It might be drivel

2009-01-24T12:29:00.001-08:00

Activity displacement
There are other things I should do.
I'll feel better if I do them,
I know it,
Yet something in me says do anything else. What is that 'something'?
Lack of experience or character? Chemical imbalance in the brain?
Some sort of dependency on the feeling of feeling like there's always something I should be doing?
A laziness that says "It's just too hard"?
I hate the feeling, yet I sat down and wrote a poem.
Yes, I hate the feeling, but apparently not as much as I hate the doing.
Weird.
Sometimes I sit back and wonder who this person is that I live in.

December 22 is National Haiku Poetry Day

2007-12-23T00:14:00.000-08:00

In commemoration, I composed the following as tribute. I welcome responses written - of course - in haiku. Oh, and Happy Winter Solstice.

National Haiku
Poetry Day is today
Write responsibly

Friends never let friends
write limericks or sonnets
When haiku will do

Maybe yes, maybe
No, maybe rain, maybe snow
Happy holidays

Commemorative
day to write haiku, perhaps
I’ve too much free time

A grinding grayness
Every short day is colder
But I’m sure Spring comes

Broken sleep last night
my sweetie sounds like Vader
Tonight, the guest room

Oh, time on my hands
The devil’s plaything, no doubt
Inflicting bad poetry

Winter in Falls Church, VA, 2006

"Oh, the wormanity!"

2007-11-21T22:34:00.000-08:00

One place I used to work had a walkway leading into the building, lined on both sides with grass.

On mornings when it had just rained the night before, the walkway was usually covered in earthworms who had emerged from the bordering lawns. Though I naturally wore shoes, I was still grossed out a bit by the idea of squishing all those little wormies. I therefore walked the long paved route to the front doors carefully, trying not to prematurely end the life of a lowly worm.

It was very evident, however, that I was not the first person to take this path: what I spent most of my time avoiding were in fact mass worm casualties, strewn across the pavement like mangled spaghetti. This scene disturbed me, but more for the implications than the actual sight of it.

Were all my coworkers heartless bastards who thought nothing of trodding on the small and helpless? Was I the only one who cared about making the effort to not step on hapless earthworm commuters? Did they have any idea why I was walking so weirdly, as if trying avoid broken glass or big puddles? (Can someone really be so concerned as to try avoiding hurting every worm and still live an even vaguely well-adjusted life?)

By the time I reached the front door, the death toll was overwhelming. “Oh, the wormanity!” my little soul cried out.

(image from DK images)

"Crown", by the Waterboys

2007-10-20T20:07:00.000-07:00

There’s this song I really like
The sound of it is driving, energizing.
And upon really listening to the lyrics
I immediately thought
“I wish I’d written this song.”
The perennial Salieri in me aches at the mastery
so many others seem to easily display.
I want to kick some of them in the shins
and swear at them for not knowing
they even have such gifts.
What right do they have to
not squeeze every ounce from those talents?
to disrespect those unearned gifts,
letting them sit upon the psyche’s shelf
collecting dust
Still, I’m thankful there are some out there
who do know what they have
and what they have to do,
doing it perfectly
making me wish I could, too.

[apologies to the artist who produced this picture. I lost the exact page name where I found it and welcome any suggestions on proper attribution more accurate than worth1000.com. Until then, I can only say this image is not mine.]

Colorado's Bunny

2007-10-05T19:08:00.000-07:00

I'm very sorry, mister or misus bunny
You began running as I was looking at a road sign
at night on a highway

I saw your big dark eye and slim ears
you were very cute, and quick
and I know there's nothing I could have done
but I'm sad knowing it was me

I hope it was fast.

www.rabbit.org

Our Turtle

2007-10-05T18:49:00.000-07:00

The turtle had just pissed itself
Which I didn't know they do
But, I now suppose I would too
If stuck on a highway's yellow line
A slow mover between cars, rvs and semis

My eagle-eyed boyfriend spotted it
I hit the brakes and returned
Guessing it was probably road pizza.
He removed the turtle - who was intact and moving around -
from the puddle and placed it safely in the roadside grass

Nebraska
Thank you for the great scenery and friendly people
We gave you back your turtle!

just a sample of what a turtle in Nebraska has to contend with

Missouri Hills

2007-10-05T18:28:00.000-07:00

I don't know how great thoughts
come out of Illinois, Indiana (though I surely know they do)

I felt disoriented, like an interloper
Too much flat
Whatever was around the next corner
Could not be a mystery
There were no hills behind which
to hide a surprise

Missouri on the other hand
That place could be anything
Treacherous, humble, futuristic
Bounded by melancholoy
feeling lush, like a home or a haven

A hot humid breeze blew against my back
Coming directly off golden fields
Giddy, I felt the potential for evil with all certainty
Thinking, "This would make a great book."

http://members.socket.net/~joschaper/luella.html

A wealth of poverty

2007-10-05T18:13:00.001-07:00

There is a perverse form of poverty
where those who feel they do not have enough
are compelled to keep everything

Easy to spot
cars on the lawn
porch cluttered with long-unused items
all infused with the scent of fear or suspicion
that they may be needed again
someday

How evident the contradiction to be poor,
and stiffled and fenced in
by one's own possessions?

image from a Decatur, AL newspaper

The ineffable

2007-10-05T18:01:00.001-07:00

Meandering down a rural highway in the midwest I came upon a sign.
Upon reading it, I had an immediate response - though I confess to having no idea why I had the reaction I did.
Make of it what you will.

Sign:

"Jesus is real! Repent!
If you died today where
would you spend eternity?"

Response:

"In your pants."

A Piece of Eastern Summers I Miss

2007-10-05T17:44:00.000-07:00

Once I first saw fireflies
I wondered how poets could write about anything else.

Before the full blackness settles in
On a perfect warm night
That makes me feel like mostly naked is the best way to be
(I just can't hold on to anxiety in weather like that)

Where once was a swath of mottled darkness
To which my eyes were trying to adjust
A spark! Floating and fading

Not bothersome like the moth
Nor pestilent like the mosquito
The firefly hovers off a ways
Kind of friendly, clearly benign
And a magical part of the evening

Feeling a calm joy I go back inside
Reminded that there are many good things out there
That I can't see.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/postpurchase/825090080/

Hamsters

2007-10-03T19:58:00.000-07:00

In a silly and exhuberant mood, I turned to my husband and declared

"There aren't nearly enough songs about hamsters!"

He responded,

"Go for it, honey."

He's the greatest.

Anyway, I can't recall all the lyrics I came up with at that moment, but there was something about treadmills, being cooler than gerbils, and this other part:

"Hamster, hamster, hamster, hamster
You say it often enough, it still sounds funny.
And hamsters just keep going..."

(This image from www.animals.vaty.net)

Come September no summer was ever long enough

2007-09-18T05:55:00.000-07:00

Come September no summer was ever long enough.
I feel like racing the days to their end, juicing all the sun from each
Somehow storing or prolonging the carelessness that defines summer even as an adult
Rain brings separateness, holing up in homes, sealing windows to keep in heat
No casual connectedness with neighbors and strangers walking past our porch swing.
Soon will come the intimacy of visiting friends sharing meals and toasts
In a glowing room as we defy the cold rain outside - festival of lights!
But now neither fiesta nor feast
September is a hard month

A Wyoming hail storm