Just another little sh*tty second draft poem for you, somewhat in the same vein as yesterday's but a little more manic. For good reason, I think.
This poem woke me up
at 4:30 in early morning dark,
early morning befuddlement manifesting in mixed metaphors,
the lightstreaks of dreams and blood pressure
on my eyelids’ insides
and the rumble of Monday morning trashcan wheels
to the curb
transforming into a lightningthunder talking picture show.
Flatter, fainter sounds and light
grow sharper louder quicker,
shorter intervals between
till light and sound are barely a boombeat apart,
briefly heartstopping
despite my fascination and attention.
The cat, wide-eyed, leaps off the warm bed
for sanctuary in a darker windowless place.
Drumbeats on the skin-thin tabletop of the sky,
like bad manners at dinner.
Bottle lid removed, opened skies are tipped,
poured on our roof,
spiced with ice
that smatters on window panes,
like salt skittering off the plate and onto the table.
After the drenching, a sudden stop,
water and steam sheeting, dripping,
like opening the dishwasher mid-cycle
to add an errant spoon.
The storm takes its clouds
and goes home,
leaving a bright supermoonglowball behind
for us to play with like gleeful accidental thieves.
Welcome, spring.
Welcome, lord of spring.
You have my full attention.
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Monday, March 21, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Poems and Photos and Rain
It's the first day of spring, and we are wind-whipped and rain-drenched, and I am not complaining one whit about it. For Lent, I have been working through a contemplative photography course, offered by Christine at Abbey of the Arts. You can see some of the images I've been receiving and reflecting upon at Flickr. For this week, she gave us a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye (click here to read it), and what I took away from the poem, among its lovely images, was this line: "Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us / we find poems." Then I wrote one in personal response.
Poems Hide
The poem today rests
in my lower back, which aches from sitting to write too much
(too much sitting? too much writing?);
in the painful vein on the back of my thigh just above my knee,
a veiny area that feels it might burst;
in my wet cat, caught in the raingale,
dabbed dampdry with a half-used napkin from dinner;
in the attractive silvering hair of our tax lady,
with her black Volvo and black laptop;
in the alto deeps of Amy Grant on the iPod
whose albums have been on repeat for two months;
in the raindrops on the louvered windowpanes,
drops oranged by the sodium streetlight just outside
on the curb in which flow rainstreams with yellow pollen edges.
Tonight I reinvent the fwump and revving of the furnace motor
as it blows warming air only to the top floor of our home,
find the poem in the cornbread from a mix,
sweet like cake and crusty brown on the edges from cooking two minutes too long,
in the whiny mournful cat who does not want to go outside and does not want to stay in,
in the cooling wind that enters my inefficient home to blow the curtains and the edge of the rug,
in the chore of laundry that affords warm time for prayers as I fold underwear and socks.
Perhaps I will even find the poem in the ungraded papers that sit atop my table
and weigh me down with guilt and self-criticism.
Poems Hide
The poem today rests
in my lower back, which aches from sitting to write too much
(too much sitting? too much writing?);
in the painful vein on the back of my thigh just above my knee,
a veiny area that feels it might burst;
in my wet cat, caught in the raingale,
dabbed dampdry with a half-used napkin from dinner;
in the attractive silvering hair of our tax lady,
with her black Volvo and black laptop;
in the alto deeps of Amy Grant on the iPod
whose albums have been on repeat for two months;
in the raindrops on the louvered windowpanes,
drops oranged by the sodium streetlight just outside
on the curb in which flow rainstreams with yellow pollen edges.
Tonight I reinvent the fwump and revving of the furnace motor
as it blows warming air only to the top floor of our home,
find the poem in the cornbread from a mix,
sweet like cake and crusty brown on the edges from cooking two minutes too long,
in the whiny mournful cat who does not want to go outside and does not want to stay in,
in the cooling wind that enters my inefficient home to blow the curtains and the edge of the rug,
in the chore of laundry that affords warm time for prayers as I fold underwear and socks.
Perhaps I will even find the poem in the ungraded papers that sit atop my table
and weigh me down with guilt and self-criticism.
Monday, January 18, 2010
A Day Off
Beautiful, amazing rain today -- a true storm, with wild wind and lots of water. We get those so rarely here in SoCal. I hope the burn zones didn't wash away. We truly need this water, this refreshment of earth and air...and soul.
I was supposed to go to school today to catch up on grading and grade entry. Needless to say, it did not happen. Instead, I cooked -- pizza (for today) and soup (for the rest of the week; it's supposed to rain much of the week). And I read, finishing an Orson Scott Card book I have not read before (the first in his Homecoming series). And I caught up on a DVD of Fringe, which I'm enjoying a lot. And it was all good.
I could have used the day more wisely, however. I certainly engaged in escapism, and I was very aware of it while I was doing it. I do that more than I should. I always have very good explanations-to-self for it (I did grade for six hours on Saturday), but...when it comes down to it, I'm mostly just being rebellious.
I was supposed to go to school today to catch up on grading and grade entry. Needless to say, it did not happen. Instead, I cooked -- pizza (for today) and soup (for the rest of the week; it's supposed to rain much of the week). And I read, finishing an Orson Scott Card book I have not read before (the first in his Homecoming series). And I caught up on a DVD of Fringe, which I'm enjoying a lot. And it was all good.
I could have used the day more wisely, however. I certainly engaged in escapism, and I was very aware of it while I was doing it. I do that more than I should. I always have very good explanations-to-self for it (I did grade for six hours on Saturday), but...when it comes down to it, I'm mostly just being rebellious.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
LittleKitty's Day to Shine
She's just adorable. And impish. And occasionally wicked. And often coy. She still thinks she's a kitten.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The SoCal Locale
This morning we went from this...
...to this...
...in about 15 minutes.
The sky burst open and a torrent poured forth. Lovely! We even had tornado warnings this evening for a while, in certain parts of SoCal, which is a truly crazy locale, as always. Gotta love it.
...to this...
...in about 15 minutes.
The sky burst open and a torrent poured forth. Lovely! We even had tornado warnings this evening for a while, in certain parts of SoCal, which is a truly crazy locale, as always. Gotta love it.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
More school trees
...with clouds -- wonderful, lovely, rain-bringing clouds. We're supposed to have some on-again-off-again rain through Saturday. Wonderful news! Today's tapered off before 8 a.m., but I expect we'll get some more in the wee sma's tonight/tomorrow.
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