Poetry Padawan

Poem # 15 (reviseed)

2011-12-18T06:45:00.000-08:00

Bread and Blood

Just dip the wafer in the cup

it’s the least messy option, the clean and sanitary way

Look, your experience here is limited

to say the least

So take me up on the offer –

to remain ever prim and proper

There, that’s much more agreeable, isn’t it?

After all, who wants to kneel with parted lips, like a hopeful nursing babe?

Isn’t it enough to have to bend low?

But as the cup passes by,

more words in priestly voices

make me wish I’d dropped the moon in my palm,

and reached past the railing,

for silver with both hands

Risk germs from mouths and crumbs from fingers

Only let me gulp until my thirst is slaked,

while wine dribbles slowly

down my own dirty chin

Poem # 14

2011-12-16T08:56:00.000-08:00

“Country Talk”

Well,

if I ever make a needlework sampler,

to hang up on the panelin’ a some new home

The stitchy letters won’t give no advice on how to

Live,

Laugh,

or – Lord help us – Love

No.

My advice gone be much, much simpler:

“Take the stitchin’ out your own faithless heart, child”

Let it bleed, for Christ’s sake

Let

Bleed

poem #13

2011-10-06T16:39:00.000-07:00

“Slow, Slow. Quick-quick. Fade”

Sometimes,

when I lay my head beside your sleeping face

my breath stops short

caught in the stillness of the moment

and the fear of everlasting: a night without you

Time’s turner flips my stomach – violent and unrelenting

How can we have loved so impossibly long,

yet feel like one day has passed

since your hand first squeezed mine,

in the dark theatre where two seats were too far apart?

How did those lost ones end up here –

in a house with three budding children

and a single name for us all?

I swear, I swear, I swear

I blinked exactly once before
we both began to grey.

poem #12

2011-08-30T08:20:00.000-07:00

“Rising Hill Road”

There’s a road that curves exactly the same as the line I see on my palm

It travels along my arm to the veins I can’t see inside my heart

I walk its paths when I’m asleep

And dream its greens when I’m awake

The willows bow to trace its edges, and a late summer breeze shuffles past

The twilight sky dances toward dark, but my footsteps make no sound

The road is smooth and I am young

At the end of it is home

So, I hold my breath and hope to catch a glimpse of the far-off waning moon

Poem #10

2011-06-16T08:28:00.000-07:00

"Untitled, Unnamed, Unheard"

Your birthday's passed
but soon it will be your day
Again, and still
I have nothing left to say

How long can it possibly be
until you use your voice to speak?

Poem #9

2011-05-16T11:01:00.000-07:00

Progress

Most days I manage a pretty even pace up this (un)naturally graveled hill.

Perhaps it’s a mountain, but the trees beside, in back and front, betray the budding view.

I hear your walking steps out here, the smush of leaves beneath your boots, the snap of breaking twigs.

We're all out here it seems, but rarely do we travel in packs. (Can't get into why just now)

When our paths cross, I'm thinking you don't see the stack of pages trailing behind me.

It's so small, why would you even look?

Just a ragged pile of paper, faded, recycled blue;

the middle of it bound with string and hanging from my shoe.

Torn edges scrape along, margins collecting dirt. Which is okay, like I said, the paper is not exactly, (was it ever?) fresh, new and white. Sometimes I stop to examine the dull pastels, the dingy yarn wrapped around them, and me. Who could believe these knots would last fo(u)r years?

But mostly I keep climbing.

Nothing that tiny could ever slow me down. Surely, you've even seen me running the smoother pieces of this trail. See how quick my step is on the rocks, how lightly I traverse? The hitch in my gait from the bundle below is now a natural walk.

And on really lucky days, I fly, weighed down by not one thing.

That’s when I call your name loudest and beg you watch me soar.

I will never grow weary, mounting up with eagle wings.

My walk will never faint.

But some days – like yesterday. When I know today is coming and no one remembers but me.

