amazing grace

 

 

lazing in bed

because we can

i want to laze all day

 

read and write

go dancing tonight

 

terri wants to go out

have a big breakfast

then go swimming

 

we compromise

by making sweet love

then go out for breakfast

  

~~~

 

i'm feeling warm and fuzzy

full of blueberry pancakes and love

i have the whole day ahead of me

 

i've shed the demon for a while

 

han shan says 

 

i've lost my way again:

Body asking shadow, which way from here?

 

i think that's right

sometimes one foot goes in front of the other

as when you're running 

and not thinking about running

 

sometimes you plod

finding yourself you know not where

 

~~~

 

my grandfather raised dahlias

 

he showed me the flats of bulbs

he kept in a dark cellar

over winter

as if he were letting me in a secret

 

in the summer

he came home from work, or the race track

he liked the horses

changed into his gardening clothes

changed into someone else

 

he showed me how to trim the lesser blooms

 

the summer sun felt good

 

time is a construct 

past can be present

and for a moment, it is

 

~~~

 

terri is a swimmer

her hips are slim

her shoulders are strong

 

i know this 

because sometimes she holds herself over me

for a long time

 

she is also pillowy

i think that's the technical term

too much so for hopes of the olympic team

but she loves to swim

she is a dolphin after all

 

she competes for the college team

which isn't like stanford

where they take it dead serious

 

terri's family is from los altos 

which is near stanford

she has friends there

sometimes we drive down to visit 

 

the campus is a world unto itself

very isolated

i immediately miss the city

 

stanford may be a community

but without the homeless it’s a soulless place 

there isn't one thing i like about it

 

i like to be in our world 

our city

our apartment

where we spend our days apart

but come home at night and sleep together 

it's perfect 

 

even when it isn’t perfect, it’s perfect

 

terri is perfect

there is nothing about terri which isn't perfect

 

name one thing that isn't

 

which is why i can't understand why my family

had unkind things to say about her

 

~~~

  

i wrote four poems this week for seminar

 

dead serious

i was

 

i'm back on track

 

one goes through swampy places

to use a metaphor which just came to mind

 

wading through muck and anacondas 

emerging on a warm, sunny beach

 

there's the ocean

 

dive into the incoming waves

cleanse yourself 

spit saltwater

come out clean and scrubbed

 

i feel like that

 

~~~

 

i'm free associating

which is a relief after hours of

 

Ta dá ta dá ta dá ta dá ta dá

Ta dé ta dé ta dé ta dé ta dé 

Ta dé ta dé ta dé ta dé ta dé 

Ta dá ta dá ta dá ta dá ta dá

 

here's what i mean:

 

The wind sounds only in opposing straits,

The sea, beside the shore; man's spirit rends

Its quiet only up against the ends

Of wants and oppositions, love and hates,

 

which elizabeth barrett browning wrote

 

i write

 

by some unspoken word he bends to clip

a bloom, a word i wish i heard as well

to guide my hand, a word that would dispel

my fear, that i, a wanted bloom will snip

 

i do better 

with my poems that were free of rhyme and meter

which is not my métier

 

what i want to say is something like:

 

by some unspoken word 

he bends to clip

a bloom, a word i wish i heard as well

to guide my hand

 

a word that would dispel my fear that i, 

a wanted bloom will snip

his fingers dance among the stems and blooms

a shoot, a bud, a bloom does fall

 

somehow unwanted, somehow lesser

it is this somehow 

detracting from the whole

lessening the bloom’s majesty atop the stem

 

watch, he says

his nippers settle between stem and shoot

a sucker shoot twixt the angle acute

life, he says, as the bloom falls from the notch

 

is choice, he says more to himself than me

but the fallen bloom is all i can see

 

 

instead i write, because i must 

 

 

too young to see

 

by some unspoken word he bends to clip

a bloom, a word i wish i heard as well

to guide my hand, a word that would dispel

my fear, that i, a wanted bloom will snip

 

his fingers dance among the stems and blooms

a shoot, a bud, a bloom does fall, somehow

unwanted, somehow lesser, it is this somehow 

detracting from the whole, lessening the bloom’s

 

majesty atop the stem, he says, watch

his nippers settle between stem and shoot

a sucker shoot twixt the angle acute

life, he says, as the bloom falls from the notch

 

is choice, he says more to himself than me

but the fallen bloom is all i can see

 

~~~

 

the sun is out

terri has gone to the pool

'tis time to don my running shoes

 

fourteen miles is my goal today

a long run

on the weekends

 

i have good thoughts to keep me company

a warm glow within

 

Body asking shadow, which way from here?

 

~~~

 

i am glowing with happiness and contentment

i am radiating it

i don’t know why or how

 

it may be lingering sensations

it may be love

it may be the blueberry pancakes

 

yes indeed, it may be

 

~~~

 

I once was lost, but now I’m found.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amazing Grace

John Newton (1725-1807)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





Poetry by one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 788 times
Written on 2015-03-29 at 14:15

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I knew you were going to be a special one right from the first time I read you. This is outstanding, how you make one subject flow into the other and on and on. I love it! Dotted with deep and meaningful insights all the way through.
~Ashe
2015-03-29


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
This style of yours seems to me to be glimpse into the refinery of your process from vision through shaping, editing and forming and ending in a polished poem.
2015-03-29


karmic justice
Simply fascinating.. they way you write.. i'm inspired.. it's like a dream.. one weaves into another into another and yet this makes sense.. sometimes, the best writings are the ones that make you close your eyes and think hard..
2015-03-29


arquious
It's like stream of consciousness and mashing, mashed together.
2015-03-29


countryfog
There needs to be a word for what you do - well there are many words for what you do - but I mean the form that your writing is taking now, how you begin with the moment or a memory of one, then something of how you came to it, how something of others' poems fit and inform it, the play between reverie and revelation as you create your own poem bit by bit, the passion that is usually part and process of it.
2015-03-29