site) with the same name and use the button, banner, and so on. I also did not mean that people should remove the PT buttons on their blogs. It is wonderful that Thursdays have become a day for poetry for many in blog world and calling that day Poetry Thursday certainly makes sense (insert smiling face here). If there is additional confusion, please don't hesitate to email me. Thanks!

I am not ready to announce specifics yet, other than to say that I am sitting with a few ideas and asking a few people for guidance/advice and so on. I plan to make my decision very soon. I have been a part of "blog world" for a while now with a blog for two years and a reader of blogs for much longer than that. I know that people can easily start a new project and make quick decisions, especially because you can begin a new blog in a matter of seconds. I don't want to start something without an almost fully formed idea in place. I hope that people will continue to participate in the Thursday posts for these next few weeks and wait and see where this road takes all of us.

Thank you for reading and have fun in the world of poetry…today and everyday…

spending time with poetry

this week, the community formed at Poetry Thursday is leaving links to their thursday poetry posts at delia's blog...go visit her to find out next week's prompt and who will be hosting the next week of, in her words, the traveling poetry show. love that. at some point tomorrow (thursday), i plan to share some more personal thoughts about what's happening (a bit more than what i shared on the most recent post at poetry thursday) and why the community is going to "jump from blog to blog" for the next couple of weeks.

*****


september 5, a moment tucked in bed with the words of sharon olds.

to read the words of sharon olds in her collection of poetry in the book "the gold cell" is to repeatedly breathe in the knowledge that my story, although it is my story, is a story, a song, a path that is known by others.

feelings long pushed deeply into a little pocket inside me burst out of me each time i visit with this poet.

but i come back often because i am face to face with the knowledge that to examine the bits in the internal pocket is to examine the quietest, most truthful pieces of me. it is a raw, breath-catching experience that somehow makes me feel more whole instead of sad.

the gift of poetry.

(tonight's experience was with the poem "late poem to my father," which you can find here if you scroll down a bit)

a poetry thursday favorite poem

the following is a poem that i wrote and shared last summer prompted by "unfinished conversations"...it is originally buried at the end of a long rambling post, so i decided to repost it on this day when we are celebrating our favorite Poetry Thursday contributions as a last community activity. and although i suppose it should feel odd to say, "this is one of my favorite poems," i want to say just that. we should love our own work, shouldn't we? yes. i am grateful for the words that help me heal each time i read them because this is the deep truth of experience. my experience.

*****

The Sunday before the Wednesday I was to see you
the conversation played
on a stage in my mind.
Knowing you would pretend to be irritated that
I had flown across the country unannounced
because you did not
want me to see you like this,
I would pull the chair next to your bed,
see your emaciated body,
and my hand would brush
away the hair around your face
like I did twenty-five years ago
right before I would smear Pond’s cold cream
across your nose, cheeks, and forehead.
I would tell you that I finally understood.

But then you died on Tuesday.

In their need for reason,
people said you chose to die
the Tuesday before the Wednesday I was to see you
because you knew I was coming and
you wouldn’t have
wanted me to see you like that.
Infuriated, I turned my back
on the words that meant nothing
to the open wound you left behind
that people saw as me, and
I sat in the darkness,
my throat choked with silence,
my fingertips filled with regret that I
did not brush your hair

away from your face

when I saw you on
the morning of the Thursday after the Wednesday I was to see you,
when I heard your voice say,
It isn’t me.

*****

i hope you will head over to Poetry Thursday to visit the Thursday post where participants shared their last PT contribution and then to today's post where participants are sharing their favorite post from their own Poetry Thursday archives.

the last poetry thursday

I cried last night as I wrote my last post for Poetry Thursday. I surprised myself a bit by how deeply sad I felt as I saved and published it. This project has been more important to me than I think I even realized. Part of the reason is how connected it is to my own discovery of how much I love poetry and how I believe poetry can change a person…and the world. I know it is also connected to finding light in darkness as poets (the ones I discovered on bookstore shelves and the ones I connected with in blog world) were some of the first people to say to me, "You are not alone in the deep well of grief." So, this gift is also connected to Poetry Thursday.

I realize that I don't have to return these gifts because the project is ending. It isn't as though I will suddenly stop reading poetry or stop writing it. Of course not. I am not leaving blog world, and I will continue to connect with other bloggers who love poetry. I will continue to share my own poetry, links to other poets/poems/blogs, and thoughts about poetry here. And, I imagine I will probably find myself sharing them on Thursdays the way many of us still share Self-Portrait Challenge photos on Tuesdays. I suppose I must admit that I will have more time for my own love affair with poetry as cohosting a site does take up quite a bit of time. But, to me, it is sad all the same.

To all of you who have participated in Poetry Thursday: Thank you for all you have shared and taught and the community you created. Please keep changing the world one poem at a time.

