The Freedom Song of the Jigsaw Girl

This month's workshop focus was on Hunger and poetry, more specifically poetry as activism and how it can be used to fight empty stomach hunger. I really appreciated that they distinguished empty stomach hunger from other forms as there are a lot of poems on metaphorical hunger, on emotional hunger, etc. Apparently there aren't as many on the topic of empty stomach hunger. The poet running the workshop also helped organize this website: Poetry X Hunger, which focuses on using poetry to raise awareness and funds to fight hunger worldwide. He encouraged us to submit our poems and I am considering doing so.

This topic is one that hits very close to home for me given that I grew up in a working class and struggling family and am currently on SNAP (food stamps) benefits since I am only working part-time. The rough poem I penned during the workshop turned into two separate poems by the time I was done.

This first one feels more like a spoken word piece, one that is meant to be performed, but I haven't had the spoons to try recording myself reading it yet. The second poem was originally part of the first, but ultimately taken out and reworked as it felt like it's own poem entirely. It's more of a standard blank verse poem. ( I am putting these under a cut because they deal with food and poverty issues as a whole and not just hunger as a topic. Content warnings: Implied disordered eating. Mentions of and references to sensory issues with food, diet culture, poverty shaming, and fat shaming. )

The first Pride Poetry workshop I attended focused on Odes, and one of the poems we read was Ode to Smoked Salmon Jerky by Irène P. Mathieu At the end of the workshop we were given about 20 minutes or so to write our own Odes, or at least the start of one and a list of words to help prompt us. I ended up choosing the word lilacs and going from there. One of the things I loved about the poem above was the interweaving of present sensory moments with past memories and historical elements. I tried to do a similar thing with my poem, though I did not follow the exact format of the inspiring poem.

Ode to Lilacs

Born to the lilac city
Long before the lilacs would bloom
Yet their sweet fragrance remains
A stale perfume haunting my memories

This delicate flower brought
From the cradle of humanity
And carried far and wide
Finding a home here
Rooted deep in the valley of the sun’s children
Rooted deep in me

Lush blooms in early spring
Twilight clouds – white, pink, purple
Glowing against verdant leaves
Blooms brief but sweet, returning yearly
A scent of hope lingering in the back of my throat
Taking me back to a home rarely lived in
Yet still such a part of me

The scent fills my lungs and the colors fill my vision
Such brief and potent beauty
A token of spring
And a promise that renewal has come again.

A reminder that I may have wandered far from the roots I sprouted from
That I may be a late bloomer in so many ways
Yet every year I bloom just that much more.

My local library has issued a book spine poetry contest asking patrons to use the titles of books they have in their house to create a poem in honor of National Poetry Month.

This was a fun and interesting challenge, and perhaps a little harder than I expected since there is an extreme lack of verbs in most of my book titles (or if they exist as part of a title then it is harder to work that into a coherent poem). But after looking at my shelves for a bit I was able to come up with something, and here is the result of my endeavors.

Finding Hope in Dark Times

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

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 )

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

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 poetree there has been some fabulous posts this week on exploring politics through poetry, including 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. )

Thought I would collect all of my answers to the 2013 Treak or Treat Haiku fest that jjhunter hosted yesterday.

Prompt: Werewolves

the moon is full and
my feet itch to run and howl
with the pack; sadly

my skin refuses to change
and human I remain

Prompt: Leaf

leave me alone
I will fall in my own time
a leaf on the wind

(also check out the luzula's lovely follow-up to this haiku)

Prompt: Happiness

a tiny kindness
giggles and bubbles breeze by
warm cider and hugs

Prompt: Flowers

memorial blooms
sprigs of love brighten shades of
grief; life blooms in death

( Brief discussion of medical stuff. )

Fe: a haikai

limbs slow and heavy
thought fragments bleed through cotton
stuffed brain, bruised bags shine

against pale skin. Not zombie.
Just iron deficient.

Something light hearted.

Bubbles

Breathe soft through soap film
fragile rainbow sphere floats off
oh so fun to pop