Summer

She
Puckered the petals of her lips in a kiss
Rolled and swayed her green, grassy hips
Cascaded her waters from her head to her shoulders
Then
Laughed and fluttered her leafy lashes
Beckoned you to dance in her soft hills and valleys
And sighed as you rolled her new leaves in your hand

(This week's readwritepoem prompt was to write about a transition. I decided to write about the transition into summer. In a way, it's a follow up to my spring poem from a few months ago).

Tagged!

distracted by shiny objects over at A Tidings of Magpies has tagged me with this meme. Here are the rules:

respond and rework

answer questions on your blog

replace one question

tag eight other people.

TAGGED BLOGS:

Paper Dreams and Other Things

Third Storey Window

Writerquake

Blissful Bohemian

A Walk in the Words

The Space Between Words

Gump and Gandhi Holding Hands

Athena Thoughts

If you've already been tagged with this, or if you're not interested, just ignore my tag. Otherwise, I look forward to your take on these questions!

Here are my answers!

1: What is your current obsession?

Poetry. I wrote a poem a day in April for National Poetry Month, and now am finding that the creative juices have slowed a bit. Perhaps I should challenge myself to write a poem a day, every day no matter what!

2: Which item of clothing do you wear most?Jeans. Definitely jeans. And in the winter, flannel pajamas.

3: What's for dinner?

I have yoga class tonight, so I'm not cooking. I have to go turn myself into a giant sweaty mess while surrounded by thin, impossibly graceful women. Believe it or not, it’s good for my self-esteem.

4: Last thing you bought?A green floral canvas bag/purse from Target. Only 9.99! It doesn’t match anything, but it’s so cheery!

5: What are you listening to? Allison Krauss. She has the voice of an angel. Gives me goose bumps.

6: If you were a god or goddess, who would you be? I’m not sure if I could handle being a goddess, but what about St. Erin, the patron saint of redheads? A few novenas to me will keep bullies on the kindergarten playground from calling you “carrot top” or telling you that your hair is on fire. Bury my statue upside down in your backyard, and huge shade trees will grow to protect your white, freckled skin from the sun. Lindsay Lohan could wear a medal with my image on it, and I would return her hair to its original red glory, restore her career, and put some healthy flesh back on those bones of hers.

7: Favourite guilty pleasure? General Hospital, and I will never be truly satisfied until they bring back Laura full time to the show and create a real story line for her. Luke’s allowed to get older, but the powers that be can’t write a storyline for a woman over 40? Yes, I’ve given this way too much thought…

8: Reading right now?
The Zero by Jess Walter and Trust Where You Are by Annie Coe.

9: Okay...what were you thinking about just then?How I am going to spoil my niece and nephew silly when they come visit me next week.

10: Who's your hero/heroine?distracted by shiny objects picked Dorothy Day, and I have to agree. I’ll add my husband, Rick, to the list (for very different reasons).
11: First spring thing?
Tulips!

12: Funniest thing you saw in your life? The Office. How is it possible that one sitcom can make me so very, very happy? Tied for second: The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and The Colbert Report.

13: Favourite film? The Secret of Roan Inish

14: Share some wisdom?

What can you do with your days but work & hope

Let your dreams bind your work to your play

What can you do with each moment of your life

But love til you've loved it away

Love til you've loved it away—Bob Franke

15: If you were a tree, what tree would you be and why?

Ooooo..this is the closest I will ever come to being interviewed by Barbara Walters. I would be a maple tree. I would look green and gorgeous in the spring and summer, and flame out with glory in the fall. And in the winter, I would actually shed some pounds. Plus, I could bring happiness to the world by contributing to maple syrup and maple bars. What could be better?

16: Fictitious characters who made a lasting impression on you? Jane Eyre. The only positive and profound thing I experienced in 7th grade was reading Jane Eyre.

17: 4 words to describe you? Red hair. Freckled writer. (I definitely have red hair and am freckled. I’m trying to be a writer).

Listen to Ms. Dickinson

much madness
is divinest
sense
and sense,
a diabolical
rant
so tell the truth but
use her slant
and strive
to imitate

a woman
who names herself
nobody
and has

no time for hate

The Saint Francis Project

Make me a channel of your peace...

checkitout

or here

Time

I did not know her to be
introspective or even
retrospective
so when she
said,
I am glad
you girls have
more choices than I did
you are both good moms things
are different
for you than they were
for me when you have
eight kids and so much to do
your kids don’t really get to know
you and you don’t really get
to know them
you love ‘em
of course
you love ‘em love
you’ve got plenty of
but you don’t ever
really have enough
time or hands
there’s just
never enough
but you know babies
just have a way
of coming when they
want and you’ve got
to love ‘em, yep,
you’ve got to love ‘em
now let’s move into the kitchen
grandpa wants to watch
the game,
I felt a window open
then shut again.

Summer's Seduction

I posted this poem last year, but it expresses how I'm feeling now.

Summer’s seduction

Makes it easy to forget

As I walk my tentative feet

On its warm carpet of grass

I no longer remember

The sting of biting ice

The cling of stubborn mud.

It whispers in the breeze

You are safe.

You are warm.

The sky is your ceiling.

