alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
I was happily hit by the desire to write poetry today. This poem is based on a collection of my earliest memories which were all formed at a time when my family was living in Mesa, Arizona in the southwestern United States. The song referenced is "The Moonshiner" a traditional folk song.

Mind the Cactus

Some lessons seem etched
onto my bones
no memory of being told
no memory of learning the hard way
the sharp bite of the spine sinking into skin
but I knew to mind the cactus

Mind the cactus and celebrate the rain
stomp, jump, twirl
bare feet in warm puddles
swing and sway with a cheshire smile
wondering if I can soak up the water
become a cactus, prickly but sweet

Celebrate the rain and respect the storm
dry earth can't soak up water fast enough
doesn't take long, a wild river surges
and you best be well out of reach
watch the swirling currents and know
all things can turn fierce

Respect the storm and love its light show
light arcing from cloud to cloud
dancing through the sky to strike the ground
viewed from the safety of my father's arms
rocking gently on the carport
fierce things are also beautiful

Love the light show and be soothed by music
head tucked against my father's chest
feeling the rumbling bass as he sings
hearing it in my bones
I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler,
I'm a long way from home

these are the lessons etched in my soul
alee_grrl: A kitty peeking out from between a stack of books and a cup of coffee. (Default)
So this little couplet struck me this evening, inspired heavily by today's strong winds. It may grow into something else, or it may remain as is. I just wanted to get it down before I forgot it.

I am a bottle played by the wind
howling, mournful, and hollow within.
alee_grrl: a still of chihuro sitting on a balcony overlooking water and watching the train ride across the water (train watching)
My father has always loved trains, and we frequently lived very near to tracks. So the sounds of trains are usually a familiar sound. This poem could have been written using a number of travel metaphors, but I knew it had to be trains. I have really been struggling with how to capture the complex emotional mess that is hospice waiting.

So I am turning to my common outlet and seeing if writing will help me clarify what I'm feeling or just make me cry (apparently I need a good cry). This is a seriously rough draft.

Waiting on a Train
poem contains imagery and metaphor dealing with death and loss )
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
As most of you know I do a lot of my reflecting and meditation through poetry. Many of the poems in the coming months will likely deal with memories of my father. This is the first one that has managed to get through the storm of emotion I'm feeling right now.

My Father's Hands

I may not remember
being so small I fit
cheek to cheek
across a single palm

But I remember
my tiny hands
wrapped around
a single finger
walking along
so happy in your shadow

I remember
big fingers surprisingly
dexterous
machines fixed
banjos picked
necklaces and curly hair
gently, patiently untangled

I look at my hands
still tiny despite being grown
and I cannot help
but think of yours
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
This comes out of late night ruminations of the common saying "words can only hurt you if you let them."






An Ocean
CW: Allusions of drowning )
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
Poetry is such a wonderful way of acknowledging emotion.

Results

"I did not pass"
ash bitter words on leaden tongue
washed away in salty tang
breathe in hope
"I will get it next time"
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
After being tasked with managing/updating my employer's twitter account I decided it might be worth creating a personal account as well.

Because I am me, my first tweet was in the form of a poem.

Tweet

succombed to siren's call to sing
of life and beauty distilled
a universe in a burst of song
alee_grrl: From Fantasia: Demon mountain from Night on Bald Mountain (bald mountain)
Poetry, because my brain is itching to do something besides panic. I'm driving down to Norfolk on Monday. The essay/short answer portion of test is on Tuesday, and multiple Choice sections on Wednesday. I'll return home on Thursday.

Over at [community profile] poetree there has been some fabulous posts this week on exploring politics through poetry, including [personal profile] raze's wonderful exploration of jazz poetry and Langston Hughes. You might say that this poem was inspired by that post and jazz poetry.

This is a little rough in spots, and I'm not sure about the fourth and fifth stanzas.Poem below the cut. )
alee_grrl: Railroad tracks through an autumn forrest (autumn rails)
Cross-posted at [community profile] poetree. This is my entry for this week's community themed week about remembrance and memorial. I wanted to share this here as well because it is what I spent a lot of time working on last week. Post does not reflect my current mood. I am very happy and enjoying my birthday!

