Spent some time today tinkering with some photos. This one we took on our swamp tour on the Nawlins trip.

my photo

Ernie says I need a new picture. I told him "you are a photographer...make me one."

Frankly it was this or my driver's license photo.

No title yet and probably a work in progress

In the mirror first I see myself

then the streaks of Windex Mama left behind.

On the third look,

I see her staring back

from another room , the cat under the bed,

the way that picture looks

backwards.

Today is the first time I’ve noticed

that everything is a tableau

worth writing down.

In the kitchen I arrange the objects

on the formica tabletop.

Salt and pepper shakers shaped

like Mickey and Minnie, a sticky syrup bottle,

Mama’s plastic plates with the pink rose

in the very center.

Our turquoise vinyl couch

always squeaks when I sit down

and unfold the funny papers.

The cartoons are Black and White,

the blurbs in balloon boxes.

Outside lawnmowers hum,

kids glide by on two wheel bikes.

The summer air is breathing peace.

We have not yet become human metaphors

for mass consumption.

I am no longer certain if I am there

looking ahead

or here looking back.

I see myself in the mirror first

and then the world turned backwards.

Some great Reads

Good Poems edited by Garrison Keillor

Any novel by Jodi Picoult ..... she is my new favorite

Keeping up the flow

Good morning poetry land. I have my butterfly net at hand and am trying to recapture that errant word.

link to the Alexie poem

http://harpurpalate.binghamton.edu/91/ShermanAlexie_Traveling_poetry.pdf

Sherman Alexie

Rus , I am still thinking about that poem Traveling. I think I have had that dream a time or 2 myself.

Might give you an idea ......

The Word That Got Away

And I stand there

abandoned by my own vocabulary.

People get twitchy,

embarrassed for me , no doubt.

They imagine

I’m humiliated by this betrayal.

But what I feel

is more akin to grief.

I knew that word well.

We were old friends.

If it’s escaped me,

surely it is only a vacation, not divorce.

My fear is that

it has been waylayed by strangers,

kidnapped, stuffed in a trunk,

sunk in the ocean, forgotten.

And I stand there

holding a big bag of money

waiting for the ransom note

or a dictionary.

I've thought of those ladies so many times.

9-11-01 after returning from Italy

Throwaway Friends

Two gray-haired ladies in pedal pushers

stand on the curb

near American Express in Rome.

They brighten at our Texas drawls,

ask if we are in the Vatican tour.

We are.

One fans herself against the August heat

with a crumpled city map,

shares a laugh about Italian disdain

for ice and air conditioning.

From New York,

she has been following

an itinerary like our own--

Venice, Florence and now the eternal city--

ten days of foreign flavors,

the trip of a lifetime.

Knowing we will forget her name

along with all the others we learn that day,

we climb on the bus

behind her friend and ask about jobs back home.

She glances back, flashes a smile.

Oh, I work in the World Trade Center.

I’m sure you know the place

Invisible Geometry

The challenge is to construct a square

without drawing any lines.

The squares are already there

and the circles, rectangles, octagons--

it’s only that we don’t see them.

We see a blank wall, an empty screen, a clean page.

But nothing is ever truly blank, empty or clean.

Everything is cluttered

with invisible points, pulsating

like an electronic connect-the-dots game.

Chaos has its own pencil, is busy

making lines all over our paper.

But if we visualize a line from A to B

to C to D with each journey of equal length

and significance,

we can form a square,

give it concrete shape, at least

in our own minds.

The trick is believing

trusting the possible connections,

the geometry they bring to life

in a world where all things are possible.

Projects

We always begin by making a list

of unrealistic goals.

Not that they appear unrealistic at that point.

No.

We make the list in ink--

pencil is too pessimistic--

and we look forward to crossing completed

tasks off

with bold, straight lines.

That is spring.

We project success before the end

of summer.

But fall arrives

and rolls along

and the list becomes a heckling spectator.

Jobs weren’t done in the priority order

we assigned them;

some are half-done, others

never started.

We vow this is the last time,

next year we won’t count chickens,

we’ll take a trip, let the roof cave in.

If I am going to avoid such tragedy again and if I am going to share this Blog......I had better start posting. Old stuff if not new.

Lost Files

This is a horror to admit. Recently my poetry files simply vanished from my computer and I was shocked to find they weren't all backed up. I have the Chapbook and a lot of my oldest stuff. Of course, I have the Interboard Poetry contest winners....... but so much was lost. I would appreciate anything that any of you might have of mine.

Sorry I been gone so long!

Wow! So Long since I was here. I need to update. Have been so busy with the business and our website pages, it is easy to forget about this room. I miss everyone!

what comes first?

The old chicken or the egg question. Or in this case... the words or the idea? What drives your poetry? Personally I find that most often the words come first... before their meaning. Sometimes they are just disjointed phrases.. but I know I am on to something.

Today I went back to one of my old friends . the cut-up machine, in an effort to drag words into life, It is amazing how you can feed the thing a mixture of poetry, lyrics, advertisements, friend's emails, whatever and it will jumble them up so unrecognizably...then a few new phrases pop up that tickle the imagination. "fiddling religious" "human metaphors" "moon written" "breathing peace" "monkey ideas". Where is this leading? Who knows.

Endless Questions

Do these pants have pockets?

Pockets are very useful...

I could put my airplane in there

or some money if you give me some.

Why is broccoli green?

i don’t like to eat green stuff.

Apples are green but I like red ones better.

Red tastes nicer.

Did my mommy throw me up?

I was in her tummy with all her food.

I don’t like being all mixed with food.

How did I get out?

Can we ride the Jeep to the park?

I like to ride in a car with no top.

i like to look at the trees going by.

Why are the clouds following me?

But Perhaps ( a new poem)

But Perhaps

I seem to recall a snake

that broke into my childhood home

but they tell me

that was before I was born.

I can see it cross the room slowly,

king of the moment,

till daddy hooks it on a broom handle

and deposits it outside.

If I was never there

how can I see its yellow-eyed dare?

Okay. Distance does disguise.

Someone shuffled the deck.

All the cards in my memory file

appear misplaced beside other cards

and you tell me stubbornly

“It didn’t happen that way.”

I seem to recall a snake

slithering across our bedroom floor,

yellow-eyed and venomous

.....but maybe that too was just a dream.

We understand differently,

meet broken promises

with the same skill as a plumber meets

a leaky toilet tank .....

patch it up neatly

while mentally composing the bill.

When the drip returns

he’ll be far away,

perhaps he was never here at all.

Sleeping on Demand

I am off to the sleep clinic where I am to spend the night sleeping under watchful eyes while hooked up to a bunch of electrodes. Hope I will not awake to find I am transformed to Frankenstein. the whole idea of "lights out" and no flashlight under the covers seems weird to me....but it is only one night. Perhaps a poem will come out of it.

typos

Most of you know I can spell ...just not type.

Make that "folded" and "forums". Did I miss any others?