*****

A short poem note (or maybe it is indeed simply a short poem) on this last Poetry Thursday…

We stood until the drum of your heart, the water rolling down my back, and your hands cradling my head were all we were.

i took {poetry thursday}

Tonight, as my "to do" list fights with my "people I seem to be letting down lately" list for the top spot on my inbox and the television speaks only sadness, I took a break. From all of it. I took a break holding a Spire cider in one hand and Billy Collins or rather the poetry of Billy Collins in the other. I took a break sitting on my front step as day turned into dusk pulling on the hem of evening's skirt. I took a break from all of it. I took a break with a cider and Billy Collins. I took a break from grief as I skipped over poems that called to me with titles like "The Dead" and "The Afterlife."

I allowed laughter in.

I took a break from it all and spent time with laughter as I read "The Hunt" four times to paint the described landscape in my mind. I let this landscape where Noah Webster and his assistants hunt a new word become, for a moment, my landscape. I took a break with laughter. I took a break. From all of it. I took a break from fixing when I turned to "Going Out for Cigarettes" and nestled inside these words:

Let us say this is the place where the man who goes out
for cigarettes finally comes to rest: on a riverbank
above the long, inquisitive wriggling of that line,

sitting content in the quiet picnic of consciousness

I took a break and let Billy Collins remind me.

I took a break sitting on the front step as dusk settled over the stretching northwest skyline. I took a break. From all of it. I took a break to breathe in nature and words. I began to breathe in every word and then found myself suddenly chewing. As I reread "Metamorphosis" I was suddenly chewing as though if eating "If Kafka could turn a man into an insect in one sentence perhaps he could turn me into something new" and "Not that I am miserable, but I could use a change" would cause the page to turn and I would find myself away. From all of it. From the fighting, stretching lists. I even contemplated consuming the ant that crawled across the words as though his ability to walk on the actual letters would make the words grow inside me and root.

I took a break. From all of it. I took a break and watched the ant crawl across page 70 then 71 and toward the back cover. I took a drink then gave the ant freedom with the understanding of safety from me and Kafka and Collins.

I took a break. From all of it. I took a break with cider and Collins and dusk turning into a warm breezy August nightfall. I took a break to remind myself. I took a break to let poetry remind me of myself.

I took a break. From all of it. I took a break until I could no longer read the words in the dimming light.

I took a break to remember.
I took a break to remember me.

*****

Poems mentioned are from Questions About Angels by Billy Collins. To read "Metamorphosis" in its entirety, click over to this Washington Post article. Note that the poem ends right before the last paragraph (the last word of the poem is face); this isn't clear in the online layout.

Go on over and visit Poetry Thursday to link to more participant posts...

my heart carries {poetry thursday}

sunset at cannon beach, taken by jonny

my heart carries:

the sound of the birds chirping me awake
the first time i held my baby brother in my arms
the time my baby brother held me in his arms after our grandmother's funeral
the smell of hot apple cider with cinnamon
my mother's voice saying, "i am on my way"
the way our dog millie snores asleep next to me on the couch
the first time my husband said, "can i hold your hand?"
the feel of my childhood pink blanket against my face before i would fall asleep
the way a friend laughs until tears stream down her face
a moment witnessing my father's vulnerability
the smells of game day
the crocus as it peeks into spring
the first time eating corn on the cob after my braces were removed
the rhythm of my grandmother's voice saying "hello" when she knew it was me
moments spent watching the sky become a watercolor streaked sunset

***

letting go of the need for a genre (and thanking dana for that invitation), i am going to just keep writing poem notes. little pieces that appear in my mind that i want to grab before they slip away. i will keep them here so that i can turn to them as needed.

peaches, poetry, and escaping to the air conditioning

We have escaped to the air-conditioned Mandolin Café to beat the heat. Our house, since the neighbors cut down the beloved tree that shaded our home, is warmer than warm. It's the kind of hot where all you want to do is just get naked and stretch out on your bed with the fan blowing right on you.

The bartender here is singing a song about how "if you don't have an air conditioner you're not the man for me." Oh yes. How I love that. It is pretty funny. I love our neighborhood café where you can be working away on your laptop and then suddenly the bartender starts singing a cappella (microphone and all, of course).

We are consuming ginger peach tea to cool off. I thought Washington peaches were in season, so we went to our favorite grocery store to get a few, but it turns out that the special Frog Hollow peaches are not yet in season. I was craving them a tiny bit. I had to settle for two huge not-yet-ripe California peaches and the anticipation.

I had a moment earlier today that reminded me about the peaches this time of year. I want to turn this moment into a poem, but right now, I just have some thoughts and words put together…poem notes I suppose.

