poetry, ponderings and preoccupations

NaNoWriMo 2011

2011-12-01T06:14:00.003-06:00

I'm a winner, baby!

It has been a very long November, but I am happy to say that I have scratched at least ONE thing off my bucket list (the before 40 list, that is).

I will post more when my brain has stopped oozing out my ear.

Too Soon

2011-03-20T19:26:00.003-05:00

I am trying desperately to work through my emotions before tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day when I will really have to admit that my friend, my kindred spirit, Jamie, is gone. That this world no longer holds his wonderful laughter, creativity, and his courage. Tomorrow I will gather with his family and friends who have become family to say goodbye.

His last few days were hard, I have been told. I could see it when I visited with him. We talked about it briefly, I felt awkward and stupid – not knowing that to say. But his passing was quiet and peaceful. While I will miss him, I am glad that his suffering is over. I wish I could feel peaceful about his going. I feel so many doubts, so much anger.

It had been a while since I had seen him when I wrote the following. For so long he didn’t seem sick at all – just very tired. And then he took at turn for the worse – all too fast. The cancer that had been eating away finally reared its head and we saw the struggle that Jamie had been facing.

These are raw, rough emotions that need to be let out.

Too Soon

I have seen death come
on little cat feet
to the aged, the ready
rubbing against their legs
welcomed and stroked
with quiet, secret smiles

“I want to go home”
my grandmother sighed
as she lay curled around death’s paw

But this
this green yellow monster
stole in, insinuating
invading

The dark disguising mantle
dropped and the soft metaphors
vanished

This death is ragged edges
needle points, poison, pills
unwelcome, unready
it should not have come

I want to scream
“DO NOT GO GENTLE!
RAGE!”
I want to pick up this death’s
weapons and turn them upon it
with fury
so quick
so sure
it would slink back
to the dank cancerous cave
from which it spawned

But this is not my fight
I am only a bystander
and my furious cries
Silenced
By my grief and doubts
lest they be considered
insincere
or worse

My greatest fear
lies in the knowledge
my silent cries, my pleas
may go unheard by greater ears
No succour
no whispered or shouted
comfort, no rest
for stifled rage

While this beast steals
my friend from me, his family,
from his life that should be
It wraps its skeletal arms
around bony shoulders and
grins

“That’s when I feel I am done”
he quietly intoned
as he discussed
the possibility of pain
and the careful balance needed
to keep the beast at bay
For now

And my stupid words in reply
haunt me, as cancer
taunts me with eyes hungrily
searching my family, my friends
for its next meal

My words, my arms spread
wide, seem too thin to protect
too little prepared to block out
the gulping grossness

Desperate, I wish to throw
my friend behind me to safety
to slam down
a magical staff of power
sparks flying and shining against the darkness

YOU SHALL NOT PASS

I would scream
And he would flee
saved

But all I have are these
pathetic scribbles
scrawled too early
and too late
They will not hold back
the balrog or
the padded paws

©Lori MacDonald 2011

--- I am blessed that I got to see Jamie one more time after I wrote this. I got to tell him that I loved him. I wish I could have said more. I know that I will mourn his passing for a long time, but I also want to be able to celebrate his life.

NaPoWriMo Anthology!!

2010-09-20T05:26:00.001-05:00

Check out the NaPoWriMo Anthology on Issuu.com.

My contribution is on page 63. There are many GREAT poems in it!

The C-Word

2010-08-19T05:24:00.004-05:00

Every time I hear a friend talk about a lump or something that they are worried about, I say a little prayer -- but in my mind I keep hearing Arnold Schwarzenegger saying "It's not a tumor!"

And sometimes it isn't.

And sometimes it is.

About a year ago, I learned that my good friend Jamie had been diagnosed with cancer. I couldn't believe it then. He never showed a sign of being sick. He was my first close friend to be touched with this horrid thing. Yet, it still felt somehow unreal. He's been positive and has shared his struggles openly.

It is a horrible thing to see your friend deal with. All I can do for him is pray. While I know this is the most important and best thing I can do, it seems so small sometimes. Somehow not enough.

For the last little while I have been praying for my friend Katie. She's had a lump on her tongue that has been growing and the doctors didn't know what it was. It didn't respond to treatment. And finally she had tests done, and yesterday she was given the answers -- the C-word.

The C-Bomb.