The package snags upon a thorn and I long for you to see. Slow up, fall behind me.

Reach down and untangle the mess -- I stop to question; your shadow glides ahead.

My lips part at the sight of your own trailing baggage and close at the sound of its bounce.

** I am cheating just a bit this week. Found an old poem I was never pleased with and reworked it for today. I first started it two years ago. Hopefully it is finished now.

Poem #8

2011-04-05T06:06:00.001-07:00

Nostalgia for the Not-Yet

i want to walk the streets of a small hometown with my arm around only you

to live where my choice of gas stations and grocery stores is limited to two

yes, it may take us nearly an hour to get to a movie or mall

but when we’re drivin’ on the way, we’ll find some time to talk

yes, we’ll miss dining out frequently, and eating foreign food

but maybe we‘ll appreciate it even more then, when we do

yes, our children might turn into, or worse even – marry, rednecks

but their worries won’t be any larger dear, than their biggest paychecks

we wouldn’t have to own lots of land just to feel a space in this world

there’d be space as far as we could see, waitin’ outside our front door

we’d throw horseshoes toward the setting sun, let the kids run barefoot at night

our kisses would land light as air, and our love always stay in sight

we could learn somehow to slow life down and live the here and now

push back against the dam of time and spread more hope around

i see it, darling; can you too? is it a place you’d like to know?

then take my hand, wrap it up in yours. together we will go.

Poem #7

2011-04-04T10:44:00.000-07:00

Helpless

On a grey day I long for your intensity

To lay bare on a blanket, covered in your heat

To close my eyes against your glare,

spread my limbs toward your color,

open my mouth and swallow your warmth

And when you peek out through the clouds of another day,

I wish for more of you

I’m willing to linger --

hoping for just enough rays to freckle my skin,

just enough flame to flush my cheeks

Even on a blistery day, with you at your brightest

And me completely exposed, nearly on fire

I never tell you to go away

(How would I even try? You rise and set not at my command.)

Turn me to shadow, so long as you can stay

Though I know you wrinkle and age
I have seen the spots you leave behind,
the exhaustion your passion creates

Why, I myself stroke the burnt flesh
of patients you sent to the cancer ward

Poem #6

2011-03-09T09:54:00.000-08:00

Rain, Rain
You don't have to
GO Away,
just
Please, Please
Don't seep into
the house today.

Poem #5

2011-02-21T17:24:00.000-08:00

"always, a daughter"

i am thirty-four years old
and have spent nearly as much time away from home
as i did growing up there

i am a wife
with three children of my own to care for
and yet,

few things in life can comfort
like the quiet conversations,
the whispery early-morning voices
of a mother and a father
when everyone else in the house is
supposedly
asleep

Two English Majors (December 1996)

2011-02-14T08:42:00.000-08:00

"Shades of mediocrity" is you,
and "I go to extremes"
You're mildly sipping your coffee,
while my stomach's tied in two ...

Everything I say about me,
you simply say, "that's cool"
Anything that you do,
I reply, "you're so funny"

"John Steinbeck rules!"
"John Steinbeck is so dead."
"Nobody can eat fifty eggs!"
"Waddaya want Mary? Do ya want the moon?"

Keep on reading ...
My "good" writing.

Poem # 4

2011-02-07T18:36:00.000-08:00

"Lovers at Sea"

Beloved Beauty pursuing her bliss –

a tale that is sure to make sore

Trolling blue depths for the truest of myths,

her sailor not gone off to war

No, he’s right there beside her

spinning yarn into gold

Yes, he’s steering in tighter

love’s mercies to hold

They’re naming the waters

of souls torn asunder

While trash is turned treasure,

worth well more than plunder

The Anne girl loves better; him by her side

no union was ever so sweet

Songs never ending for his blushing bride,

the loveliest star of the fleet

Poem # 3

2011-01-31T17:57:00.000-08:00

"Dear Eyebrows"

Must I contend with you for the rest
of my life?

