Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Poetry Stretch Results - Love Letters to the World

The challenge this week was to write a poem about the thing(s) you love. Wow! This one seemed to really inspire a lot of folks. Here are the somewhat lengthy results. Enjoy!
Jane Yolen left this poem in the comments.
    This Thing I Love in My Yard

    I loved that great fir tree,
    watched it growing for thirty-eight years.
    It kept walkers on School Street
    from staring into my bedroom windows
    and a resident Downey full of bugs.
    Now there is an empty space
    where a lightning strike
    killed what wind and rain and snow and ice
    and three climbing children
    had never damaged at all.
    But this new space, where the wind blows
    red and gold leaves about
    like crazed autumn dervishes
    is inviting in its own way.
    Dear One, it says, make a stone garden here,
    a place to sit, read, enjoy the sun,
    to contemplate the rambling house
    now that husband and children have left it.
    Put statues here—an owl perhaps, or a plaque,
    slate stones with phrases from poems.
    Emily Dickinson might be best:
    “A word is dead, when it is said,”
    “Tell all the truth but tell it slant,”
    “I’m nobody, who are you?”
    Short, pithy, like the space
    now that the tree is gone.
    Make a monument, a statement,
    make a taradiddle, a fantasy.
    You are good at that.
    And you have less time to do it,
    than the tree that has given you the place.

    © 2009 Jane Yolen, all rights reserved
Diane also left a poem in the comments.
    Appreciating the Rarae Aves

    Winter afternoons...
    cold, gray, joyless
    until a flash of cardinal
    red opens my eyes.

    Spring mornings...
    chirps, twitters, love
    songs of early risers gently
    awaken me to possibility.

    Summer dusks...
    in the dash dart of swallows,
    finding proof that every
    creature is a piece in the puzzle.

    Fall evenings...
    far off honks of geese,
    reminders that the
    trip is all worthwhile.
Shutta Crum left this poem in the comments.
    Sea Song

    I had a life as simple and full as the sea.
    And out of the surf I carried stories—
    wet, and unraveling.

    I had a man who dove into water
    and cradled my heart like a prize.
    I had a child with tides to travel,
    and another with kelpie eyes.

    I had land on a windy cliff,
    and a house that danced as it sang.
    I had cats and dogs that spoke my tongue,
    and a bird that proclaimed my name.

    I had a strong hand clasped in mine,
    and hallowed work to craft.
    I had little hands that followed,
    and mysteries that made us laugh.

    I had a piece of floating ribbon
    plucked from my mother’s hair.
    I had a word of wisdom my father
    found pooled in a magical year.

    I had a friend who died too soon,
    and another who died too late.
    I had brothers and sisters and strangers,
    who waved as they rounded the cape.

    I had a place in my own time,
    and a joy for the labors I sing.
    I had a son, a daughter, and a man,
    and hearts to set a-cradling.

    So make me a promise will you?
    If you should ever speak of me,
    remember what I’ve said:
    I had a life as simple and full as the sea.

    And out of the surf I carried stories—
    wet, and unraveling.
Julie Larios of The Drift Record shares a poem entitled A Love Poem To.

Harriet of spynotes left this poem in the comments.
    The Things You Love

    The things you love are harder to hold
    Than the things you don’t.
    The things that aren’t bore their way in,
    and fix to a place you can’t scratch away
    to worry over later.

    But the things you love, the things that are,
    seep in and out of your very pores,
    fill your nostrils and cushion your head:
    the sound of a sleeping child,
    and the way the light falls on the page of
    your favorite book
    in your favorite chair.

    They are your architecture,
    like the house you know so well
    you can see it better blindfolded,
    like the crease of a lover’s elbow,
    the soft damp hollow
    in the base of your son’s neck,
    like the view from the roof
    on the Fourth of July.

    They travel with you, the things you love.
    You take them when you walk in the woods
    in the fall, to smell the leaves underfoot,
    and maybe pick an apple
    or two.

    They soar over your head,
    scudding like clouds, which
    taunt you with shapes that disappear
    when you look at them.

    They wrap around you,
    Curl you up inside
    when you go to sleep at night.