No need for shelter.

Walk unafraid.

It’s time to forget

The cold that split your skin

The grey that weighed heavy on your head.

See my flowers dance

My rivers tumble.

Let my smile lift you

From east to west.

And just like that

The cold that came before and

The gloom that would not go

Is erased.

Belief comes too easily.

I slip into a certainty

That all that is now

Is all that was

And will always be.

Spokane Shines

Check out this post on one of my favorite blogs, A Tidings of Magpies, for a wonderful story about a Spokane banker. (Happily, this story is not about bailouts--just ducks!)

Closing

I hear the rustle
of curtains
closing
in the corners
of my mind

I gaze, aching
over my
shoulder
at years long
left behind

when I was
your only
want
and our
bond was
the straightest
of lines

and all
that curled
in between us
was the
impossible
newness
of Time—
a friend to
your ebullient
youngness
but alas, no
friend
of mine

Notre Dame 2009

She is not
Our Lady of pursed lips
and rosaries clenched
tightly into fists
what pilgrims
could ever
take their rest
in a mother with arms
folded tight
‘cross her chest
It was she
when His hour
had not yet come
who overruled the
exasperated
no of her Son
And today, praise be!
Ignoring those
robed men of Rome,
she welcomes
another
teenage mom’s
child
to her home

The Void

This week's readwritepoem prompt is to write a poem that includes hyperlinks. I've included hyperlinks to the Tao Te Ching.

If I could turn in on myself I would:
Head to chest
Arms wrapped round bent knees
Feet tucked in, no longer visible—
All you would see would be my back
Curving and covering everything else.
If I could hold myself there I would
If only to stop
The endless grasping
The constant reaching and aching
The longing for something to fill
My void,
To hold my center firm
So it does not want so much—
So it does not have to fear
Coming undone—
To quiet the qualm,
The insistent foreboding,
That all that remains
Is the unraveling.

Important words from Mom

Sit like a lady remember
your manners you are known
by the company you keep

It’s my church and I won’t
leave just because of
them absolutely women
should be priests

I don’t think we need to
surrender femininity for
equality you can be anything
you want to be

I don’t care who started
it I’m stopping it don’t
hit it doesn’t solve anything

Don’t talk to me that way I
am not some kid on
the playground March

right back into the bathroom
and tone down that eyeshadow
before you leave the house
young lady

You are everything I hoped
you could be and more
nothing you could say or
do could make me
stop loving you don’t
forget that

What a woman you are,
a goddess thank you
for giving birth to my
grandsons

You have to forgive
yourself if not it’s a
foolish kind of pride never,
ever forget how much
that man loves you

Oh, for God’s sake, Erin
snap out of it

Apron strings stretch
far and wide, far
and wide

I wrote another poem last month for my mom. You can find it here. The above is a "found" poem taken directly from her. I love you, Mom. So much.

Readwriterevise!

This week's readwritepoem prompt is to revise one of the poems we wrote for napowrimo. I chose to revise my Guinevere poem. You can see the original here. I wound up not making as many changes as I thought I would, just a few tweaks here and there to the third and last stanzas. I'm happier with it now.

Her Sword
In the tower of the convent
In the tangle of her mind
Guinevere sighed and
Reached back in time
And wondered …
If Excalibur
Had been for her
What might have been?

If woman could part
Blade from stone
And take for hers
The sovereign crown
Would love still have
To sacrifice to law?

Could she thwart
Merlin’s prophecy
And set the fate
Of women free
From shouldering
The burden of the fall?

Could the kingdom
Ever belong to her at all?

If power and glory
Were hers to take
And the beginning
Of it, hers to make,
For the three of them
And Camelot’s sake,
Should she not
Hurl
That fabled sword
Into the lake?

Shantih

Sanskrit for peace. In

Hebrew, shalom. In Irish,

siochan. Shhh. Listen.

Now that the wonderful madness of napowrimo is over, I can turn my attention to sculptingthemetal'sedge, Rick's metal sculpture blog. It's a nice place to visit to view beautiful metal sculpture and some short verses by yours truly. Shantih!

Atone

I've taken a little bit of a breather since completing the poem-a-day marathon in April. However, today I was itching to return, but searching for inspiration. I visited http://readwritepoem.org/ and used one of their random word prompts to get me started. My word was atone.

I played with the word a bit and came up with this. It's a work in progress.

Atone.
Each syllable tugs and pulls.
Atone.
It clangs like a giant bell
A-tone! Bong! A-tone! Bong!
Its clapper collides again and again
A-tone! A-tone!
against the mouth of my stomach.
It lies there like an anchor
on the seafloor of the conscience.

When I prepared for my
first confession Sister Marcia
said it was the same as At One.
But the breach between the two
is far bigger than a space bar
on a keyboard.

Atone.
An atonal song is the hardest to sing.
Its chords are ambiguous,
its harmonic inflections,
improbable.
There is no bridge,
no hook.
Does failure to atone
damn one to a hell
of looping Stravinsky?

Atone.
Careful not to let it slip:
Go from tapping the tongue
firmly on the ridge
behind your front teeth
to laying it lightly
at the very same
spot,
and easily,
too easily,
Atone becomes
Alone.