She is the most positive, faithful, giving person I know. She will give, even when she has little. She will be positive, even when her world is full of negatives. She is a rock. She has two beautiful young girls. She isn't the only one who has been given this bad news. When she shared her news, she found a way to lift up her friends who would worry about her.

And she is now struggling with cancer.

I am asking the few of you who read this, please pray for Katie, Jamie and for ALL of those struggling with this disease.

While my prayers may feel small, I know that He hears them. But I also know that many voices lifted up hold power too.

"In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will." Romans 8: 26, 27

Something to make you smile...

2010-06-14T19:20:00.001-05:00

As much as these two drive me a little bonkers sometimes, I cannot imagine life without them. I mean, look at the craziness and fun they bring to my life. Gotta love it!!

Also love the toothless grin on my girl (if you can see past the hair) :).

New Poem

2010-06-09T13:37:00.001-05:00

Prairie-Shaped Hole

I have a prairie-shaped

hole in my heart

I could not tell you
its shape

or size

only that it spans

from horizon

horizon

And in between its

blue

And so ends my exile

2010-06-03T06:27:00.007-05:00

I originally meant to take a week off from writing, because April was such an intense month with NaPoWriMo. Then the week turned into two, and now its been over a month. I did not intend for that to happen. My intent was to write once a week, but... like they say about that road that leads to ---... good intentions mean nothing without action.

So, here I am back. Still with good intentions. So, let me catch you up:

I have done absolutely no writing since April 30, with the exception of late night poetic musings in my head.

I have been reading a bit. I am currently going through a wonderful book called Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and "Women's Work" by Kathleen Norris. It was recommended to me by my friend (and ex-professor) who writes quite a bit about Biblical literature. Knowing that I am interested in Christian poetry, she thought this would be a good read. She was right. I will do a review a bit later.

I have been planning for my upcoming trip to the Write! Canada convention in Guelph, Ontario. I am going for "work" reasons -- getting some professional development -- but I am also going because D.S. Martin is teaching a series of classes about writing. I am very excited about this, but I am also very nervous. I am nervous because I am going to this convention alone, I don't know anyone there, and I am more than a little concerned that I will find out that I suck. I like to believe that I don't, but that little self-esteem eating monster inside often says otherwise.

Let's see...

I am also planning my trip to the homeland -- that is Saskatchewan -- for my grandmother's 90th birthday at the end of the month. It has been three years since I was out west and I ache for open skies and air that you can breathe without wondering what it is doing to your lungs.

I have been watching the brilliant and sadly unappreciated show "Eli Stone". What a great show! But I can understand why it only survived for two seasons. I am sure that for most of the viewing audience, it was a show that made them think too much -- and throw into that mix the fact that it made people think about God and spirituality and "doing the right thing" even when it is unpopular and you have a short lived show. Add to this great recipe more than a little quirkiness, and, well, let's just say I am sad that there aren't more shows on television like this one.

I think that is more than enough rambling for one time. Hopefully, I will be able to put a poem up here soon. I am going to try out "Poetic Asides" for a while for some prompts.

I hope the few who have read this have not forsaken me in my exile. I love hearing from you.

NaPoWriMo Finale - Hope Is

2010-04-30T05:27:00.002-05:00

Today was a freebie day at RWP. It has been a long and crazy ride, this month of April. And I want to thank all of the hard working people at ReadWritePoem for their wonderful efforts. Unfortunately, the site is closing down their live options, and I am very sad. I hadn't been there very long, but I know that there was a sense of family and community there like I have not found elsewhere. Here's hoping that I do find it somewhere ... because it has been a tremendous boon in my poetic life.

And so, here's my offering for Day #30.

Hope Is

the pile of unmatched socks
on the dresser

a pair of jeans
too small for years
in the closet

my newly scrubbed floor
in the house of two small beings

one empty canvas
tucked safely

an empty mail box
in the early morning

the scrap of paper
tacked to the fridge with three lines
of the next poem

Penultimate Ponderings

2010-04-29T05:24:00.002-05:00

Today is the second last day of NaPoWriMo. The day before the last. The penultimate.
I have to say that I am having mixed feelings. Although I am very tired and inspirationally tapped out, I am going to miss the daily challenge. Just a bit.
This month, I have been stretched and poked and prodded. I have been encouraged and enlightened by my fellow poets. Their comments have been a constant source of strength as well as a sort of validation that I am not just wasting my time here. Which is constant fear.