In the northern hemisphere November is a time when the days darken earlier and shadows seem more prevalent. This can make it easier for our personal demons to trouble us. As the holidays approach we often feel our losses more deeply. For many people I know November is a time for remembrance and memorial. Whether it is remembering their dearly departed on All Saints Day/Dios de los Muertos, remembering Veteran's and the cost of war on Armistice/Veteran's Day, or remembering holiday seasons past be they good or bad. For me personally it is a mix of all these things, plus the annual memorial that is my birthday, mixed with the anniversary of a dreadful storm that I witnessed as a child.. Most would not think of birthdays as memorials, but in the sense that it is a day for remembering and contemplating the past I find that birthdays are the ultimate memorial. I felt it fitting that I start our week on remembrance and memorial since today is my birthday.

It is a month that always makes me think of the past and the many uncertain associations that I have with the month. It is also a time for me to reflect on the positive things that have come into my life, and the wonders of friendship and love that I've experienced as I've grown older. I wanted to write a poem that captured this mix of feelings and contemplation. I am going to put the poem under a cut as it may contain some triggering material for folks. For all the darkness and rawness contained in the poem, I did try to end on a lighter more hopeful tone. Also, for those interested the storm referred to was one that hit the Shreveport, LA area on November 15, 1987. It spawned several tornadoes, including the F3 that essentially went right over our heads.

Feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome. I also welcome people to share in the comments what they remember this month.

So trigger warning: poem contains themes of child abuse, domestic violence, neglect, PTSD, and rather detailed description of a natural disaster and the related shock )
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
Been wanting to write some poetry for National Poetry Month, but haven't had a lot of ideas or energy. I got to thinking about this strange sense of sadness I have felt today. It isn't a bad feeling, certainly not the deep dark well of depression. Just a vague sense of sadness. I decided to accept that this was just how I felt today, and ended up writing a short poem based on my reflections.

Meloncholy

Bitter with just a hint of sweetness
darkness, close, yet vast
like being wrapped in one cavernous blanket
or riding a sea of sadness on a tiny tugboat
breathe deep the salty air
feel the moisture on your face
it is okay to just be
in this comforting sadness
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
So I have managed to write two shorter poems the past few weeks. "Patched" was actually written first, but I put it second here because it flows thematically from the first.

Worn )

Patched )
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
Today involved a nearly five hour drive, along with a few minor delays as I traveled from home to the NYC area so I can attend the LegalTech conference. I am one of those few people who genuinely enjoys driving and long drives. So I am tired, but feel pretty good despite some fatigue. I have spent a lifetime traveling, with many long road trips along the way. My first cross country move was when I was 9 months old. I've been familiar with roads every since. This poem is some of my pagan musings about travel and one of the gods who speaks most to me.

Prayer Wheels

Rubber on pavement
humming along
the road awaits

my hands on the wheel
my feet hover over pedals
I breathe in anticipation

what lies around the corner
on these roads ahead of me
hope and fear beneath my treads
possibilities abound

Be wary of the turns
deceptive they can be
Watch the other drivers
and careful with the speed
Find humor in delays
And kindness in frustration

every turn of the wheel
the steady beat of the music
a whispered prayer to the god
I've known the longest
since birth I have traveled
along his many paths

the God of Roads guide and keep me
as I travel his domain
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
It's been a rather rough week and I am very low on spoons. I have a lot going on emotionally and mentally and I wrote this poem to work through some of it. I do not really wish to discuss the events of the week on my blog at this moment, but would like to share the poem.  It's fairly vague and general and has no real discussion about depression or other potentially triggery things.  It's essentially about making a hard choice, particularly in the context of a relationship.  I've put it under a cut in case people do not have the spoons to read it at the moment.

Sometimes )
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
This poem is for [personal profile] gramina who won [community profile] poetree challenge #23. Zie requested a poem on the theme of grief/loss/change. The title was inspired by listening to the absolutely haunting Skyfall by Adele.

Skyfall

I always think about you
this time of year
sky heavy and gray, the weight of it
ready to fall around our shoulders

the still cold quiet
death on the wind
aches through to my soul

these are the days your loss
echos painfully
through the chambers of my heart
I long to have one more
minute, hug, touch, smile
one more sliver of forever

frozen fingers of wind tug
tendrils of hair uncovered
a playful howling ghost

gloved hands tucked deep
huddled here waiting
for the sky to fall
I think of you

I wrap the memory of your smile
around my heart like a coat
You laugh shivers through my veins
hot chocolate for my heart
I can hear your whisper
let the sky fall

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alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
So I did some redrafting of The War Within. Tightened up some of the language and form. Thoughts and constructive criticism appreciated as always. Additionally if you want to share, please do. All I ask is that my user name and maybe a link back to this post or my blog be included.

