Happiness writes home

An older poem to share and a picture from Keukenhof, Holland. Both here because I am taking a night to watch something mindless after turning in all my final papers. There is still a book presentation and two small tests, but the larger papers are done. It is May, (and May the fourth be with you) and we are awaiting rain. Be safe, be kind, and ask what your happiness would write.

Happiness writes home

Here the weather is rain on tin-
roofs, an all-night jazz of thunder
& drizzle, owls chortle harmony
& spiders allow every third fly
reprieve. Beds are high
& under windows. Sheets line-dried
ooze sunlight into all my dreams.

When I wake the owls have transformed
night into biscuits & honey & the spiders
serve rainwater tea on silk & wings, & the tiny
tables of spent legs.

Day lasts as long as my attention
then as clouds disgorge stars, the moon reigns.

I slip back into places of reverie, things I’ve
lost: do you miss me?

April 30 NaPoWriMo ~~ Fini

Penny (L) and Mr. Fancy MauHaus Cat Cafe

At the cat café, I am immediately in violation of the rules

No picking up I am told so place Patrice on the table
where he looks at me smugly, no cuddles for you, he seems
to say. It’s like a bookstore here, so many interesting titles
if books wore fur and had these tails, but each cat has a story
and with time they will share some of their wonder and poetry.

Mr. Fancy is here with his sister, Annie, a bonded pair
hoping to be adopted together. Benny is a special wild child,
Celeste a one-eyed beauty and Big Boy trying to be a hard ass
but he can’t not come to people for attention: cat fail. I’m here
investigating, all of this is for a paper, I tell myself that the rest
of the day: all research, all research, all research.

 

Day 29 NaPoWriMo

My neighbor’s cat rolls under the car eyeing me
like I should join her. I scoff, the days of rolling
under cars are long over, though I consider it, she
looks so comfortable in the shade her golden eyes
half closed. Around her like snowflakes the petals
of the dogwood flutter, drifting against her copper
body before flying away. I try to coax her out,
but she is not interested in me. I don’t blame her,
often I am not that interested in me either. But I like
the cat and I like the confetti from the dogwood
and the sun that cuts through the lime-colored
leaves and the fact that the breeze is carrying
the whole day minute by minute and it all
feels good.

Day 28 NaPoWriMo

The geese have decided, these last few days of class

that the quad in the morning is the best place to pace

looking for wayward or late students. Surprise! I

tell them, the students are not here, the day too

beautiful, the sun too warm, and the sparrows' song

so high and lovely that they have galloped off

as though the pied piper has played that secret note.

Everyone is ignoring classes, grades

and certainly, geese marching up and down the walk.

Day 26 and Day 27 NaPoWriMo

These are cheater poems, rewritten/rethought/shuffled from other poems. Because? So much writing for these last few weeks of school. It'll all be over by May 17th, still have half a book for Lit, two more exams, three papers, and one film review. And if there is time the Diversity Club is having a Drag Social Saturday on campus! And, and, for that oh yes, today: goldfinch dining on dandelions in the lawn, so much gold. 

Duplicate

During the copy process
when pixels replicate page to glass
to page – one meditates –
counts the fan flutter of paper
like heartbeats, enjoys the slow shuffle
from tray to tray.

A system of clone-age, original
to replica; the knowledge
that even god can’t do this.

Waiting for Bardot

Summer takes one season
to bring full garden; call forth fruit;
get a calf to weaning.

Why does this mirror
take so long to grant curves?

Day 25 NaPoWriMo

 

there is a place where the canyon layers

like a long conversation between neighbors

it works its way down the river as though

the rim rocks are what move here and set

all tales in motion, leaning against every

curve that angles the water, brushing against trees

until you gaze toward dawn and hear every

story they hold

NaPoWriMo mo' catch up 22 thru 24 April

A catchup day again: too much homework that needed to be fine-tuned, a lovely production Death of a Salesman to go see, and quite a bit of reading for lit. And after the last poem a song...

Toothpaste  22 April

Gravity protection.

Olive, emerald, lime  23 April

The front door blind hiding day;
sunrise through willows;
the County Fair’s painted cinderblocks;
just baled alfalfa;
John Deere tractor in the barn’s yawn;
sparrows stealing gooseberries;
1974’s crushed-velvet pantsuit;
rhubarb leaves unfolding;
my sister’s eye-shadow;
hummingbirds over honeysuckle;
shadows hitting stained glass;
deep water all the way to lake bottom.

Love survives 24 April

                        It’s the mundane:
the carpet path tread at midnight
a baby slung like wet laundry across
your shoulder, your tongue shush, shushing
as you pace.

                        The need for ceremony:
a song sung each bedtime
the hug that has risen from a hip squeeze
to a chin that brushes your head
as good night is whispered.

                           We turn our backs
after our final words, content
to wrestle quilts until we sleep
and then find that all through
the night legs are touching,
hands have found each other
like mating birds, fingers nesting
in the other’s palm.