Fountain

I ran away with all your love --
filled my pockets,
cupped my hands to catch it,
poured what I could
in the curls of my hair
and my morning, afternoon,
and evening mug --
"Call Your Mother"
it says.

You laughed at me,
playing in the arc and splash
of your love,
like the children
who play in the fountain
in the Park on Queen Street
in the summers,
the ones we said
we wanted to be like.

and then I ran --
mug and pockets and hair
arms and eyes
full of what you gave so freely.

The Evolution of God

Shadow in a speckled wood

Rustle of the leaves

These that haunt the hunting man

keeping safe his seed.

Under-haunted, unbelieving

taken by surprise –

the brother of the man who lived

and gave us El Shaddai.

Pages, pens, and ink away

Israel’s story thrives

Learned people hunting hist’ry

For the reasons why –

Shadow in a speckled wood

Rustle of the leaves

These that haunt the hunting man

keeping safe his seed.

Sleepover (4/30)

Pillowed heads

side-by-side in bed

in the corner room

with the ochre walls

that you can't see 

with the lights out.

Bare feet

poking out from the sheets

that cover the bed

with the pillowed heads

in the corner room

with the ochre walls

that you can't see

with the lights out.

Unquiet minds

that speak whispers 

and rustle the blinds

beside the bare feet

that poke out from the sheets

that cover the bed 

with the pillowed heads

in the corner room

with the ochre walls

that you can't see 

with the lights out.

Scene from an Auction (4/29)

75 and now 80
80 dollars and we're onto
90! 90 dollars from the lady in the back.
And now who'll give me 95?
90 dollars now going at 95
95,
90 dollars and now 95,
do I see 95?
90 dollars and now
95! 95?
Sold! for 90 dollars!
and your number is...
11, number 11

Study Break Poems (4/26 - 4/28)

Finals week proved to be the hardest week for me in April's poetry challenge. Instead of taking my 11:30-12pm block of time for poetry writing, I started taking advantage of small study brain farts and moments of exasperation. When such a moment crept upon me, out of the books and papers strewn about me, I would lean over to the wall beside me, and make a magnetic poem. These poems were use small collections of words, like the ones you see below. Usually, the words were close together, so all I really had to do was push them into form with my pointer finger (Things have to be simple during finals week. Anything passed simple is strictly overwhelming.) And so, without further introduction, I present to you, my simple (and semi-humorous) magnetic poetry.

 

Re(as)semble

Everything here feels like a beginning.
It's a new season,
and love is growing on the trees.
I feel an excitement inside me
building to something,
a climax --
but only we drive forward
to separation --
Turn, turn, turn.

What strange tossing in a familiar sea.
In and out of water
re-learning how to breath.
I feel an excitement growing inside me
building to something
a tsunami --
but only we swim forward
to separ-
ation.
Turn, turn, turn.

The long awaited vista is peaking
out from behind this mountain
asking to be seen.
I feel an excitement growing inside me
building to something
a mountain peak --
but only we climb onward
to separation.
Turn

Juice

This is how a poem looks
the night before a final exam:




Time for bed.