Talk about tangential!
Right there, adjacent to
the definition, a reference.
[Washington Times, October 16, 2015.]
“They were recently seen in
Columbia County northwest of Portland
and also near Tangent and Sweet Home.”
 
One could live in Portland, a port,
refuge in any storm, and living in
Sweet Home sounds almost like
Heaven itself, but living in
Tangent? Or even paying a visit,
making brief contact before
proceeding on the way?
There’s no appeal in that.
 
That woman, though, the one
passing through, in Tangent pursuing
her own path? Her name’s Malarkey, no lie,
at least about the name. The baby?
That’s a story for another day.
Talk about tangential, even though
we know it’s the truth.
 
 
 
This is in response to Miz Quickly’s Day Eight challenge. Please go there to take a look at her instructions because I think I got pretty tangential in this poem here. 🙂

 
 
Skipping stones, skipping breakfast,
Stoned at break of day.
Stone-faced and alone, watching
the sun rise and set.

Eating from ironstone dishes,
Fine stoneware, resistant to chips.
Heart of stone, unbroken, unmoved, unchipped.
Leaving stones unturned and why?

A decision cast in stone, to cast a
stone, but not in a glass
house of my own making, a
stepping stone to somewhere
else/elsewhere, my where
a stone’s throw away.

 
 
This was written in response to Miz Quickly’s Day Seven challenge in which we were to select several words and just keep writing to see where we were led. “Stone” is the word that struck me and stuck.

Although the calendar says November,
red roses and azaleas bloom.
 
I sit on wrought iron furniture
drink Jungle Java, black and hot and
listen to Brazilian samba
under tangerine umbrellas,
glowing, blowing in the breeze while
skies cerulean overhead and
wisps of whitest cirrus promise
grayer weather yet to come
 
Although the calendar says November
the beach says, “No,” as roses bloom.
 
 
Miz Quickly asked for a list poem on Day Six. This is a list of what I saw while drinking coffee outdoors in my favorite Rehoboth Beach coffee shop on November 6, 2015. The photo is of roses still in bloom there in mid-fall.

Who is that woman
in autumnal reflection,
her secrets exposed?
 
 
 
“Can you haiku you?” asked Miz Quickly on Day Five. Maybe. Or maybe this is just a start, a place holder for later reflection.

 

In the ruins of Hiroshima, what survived?
Who carried on life as before,
six legs scurrying to hiding places
previously unknown, small eyes
taking in a world transformed,
antennae a-twitch, sensing new odors,
making sense of the new order?
 
Yes, I could snuff out your life
in an instant or less,
did I not marvel at
such persistent existence, this
unexpected ray of hope
in a world gone mad.
 
 
This poem was written in response to Miz Quickly’s day four challenge, in which she asked us to think about things that could not be killed or erased. I’m not sure why I thought to determine whether cockroaches could survive a nuclear holocaust, but I found out that they not only could but did, being one of the few living things found by those who were sent to examine the aftereffects of the bomb blast at Hiroshima. This is not the poem Miz Quickly suggested, but it’s the one that wanted to be written right now. I’m also humbly posting this on Margo’s Tuesday prompt because I think it has a volta, although I’m never quite sure.

A day mislaid,
its hours misplayed,
its minutes lost
at such a cost.
 
Where do they go?
Above? Below?
We do not know,
yet miss them so.
 
 
When one spends 15 hours working at the polls, poetry is lost, even the pretense at poetry is lost. Doggerel hangs around for a while, though. This is a response to Miz Quickly’s Day Three challenge.

Your world.
The light passes through it,
illuminating speckles,
dark stars in your days.
Night comes. The darkness
extinguishes stars.

You learn change from
the light but remain
unprepared. Now you must
open one eye and emerge
from the universe into
a light unknown, still
longing for the stars.

This poem was written on day two of Miz Quickly’s November challenge. Go look at her inspiring image prompt.

 

At the center, the breath
my breath, our breath,
God’s breath.

In, out, steady, studied,
unnoticed, never forgotten
in continuous being.

In, out, exchanging
atoms with the universe.
Stardust personified.

 
 
This poem was written for the first day of a month-long series of poetry prompts from Miz Quickly. Today she asked us to create a frame of reference as a starting point for the month. I’ve just finished a 31 Day course in Mindfulness, hence my current cosmic center.

Un Chien Andalou
 
Eye of a woman
held open wide,
strong fingers on the lid
and the cheekbone beneath.
 
A razor in the
right hand so close
to her passive face.
Cut to the moon.
 
 
 
This poem was written for Margo Roby’s prompt that we think of a movie scene so distasteful or upsetting that it has kept us from wanting to see the film again. In this case, I am referring to a still photo from Luis Buñel’s early film Un Chien Andalou that is so disturbing to me that I would never want to see it in action. Ever. In reading about this movie, I have learned that this image is immediately followed by one of a thin cloud slicing across the full moon, but I don’t think I’d still be watching the film by then. I will not post a picture to accompany this poem, but will post a link for those who might want to take a look. http://www.destroythebrain.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/un-chien-andalou.jpg
 
 

He’s looking — he should
be listening. The memories
are in the whispers
of the dry leaves not
yet ready to fall.
This tree might have
shaded his mother
all those years ago.

The house he came to see, gone,
enshrouded in the dead beige brick
of the local funeral parlor.

Disappointment in his eyes,
but listen. Those leaves, today
they are still alive.

I’ve been in a long dry spell, not really writing much of anything. This poem was inspired by my husband’s journey to view the home in Wolf Point, MT where his mother had spent part of her childhood.