Face

Posted May 15, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , ,

Face

In that time when my face was whole,
love thought it knew my heart;
but when you wore my face to holes,
love found some missing parts.

Like all veneers, so lips will chip,
as surface roughs, so cheek;
so me who craved your covering hips
the bones as hard as teak.

I let the sky now hold my face
let blue through gap and tear,
and, in the night, the stars find space
to slip light through the wear.

And though my skin no more is whole
love loves with all my heart;
and though what’s me slips through the holes,
I love with each lost part.

********************************

Draft draft draft poem, for my own prompt on Real Toads to write about no more–here I’ve also tried to think of some of Byron’s rhythms.  I’ve been thinking about this poem for the last couple of days and this version (just now come up with) excludes a few stanzas and takes it in a different direction.  If anyone is interested in process or just likes to give free advice,  I am happy to post other stanzas/versions. 

The pictures above and below are from the wonderful Pergamon exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum in New York (Hellenistic statues from Turkey.)   The poem is not ekphrastic, but I do like the pics, which set me on the track of the poem.  All rights reserved. 


 

Last

Posted May 7, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , ,

IMG_9849

Last

When someone dies,
their face puckers.
It’s not so much a kiss

as a squeeze,
the body prised
through some other
canal,
and it is not their face

but his or hers
in that last moment’s day,
the body saying me,
even the mostly-stolen self

no longer in stealth, breathing,
oh no, oh yes,
oh my. 

******************

Drafty poem for Brendan’s prompt on Real Toads about the harrowing and hallowed.  I’ve been on a bit of a break (mainly working and reading) and I’m not really “back” but this poem came to me, so thought I’d post.  The pic is mine but of a light sculpture by Jason Martin. 

The poem has been edited since first posting.  k. 

Giving It A Rest

Posted May 4, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: elephants, iPad art, Vicissitudes of Life

Tags: , , , , , ,

20110622-085905.jpg

 Thanks as always for your support.

Brain Hurts

Posted May 1, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: dog, poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , ,
Updated Brain in Bed (With Dog)

Brain Hurts

My brain hurts
from inhaled pain,
swollen now
to not quite sane.
Nought it knows
will be the same,
nor answer to
its (or my) name.

My heart hurts
with built-in stain;
it’s been set
by drenching rain;
what washes it
might have a name,
but I don’t know it
just the same.

***************
Very much a draft ditty for May 1 and Kerry O’Connor’s 55 word prompt on Real Toads.  I’m just doing recycled drawings at the moment; this of a brain in bed, with canine companion.

Moving Round the Maypole

Posted April 30, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , , ,

IMG_3653Moving Round the Maypole

Some nights they’d bang out the metal cannister of rolled-
up screen and cart out the magically upright projector case
with the hinged clasps, and play, after many gasps
of exasperation,
home movies.

Time seemed to tick with remorseful determination
on the rebound, tsk-tsking as the film
unwound, chittering
in reverse,

and always at the tail of what should have been
a family movie (meaning including me),
my brother, stepped awkwardly
towards us, with a twist of crepe paper
at his fist, in a circle of kids that conspicuously did not hold
his little sister.

How it blistered–my brother who didn’t even like
crepe paper,
my brother who walked
when he should
have danced,
my brother whose smirk seemed almost a smile
in the camera’s swerve,
as Mayday caught his crewcut
in its sun’s bristling
smile.

How strange that in the changes
of age, I now would happily give my brother
all the May dances
in the world
(having felt
the fall–)

and give him too
so many other mays: may
you be happy. May
you be free.  May
all beings be happy
and free–

and how is it, that honestly.
I don’t think enough of all
these mays
nor of all
my true brothers

in this world
of hinged rewind,
clasped metal.

************************************

Final poem for this April 2016, for Magaly Guerrero’s prompt on Real Toads to write of maypoles.

I want to thank again Kerry O’ Connor and all the prompters and poets at Real Toads who have made this such a sustaining month for me.  And all readers and commenters!   Thanks so very much.

Photo above is by Meredith Martin. 

Glints

Posted April 29, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , ,

img_5066Glints

I look out at my parents’ patio, pained
by the presence of
the absence of
my dad, the gaps
in his smile when aged, glints
of gold filling.

I don’t see him especially
in the “new” cushions (now old
no matter how saved when not in use) and in
the even older cushions now used mainly
by geckos–
where he once lifted thinning limbs
in time to a music that was also old then,
beloved tunes I have to work to catch
in a flash in the brain pan, glints
of gold
filling–

 

*********************************
Very drafty Instapoetry for Bjorn Rudberg’s prompt on With Real Toads to write a poem what one sees out a window in less than 100 words.  I am visiting Florida right now, so wrote of that. 

This poem is also some consecutive number for April, National Poetry Month. Photo is mine and basis of poem.  I am quite worn out at the moment, and may be late returning comments. 

I thank all for their support and inspiration in this month of poetry.  

Would-be Novelist Asked What She’s Really Like

Posted April 28, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: dog, poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , ,

Working with....Lappup

Would-be Novelist Asked What She’s Really Like

In a far car whirring
past corn,
we played a game of what breed of dog
we’d be if dog-born,
what flower, what tree–so hard
when what you knew you were
was not what you preferred;
easier to name an uncle as German Shepherd,
an aunt as violet.

***************************

Draft poem for Mama Zen’s prompt on Real Toads to write about who you truly are in 50 words or less.  This is (I’m guessing) probably my 30th poem for April, as I think I was a couple ahead. A recycled drawing (of mine) , of typing with lap-pup (Pearl!) 


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