The War Within

Long term disease, chronic illness, isn't a fight,
isn't a boxing match where you see who won this round.
It is entrenched guerrilla warfare within your own body.
Read more... )
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
This is one that's been germinating in the back of my mind for a while. It might take a few rewrites yet to get it right where I want it, but I thought I'd go ahead and post it. Thoughts and constructive criticism welcome.

The War Within

Long term disease, chronic illness, isn't a *fight*,
isn't a boxing match where you see who won this round.
It is entrenched guerrilla warfare within your own body.
Read more... )

Poem: Tag

Jul. 28th, 2012 02:39 pm
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
Not sure quite yet what I think of this one. It may get some more tweaking later. As always concrit is welcome and appreciated.

Tag

meta-tagging seems so new
but we've been doing it for millennia
objects around us collecting
associations, walls absorbing memories
Read more... )
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
This poem is for [personal profile] primeideal who won [community profile] poetree's Climbing the Poet's Tree Challenge #12. There was no specific prompt, so I took the inspiration from [personal profile] primeideal's journal and AO3 site. I noticed ze liked both Harry Potter and Wicked, and this was born. It is a poem written by an adult Harry Potter, who took up writing poetry and journaling as part of his therapy in the years after the war.

Defying Gravity

The world has tried to hold me down.
Every insult another stone, heavy
on shoulders too tiny to bear
Atlas' load. Semper Gravitas--
leave your smile at the door.

We met by chance, your smile unfolded
as we sat, two strangers on a train bound
for a new adventure. Magic and mystery,
a world unforeseen--friendship at last;
tiny cracks form in the stones round my heart.

We two soon become three,
and gravitas fell to the side. Smiles
became more frequent and laughter abounded.
Insults still thrown, but heaven was found
the day my broom took to the skies.

The world fell away, the wind tugged
my hair; the sense of freedom surrounded.
Gravitas returned when my feet touched the ground,
but the pull no longer overwhelmed me.
Because now I knew how to defy gravity.
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
This poem was spurred into being yesterday evening when I got home from dinner. My water had gone out (again, and is now fixed, again, hopefully will stay that way), so I went into the village for dinner at the local tavern. I've been eating there pretty regularly since I started Lyme treatment and most of them are used to my meat and veggie only orders. My waitress wasn't one I'd had that often (though she was very sweet and as attentive as she could be considering they were slammed and only had one server working). She kindly asked if I wanted desert (which is her job after all), and I said "No thank, I'm not allowed sweets." Her response was "well at least it will save your teeth." I made the non-committal, "yeah, I suppose" sort of nod and headed home. This then insisted on being written. It came out much longer than I expected. Not entirely sure if I like it or not, it's a bit more poetry slam style than I tend to write (or at least feels that way to me). Constructive criticism is welcome.

trigger warning: dental issues abound, might want to skip this if you are dentist phobic )
alee_grrl: Open book with purple iris in crease, text reads poetry (poetry)
Some weeks back [personal profile] zirconium won the Climbing the Poet's Tree Challenge for Challenge #7. She selected a poem written by me as her prize. When I asked her what topic she wanted a poem on, she asked for a poem in response to one of her poems. She has many lovely poems and I highly recommend you go read them. Ultimately this is the one I chose as it spoke quite loudly to my muse. The resulting poem was also heavily influenced by the Southern US flavor of some of [personal profile] zirconium's poems.

[personal profile] zirconium has kindly given me permission to post her prize here. And so I present:

Cheshire Magic

That silver sliver of moon hangs low over the horizon
Venus bright and shining nearby;
the rainsong thrum of cicadas dense in the air.

Beads of sweat drip down her face,
she wipes her brow with a soft old cloth,
and sways with the warm light breeze.

Lightning bugs wink in warm summer air;
children's laughter dances through the night.
A smile plays across her upturned face.

She hums as she dances in the moonlight,
the frogs keeping time with their croaks.
The mosquitos buzz, but she pays them no mind.

She dances the weight of the week off her shoulders
each step a hopeful wish for the coming days.
Some spells need no words; some prayers are silent.

Waltzing with the wind on a Saturday night
she knows one thing for sure.
Mischief and magic are both likely under this Cheshire moon.

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alee_grrl: A kitty peeking out from between a stack of books and a cup of coffee. (Default)
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