To the Streams in Vessels

They came in vessels,
relatives of a culture
borne to travel under
pressure. Fluid & mobile,

beneath the banner
of orange or red
(or maybe red and white)
held in cells, complete &
whole, & of a type not seen.

Running hot & cold,
passing the test
without disease,
a pleasing work un-clotted

or spotted.

Take this to the bank
& you can count on this -
your survival does not rely
on donors or diamonds.
Your circulation will not be restricted.


**

Wriiten to "Quickly's Winter Doldrums" - Jan. 25, 2016:

Trees, Kings, Jump Rope Chants

 

Sorry I’m a bit late this morning (or afternoon).
Let’s try this.
Make a list of things that share some attribute. A list of white things, maybe. Or wooden things. Things that roll. Fragile things. You’ll come up with something, and it’ll be cool.
Pick two or three to build your piece with. It can be ABOUT something else entirely, if you like–with your list-y bits only there for decor or contrast, whatever.
BUT. HOWEVER. OH, YEAH:
Don’t (directly) mention the attribute your items have in common.

Remember

remember all doors are trap doors, and our fires
should be barely more than sticks. We must remember
remembering is always futuristic.
 *
 from “Post-Apocalyptic” by Stacia M. Fleegal

All doors are trap doors.

Some lead to destinations,

others to other trap doors.

A mind’s cavernous hollow

lets you follow where knowledge

and memory lead. Knowing bears

a confidence to pursue. Memory

plays in a constant loop

revisiting that which we have left

behind or forgotten. Yet, ignoring

the past becomes a destiny to repeat it;

a step forward from where recollection

is buried. Step away from the past,

remembering is always futuristic.

**

 As presented at "Quickly's Winter Doldrums" - Jan. 24, 2016

Questions and Answers

Miz Quickly may scoff, but deep within her thumpy heart she does believe in fortune tellers, seers, and oracles. She knows for a fact that if you hold your mouth right when you ask your question, Tarot and the Book of Changes have your answer.
Today we’re playing Fun With Oracles.

First (Do NOT skip this. Seriously. Don’t.)

Make a list of questions. Five, ten, twenty (but don’t go overboard–this IS only step One). What should you ask? That’s up to you. Do you really want to know the meaning of life? What happened to that earring? Should you buy a new car. What color to paint the kitchen? Was Sara Palin drunk?

Second

Choose one.

Third

(Optional) Write it out by hand, in big block letters

Fourth

Concentrate on your question. (Screw up your face and THINK.)

Fifth

Press the button below, and when you reach the destination, follow the directions.
Write down your answer.
Repeat as necessary.

Sixth

Use what you’ve found, or what you’ve learned–or what you haven’t found or learned–and write a poem.

*CLICK*

A Tale of Two Trees and Lands

Tall and thickly rooted,
an orchard amidst a garden.
The hardened immigrant toils
muddied soil his base,
and his face ruddy and worn.
He had been removed
from the home he knew trans-
planted between two trees
shading his vegetable patch.
An apple tree reaching,
arms raised in prayer for a fruit-
ful yield. Across the way
plums, purple and regal.
Leather hands holding a hoe,
a “Hokka” he says, chopping
and tilling clods of sod.
Plans for tomatoes, potatoes,
beets and cucumbers
and a number of other plants.
Bandanna flailing raised to brow
mopping the flop-sweat
under the noon day sun, baking.
A curse in his mother tongue,
chopping against bark to free
the mud held tightly. Releasing
his place of birth for home!

**

From "Quickly's Winter Doldrums" - Jan. 23, 2016:

Borrowed Prompt

Borrowing a prompt from poet and teacher, Jeff Hardin.

I’ll give you the beginning. Follow the link to his website. (And look around while you’re visiting)

W.S. Merwin’s “Alba”

Jeff Hardin

Our minds are filled with fleeting glimpses of moments we have inhabited in our lives, moments that have remained, for whatever reason, a part of who we are.  W. S. Merwin’s poem “Alba” captures what appears to be a memory of coming “to a terrace wall” and being in that moment, eventually hearing a man praising a mule.  The poem simply brings to life this mysterious (and perhaps mystical) experience.  Read the poem below:

Alba

Climbing in the mist I came to a terrace wall
and saw above it a small field of broad beans in flower
their white fragrance was flowing through the first light
of morning there a little way up the mountain

Read the rest Here

Then come back and let us see where it has taken you.

Good Words, Cuss Words

With great knowledge
comes great responsibility.
From the cradle, we press our head
against life's grindstone,
for experience and the resulting flat spot
becomes a wonderful teacher.
Holy hell, who wants a round
pumpkin head anyway?
Keep stirring the primordial soup,
what you learn will help your cause!
Damn it!