Everyone can tell I am getting older
and gravity takes it's toll on a face,
but must you defy so great a force
and continue to climb my brow?

Will you always be wiry and wild,
never soft and smooth? Will I be
tweezing you every day until all
my days are gone?

Remember when you liked to remain separate,
two distinct arches above either eye? Remember
when you were all the same shade of dark brown,
and you feathered, instead of jagged?

I am ever so sorry about gashing one of you
wide open. I was only four or five,
and the puppies sounded sooooo cute.
Slipping in socks, on hardwood, into concrete.

Was it truly so grievous an act that you
must punish me with your unwieldy ways, from now on,
for forever?

Some songs are poetic

2011-01-31T10:54:00.001-08:00

Like this one by Regina Spektor: The Wallet

I found a wallet
I found a wallet
inside were pictures of your small family
you were so young
your hair dark brown
you had been born in nineteen fifty-three

your winter birthday
was stamped on the plastic
of a license so recently expired
I was so tired
as I walked through my door
I let all the contents of your wallet on the floor

and like a holy relic
or a mystery novel
I thumbed them in the dim light
searching for a clue
a blockbuster card
an old stick of juicy fruit
a crumpled receipt
for a pair of leather boots

I have no wallet
I have no wallet
I keep my cards together with a blue rubber band
and with a free hand
I search in my pockets
for pieces of, pieces of paper and change

I'll take your wallet
to my local blockbuster
they'll find your number
in their computer
you'll never know me
I'll never know you
but you'll be so happy
when they call you up

Poem # 2

2011-01-24T11:54:00.000-08:00

(untitled)

The cat in the cradle told me to hold my tongue.
Then he suggested I hold my face just so.
"Don't let go of those tears," he said.
"And you might want to hang on to those smiles, too."

It wasn't long before I learned how to keep it all tucked in close.
We had everything completely under control
And what a team we were!
that cat and I.

But what the feline failed to say, or even to know
is that the more you hold on to,
the more there is to drop. And
Oh, the hissing when that basket finally does hit the ground!

Next thing you know, I am down there too.
Scratching and clawing to correct the upheaval.
Decorum! Maintain the, we must have the
ahem, Order.

That's when I spy the running red lines.
That's when I look back at my curled up claws
That's when I long to learn the ways of another,
smaller, gentler, less clutchy animal.

Poem # 1

2011-01-16T20:11:00.000-08:00

"Classify"

State your name and address lady,
then tell me where you're from.
Last name first and first name last
'cause we gotta move this thing along

Rank and file and exact location --
are these the matters of identification?

I don't have answers to your questions
Not the kind of answers you seek
Fill in the blank and True or False,
Small boxes which ask for a check

"Fine" and "Good" can't be the only responses
for the question, "How are you?"

And just because it's the biggest footprint
you swear you've ever seen,
does not mean that you know at all
who I am and where I've been.

Two Sides of a Snowflake

2011-01-10T18:44:00.000-08:00

The Dark Side

The sky is gray today,

and the kids are home from school -

again.

We’re out of milk and the world’s shut down.

It feels like time is standing still.

How many movies can we watch?

The clock ticks oh__ so__ slow___

We’ve done it all and it’s only 2.

We’ve got hours more to go.

I’m going C-R-A-Z-Y

cooped up in here all day

and if don’t get out, I’ll scream.

But out there it’s dreary and cold

and in here I’ve got laundry to fold

so maybe I'll just stay

inside today.

The Bright Side

What a beautiful gift is floating down

from my father in heaven today.

(And it’s not even my birthday!)

Beautiful white, pure and clean,

covers the ground –

a picture perfect scene.

The air is crisp

and the flakes are wet

as I catch them on my tongue.

The trees are all dressed

in their wintery best

and even the cars driving by

(I *giggle* to see one slide)

are draped in white

tonight.

-- Jill Kovalchik