***

I kept the phone messages for months. The call from your daughter, Don't panic, but she's in the hospital. Your husband, She's doing better. It's gonna be okay. I listened to them daily for weeks. She was alive. I didn't mean to lose them. But one week I just forgot to hit 2 to keep them for 14 more days. Today, I opened the freezer and paused soaking in the cold, wishing I could escape the surprising northwest humidity. I noticed the peaches July 2004, Frog Hollow propped in the door shelf. That first year we lived here; I wanted to be able eat them in December, so you explained, Quickly drop them in boiling water. Take them out and peel. Slice and put them in a mixture of sugar and that stuff you can buy to stop them from turning brown. Yes, yes. You will find it at your store. The aisle where you get the Sure-Gel. You will find it. Follow the directions on the box. Then, pour them right into Ziplocs.

I realized I had not really thought about you for a few days. The thoughts to call you and then the remembering, it doesn't happen as often. I am forgetting. Time is subtle and pushes me forward without you. This makes my heart ache tonight. It hasn't hurt for months, but I want to dial, hear your voice, and ask you how to freeze the raspberries. Yes, yes, I know how. But, I just want to call all the same.

I do what I have to do to keep breathing. Three years and two power outages is too long to live in the freezer. She was alive. I do what I need to do to wade through it.

***

visit poetry thursday to dive into more poetry

i come from {poetry thursday}

i want to share another poem i wrote at artfest in susan wooldridge's poemcrazy class...when i read this poem tonight, i was reminded of possibility once again.

*****

I come from
a land where Cinderella eats a
black apple and dances in
both her shoes.

I come from
a tree house city where I watch
forest elephants search for their souls
inside a purple sky.

I come from
a field of gold and pink dotted petals
nestled in the breast of the milky way.

I come from
a heron’s wing, a wooly fleshed
warbler, a chickadees spell.

I come from
a tiptoeing, still, winter home
where I wrap myself in
a blanket of stories.

a poem {poetry thursday}

today i am sharing a poem i wrote in susan wooldridge's poemcrazy workshop i took at artfest. we were given several prompts, one being to give voice to something. we had also spent time sharing words from different books we each had; susan wrote the words up on the board. they were so good! that we were all furiously writing them down. she also wrote several words she had written in her journal from a dictionary page that all began with s. i grabbed onto the word seed and this was the result.

*****

The seed says

I used to believe I was
a practitioner of balance
perched inside a canopy
but here i am,
pirouetted to the ground
my eyes see nothing in
this cocoon of windswept dirt

i am scattered

come back to me
home
come back to me
quiet mind

*****

visit poetry thursday for more poetry

a poem {poetry thursday}

Past

one foot propped on the faucet
the other flips the drain

water
swirls
gurgles
drops

millimeter by millimeter

please take the shit with you

bracing her hands on either side
she rises
reaches for the towel
and rubs the

folds
curves
creases
lines
dry

seeking eradication

*****

visit poetry thursday to read more poems and posts about poetry

home

i am home. i will write about my experience soon. i have permission from the one i needed permission from to write about it (which means i won't have to keep writing around it.) and with that, the bottled up stuff from the last few months, years perhaps (a lifetime indeed)...some of it will appear here. i want to share this layer of my experience.
the last three days were full of some of the most emotional hard work i have done. ever. and today, home, still in my pajamas with a snoring dog at my feet...exhausted physically and emotionally, i have this to say:

i am proud of myself.

i tapped in to courage and bravery and boundaries. it is beginning.

i know many of you who come here probably know the poem "the journey" by david whyte...perhaps i have shared the link before. i turned to david whyte this morning...and plan to spend some time knee deep in his newest collection of poems over the next few days...but this morning, the words "wedge of freedom in your own heart" resonate so deeply inside me that i want to invite you to read it today too. just in case you need to.

oh and another poem (one that is actually in progress) that made me so happy this morning? the one happening in the comments of wednesday's post over at poetry thursday. go check it out! and then click over to today's post to read what other poetry thursday participants shared today.

(P.S. thank you all for your kind words and suggestions for what to do with my sinus infection. you helped me. i survived flying and three days of lots of crying. i am feeling better. still a bit under the weather but my level of exhaustion is probably more to blame. my head only kind of hurts from sinus pressure now. thanks for being out there in the world and taking the time to stop by to have tea with me.)

a day in april {poetry thursday}

this was not the poem i intended to share today. on this day, of all days. another year has passed.

but this is the poem that came out of me after sitting with some feelings for the last day. this is, in many ways, all of who i am today.


I cannot apologize

I imagine you
scared of her hand
her scissor-like words
her black truth
I imagine the little you
in a corner
willing yourself
into a quiet ball
of little breath

If the person I am
the one who might not want a baby
but is open to the whisper
that a child might be alive
today
and need a home
if the person I am now
knew
that ball
of endless fear
I would shift the world
to bring you here

To bring you
to a room with yellow walls
and endless shoes
and corners filled with pillows
I would bring you
to safe joy
and a circus of laughter
as we jump on the bed
I would teach you
all she taught me
with her gentle hand
quiet knowledge
and world of color