**


As per "Quickly's Winter Doldrums" - Jan. 22, 2016:


Use one, two, three.. all? Create a poem or something.

A Man Enclosed (Revision)

men have no souls

dark and brooding creatures

cloaked in ugliness

hidden - not protected

unchanging and concrete

not comfortable in their skin

better to shed it or be dead

 

A Man Enclosed (Original)

Dark.
Brooding.
A creature of the night.
My cloak hides my ugliness,
it protects me from nothing.
No light will shine through.
But I function despite my flaws.
It is because I wish to stay
focused on earning this edifice,
no longer comfortable in this false facade.
I will shed this skin;
molting,
emerging,
a rebirth worth wearing.


**

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday

While Miz Q is loafing, flipping through the seed catalogs and dreaming beautiful gardens, you get the opportunity to

Revise

(Yes. You, too, missy.)
Take some time, and really look at what you’ve written.

Suggestion:

Revise a poem from earlier this month. (or last month, or the month before. one that has had a chance to cool and get a little dust on it)

Treat it like a stranger

Write it out as if it were prose, but with no caps or punctuation. Just a long string of words.

Don’t read it, look at it. Look for repeated words (that you didn’t intend). Is it article-heavy, piled with prepositions and/or conjunctions?

Look at the individual words. Are there any massy concept bags that sound pretty but don’t mean anything? What can you cut? What can you replace with a fresher word or a word that fits better or one that improves the sound?

Try different line lengths. Go against your habit. Play around with several arbitrary lengths before you look at end words and enjambments. When you get to the breaks, make certain those work for you.

Do the same with stanza breaks. Try imposing couplets, three-line stanzas, quatrains.
If you get tired, or bored before you put the poem back together, make an appointment with it. Set it to show up on your calendar in three or so weeks. Finish it then.

Go eat a cookie. Tell us how good the cookie was.

I Have a Cookie

I have a cookie.
It is chocolate chip.
I wish it weren’t.
I’d rather it a mudpie,
or tree bark.
Oatmeal raisin does me.
I have a cookie.
It’s not one of those.


**

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday

While Miz Q is loafing, flipping through the seed catalogs and dreaming beautiful gardens, you get the opportunity to

Revise

(Yes. You, too, missy.)
Take some time, and really look at what you’ve written.

Suggestion:
Revise a poem from earlier this month. (or last month, or the month before. one that has had a chance to cool and get a little dust on it)

Treat it like a stranger

Write it out as if it were prose, but with no caps or punctuation. Just a long string of words.

Don’t read it, look at it. Look for repeated words (that you didn’t intend). Is it article-heavy, piled with prepositions and/or conjunctions?

Look at the individual words. Are there any massy concept bags that sound pretty but don’t mean anything?

What can you cut? What can you replace with a fresher word or a word that fits better or one that improves the sound?

Try different line lengths. Go against your habit. Play around with several arbitrary lengths before you look at end words and enjambments. When you get to the breaks, make certain those work for you.
Do the same with stanza breaks. Try imposing couplets, three-line stanzas, quatrains.

If you get tired, or bored before you put the poem back together, make an appointment with it. Set it to show up on your calendar in three or so weeks. Finish it then.

Go eat a cookie. Tell us how good the cookie was.

Dreams of Forgiveness

The bane of every man:

to correct every wrong he had

precipitated or has contributed to.

Visions of a bigger picture go asunder

thinking he could placate the many

by only considering the few.

Or the one; himself.

But in the long run, reality beats him

into a sad submission. The error of his way

comes to the fore and he begs

for an acceptance, hoping forgiveness

is included with it. But he'll settle

that they know he is truly sorry.

And he prays that it will promote the healing.

He dreams to soothe that which he harmed,

and mend the content of his character.

**

From "Quickly's Winter Doldrums" - Jan. 18, 2016:

I Have a Dream

This day (in the U.S.) is dedicated to the memory of Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.

“Modern man, through his scientific genius, has been able to dwarf distance and put time in chains,” King said at the podium that day. “Yes, we’ve been able to carve highways through the stratosphere, and our jet planes have compressed into minutes distances that once took weeks and months. And so this is a small world from a geographical point of view. What we are facing today is the fact that through our scientific and technological genius we’ve made of this world a neighborhood. And now through our moral and ethical commitment we must make of it a brotherhood. We must all learn to live together as brothers – or we will all perish together as fools.”

Write about your dream of a better world. Not, though, about the large and important things–peace, honor, understanding.
Think. Dreams are made of detail.
And seldom tell us what they’re really about.
Dream a good world.