    The things you love are your worst sorrow
    and your greatest joy at once.
    They are your breath, your eyes.
    They live in your blood and
    just below
    your speaking place
    before your lips pronounce, “joy.”
Susan Taylor Brown of Susan Writes shares a poem entitled Four-legged Love.
Laura Purdie Salas also left a poem in the comments.
    My October Wish List

    Please give me
    dogs leaning out cars, ears flapping like windy-day laundry
    clattery leaves to shuffle through
    clear x-rays

    And I’d like
    the chunk-click of a glossy red stapler
    tang of smoky cheddar and bonfires
    and a singer’s voice breaking as 8,000 hearts break with it
    While you’re at it, may I have
    cinnamon tea and mattress warmer
    thumbs kneading my back, stony pleasure rippling outward
    while winter’s white bees swarm the window

    and shorter days to make October moments endless

    --Laura Purdie Salas, all rights reserved
Kate Coombs of Book Aunt left this poem in the comments.
    Greens I Love

    The wave's green curl, more temporary
    and translucent than a snowflake.
    The small crisp face
    of a green onion, sliced.
    Rough green of my couch,
    where I read, looking up
    to see green vibrating
    outside the glass doors.
    The green of my mother's eyes,
    faded like a fence
    after years of rain.
    The green giggle of a meadow
    tickled by bees.
    The brash green of plastic—
    raincoats and sippy cups,
    toy monsters, balloons,
    pretending to be real.
    The show-off greens
    of a June tree juggling sunlight.
    Frog green stretching
    across air like a shout,
    then gone
    into green water.
    The smallest shoot bursting
    through a concrete crack
    like a skinny kid
    karate-chopping six boards.
    Green!
Jone of Check It Out shares a poem entitled Early Morning Things I Love.
I stopped and started several times, but couldn't get my childhood home out of mind, so that's what I wrote about.
Still Loved

I miss the clothes line
sheets snapping in the wind
smelling of sunshine and lilacs
though that lilac bush is long gone

I miss the crabapple, mulberry,
weeping willow and white birches
yet it’s the Rockefeller Center-worthy
firs that hold my imagination
My brother once jumped his pony over them
now they tower far above the house

I miss the lily of the valley,
white trilliums, black-eyed Susans,
Queen Anne’s lace, pussy willows,
cattails and silver dollars
flowers of my youth

I miss the wafting scents of manure,
fresh cut grass, spring in bloom,
summer rain, leaves in fall,
fires in winter

I miss the snow,
the blank canvas
wrought by each new storm

I miss the uneven slate floor,
naked baseboards,
drafty hall, narrow stairs
squeaky closet doors,
the wabi sabi of the home
my father built

I miss who we were there
It's not too late if you still want to play. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll add it to the list.

6 comments:

  1. The Things You Love

    The things you love are harder to hold
    Than the things you don’t.
    The things that aren’t bore their way in,
    and fix to a place you can’t scratch away
    to worry over later.

    But the things you love, the things that are,
    seep in and out of your very pores,
    fill your nostrils and cushion your head:
    the sound of a sleeping child,
    and the way the light falls on the page of
    your favorite book
    in your favorite chair.

    They are your architecture,
    like the house you know so well
    you can see it better blindfolded,
    like the crease of a lover’s elbow,
    the soft damp hollow
    in the base of your son’s neck,
    like the view from the roof
    on the Fourth of July.

    They travel with you, the things you love.
    You take them when you walk in the woods
    in the fall, to smell the leaves underfoot,
    and maybe pick an apple
    or two.

    They soar over your head,
    scudding like clouds, which
    taunt you with shapes that disappear
    when you look at them.

    They wrap around you,
    Curl you up inside
    when you go to sleep at night.

    The things you love are your worst sorrow
    and your greatest joy at once.
    They are your breath, your eyes.
    They live in your blood and
    just below
    your speaking place
    before your lips pronounce, “joy.”

    ReplyDelete
  2. Well this went long and is still a WIP but if I don't stop now I might not post it at all. :) Thanks for the prompt.

    Four-legged Lovers

    Gyppy wasn't mine
    but I loved that dog
    because Poppa did.
    Loved that tail-less rump
    that wiggled an alarm each night at five
    when Poppa came home from work.
    Loved the way
    he buried pancakes with fish heads
    loved the he saved them for rainy days
    when they had rotted just enough
    to be doggie-delicious.

    Lisa was mine
    but I smothered her
    with a child's first love
    so she loved my mother best
    refused my bed
    for my mother's pillow
    refused my treats my touch my love
    waiting at the window
    for my mother
    or Poppa or the mailman
    anyone but me to appear.

    Lady wasn't mine
    but I loved that horse
    her sleek black mane
    her dainty hooves
    the way she tugged a carrot from my pocket
    the closest to a horse of my own
    I thought I would ever get
    until the day she threw me partway off her back
    enough to catch my foot in her stirrup
    dragging me for near a mile before
    tossing me free to roll
    down the hill in the rain
    my eyes filled with mud
    until I thought I was blind
    crying in the ambulance
    crying for that horse
    who was too much horse for me.

    Sparky was mine
    but I never loved that horse
    enough
    never wanted that ugly Roman-nosed horse
    never wanted him as much as I wanted
    the idea of a horse that was mine, all mine
    and he was
    until the day we collided with the car
    on Clayton road
    until the day
    they put 127 stitches in his back
    until the day
    he moved on
    to belong to someone else
    who had time enough to wait
    for him to heal.

    I made Boo mine
    when I saw his matted fur
    from months of neglect
    tied out on a short chain
    away from anyone who loved him
    and when he let me comb him out
    licking my fingers in thanks
    I took him home to a safe place
    with me
    with love enough to overcome anything
    I thought
    but Boo was the only dog
    who ever scared me
    when he stole that turkey carcass from the sink
    refused to back away
    from my little boy, my son, inching closer
    to pet Boo's face
    and Boo growling
    as I turned the corner
    and me screaming
    as I swooped down
    to grab my little boy, my son
    before Boo
    could grab him first.

    Ceasar wasn't mine
    but I loved that German Shepherd
    loved the way
    he caught steel-belted tires mid-air
    without ever letting them touch the ground
    loved the way he caught a tennis ball
    again and again and again
    until I couldn't bear to touch the soggy, slobbery mess
    one more time but I always did
    because I loved that dog.
    He guarded babies
    who sat on the edge of his tire
    with his nose not quite touching them
    waiting patiently
    for someone to pick up the baby
    so he could pick up his tire
    for another game of catch.

    Baron was supposed to be mine
    but he was his own dog
    belonging to no one
    and to everyone
    except for me.
    Neighborhood kids knocked on the door
    asking if Baron could come out to play
    and I would watch from inside
    watch that beautiful dog
    go from child to child
    with his ball in his mouth
    and his tail slicing the air
    his body arching with each jump
    filled with joy
    and I wished
    oh how I wished
    I could play too.

    Dakota was mine
    and oh I loved that horse
    loved his looks
    loved his speed
    loved that nice long quarter-horse pedigree
    too bad I couldn't
    stay on his back long enough
    to make him love me in return.

    Sheikh was mine
    the horse of my heart that found me
    late in his life
    late in my life
    and let me live out those little girl dreams
    of a horse who followed me everywhere
    and loved me as much as I loved him
    and went I went away
    he loved my little girl, my daughter
    and made her dreams come true too.

    There have been other
    four-legged lovers
    other dogs
    a cat
    some birds
    a rat
    I miss them all
    even those who couldn't
    love me back
    except, of course,
    for Boo.

    © 2009 Susan Taylor Brown, all rights reserved

    ReplyDelete
  3. Whoops, left a word out of line 9

    It should be:

    loved the way he saved them for rainy days

    ReplyDelete
  4. This was a hard one, Tricia! Usually I respond with a poem right away, written in 10 minutes or less for my daily poem. But this one kept being just a list of things I love. Oh well. Here's the version I did this morning. Thanks for pushing me to do new things:

    My October Wish List

    Please give me
    dogs leaning out cars, ears flapping like windy-day laundry
    clattery leaves to shuffle through
    clear x-rays

    And I’d like
    the chunk-click of a glossy red stapler
    tang of smoky cheddar and bonfires
    and a singer’s voice breaking as 8,000 hearts break with it
    While you’re at it, may I have
    cinnamon tea and mattress warmer
    thumbs kneading my back, stony pleasure rippling outward
    while winter’s white bees swarm the window

    and shorter days to make October moments endless

    --Laura Purdie Salas, all rights reserved

    ReplyDelete
  5. Still listy (listing?), but I wanted to share my green loves just the same. Cool stuff above--thanks! I especially like Jane's love of both the tree and the space where the tree was. As I've been struggling with the challenges of change lately, that really appeals to me! Diane's birds, Shutta's folksong/ballad, Julie putting bare bottoms practically in the same line as Hopkins, Tricia's firs, Harriet giving strong verb power to memories so that they don't just sit around like photos in an album, Susan's heart-wrenching disconnect with previous pets, Laura's dog ears and stapler...hooray!

    Greens I Love

    The wave's green curl, more temporary
    and translucent than a snowflake.
    The small crisp face
    of a green onion, sliced.
    Rough green of my couch,
    where I read, looking up
    to see green vibrating
    outside the glass doors.
    The green of my mother's eyes,
    faded like a fence
    after years of rain.
    The green giggle of a meadow
    tickled by bees.
    The brash green of plastic—
    raincoats and sippy cups,
    toy monsters, balloons,
    pretending to be real.
    The show-off greens
    of a June tree juggling sunlight.
    Frog green stretching
    across air like a shout,
    then gone
    into green water.
    The smallest shoot bursting
    through a concrete crack
    like a skinny kid
    karate-chopping six boards.
    Green!

    --Kate Coombs (Book Aunt)

    ReplyDelete
  6. These all evoked strong memories for people.

    ReplyDelete