Anyhow, as well as being Poem in Your Pocket day, it is Random Acts of Kindness day. So, here's poem for your pocket and a wish for a fantastic day! I hope you find kindness and joy in each act your perform today.

Joy

by Carl Sandburg

Let a joy keep you.
Reach out your hands
And take it when it runs by,
As the Apache dancer
Clutches his woman.
I have seen them
Live long and laugh loud,
Sent on singing, singing,
Smashed to the heart
Under the ribs
With a terrible love.
Joy always,
Joy everywhere--
Let joy kill you!
Keep away from the little deaths.

NaPoWriMo Day #29 - Top News

2010-04-29T04:55:00.003-05:00

For today's poem, here was the very interesting prompt:

For this prompt, choose your favorite newspaper or online news provider. Jot down five to ten headlines that jump out at you and without reading the articles, select elements from each headline to create a new event about which your poem reports.

Alternately, let short-format sections inspire you. Write a poem in the form of an obituary, a personal ad, a classified ad, etc. (Bonus points if you can pull off a poem in the form of a crossword puzzle.)

What I would like to know is if I get bonus points for my acrostic version? I still can't believe what is considered "top news" sometimes. Some of this, yes. It's news. But some of it is more like stalking. Just saying...

NaPoWriMo #28 - Poem in My Pocket

2010-04-28T17:38:00.003-05:00

I am off prompt today. This one stemmed from something I was sent from the Academy of American Poets -- about tomorrow being "Poem in Your Pocket Day." You are supposed to carry small printed copies of your favourite poems and hand them out. Something about the title hit me, and so...

Poem in My Pocket

Sometimes it lies quietly
lurking in the corner
invisible if you look directly
at it

Sometimes it leaps
screaming, shouting
“Pay attention
to me

And sometimes it slithers
along, a snake in the grass
slippery and smooth
forked tongue flicking
in out

Yet, always it is there
in my pocket, tucked
in tightly, immoveable

As if I would want to

And yet, I must approach
it on its terms, only
on its terms, only
when I am deemed
worthy.

So, I am the poem
in my pocket’s
willing
porter

NaPoWriMo #27- What I Want

2010-04-27T06:34:00.002-05:00

Our prompt today was to write an acrostic. Which I am doing because I am tired and lacking inspiration, but I am fully willing to admit that I am not good at these. Some of my RWP colleagues have written some fantastic examples. Go check them out.

But here's mine:

What I Wish For
and What I Am Given

Gracious, giving
Real, rational
Artistic and astute
Creative, yet cautious
Energetic, effervescence

NaPoWriMo Day 26 - Walcott Spoke to Me Once

2010-04-26T06:33:00.003-05:00

Here`s my offering for this day. It still needs work, but so do most of them.

We were to work on some scraps that we have had from previous thoughts or parts of poems. This was inspired as I worked out listening to `Tiepolo`s Hound` by Derek Walcott.

Walcott Spoke to Me Once

Walcott spoke to me once
He spoke of Venice and light
And Tiepolo’s dog—and something
About museums. I missed that
While I held my breath
in the moment of the image
before.

And then gasping, envious and awe-
Stricken, I wondered
How twenty minutes of burning
Had slipped away under the spell
Of his voice, Venice and a painting
That may or may not be
A figment of his poetic, artistic
Imagination

Dark walls disintegrated
Noisy machines on which I plodded
Aimless
Fell away, morphed into canals
the walks of his quest

And the poet in me screamed
With the burning of tired legs
The rank smell of sweat and oil
Soothed away. Annoying
Drone of soap opera, inane gym chatter
And my own heaviness shuddering
With each step
Melted and shrunk
As Walcott spoke to me

Well Donne

2010-04-26T06:28:00.001-05:00

Well, Donne

What was it that moved
You from contemplation of Julia
To Three personed God?

Well Donne

NaPoWriMo Day #25 - In which I am so very tired

2010-04-25T07:01:00.002-05:00

This was our prompt for today -- and it was a good one, but...

In Joseph Harker’s prompt today, let others do the heavy lifting of inspiration.

Keep an ear out for the first sentence (or even word) that is said to you after you read this prompt. (Poetic license: If the first few words are exceptionally boring, wait for the first uncommon or peculiar one.) Take that word/sentence — it could be “mango” or “exemplar” or “have you ever been to this Ethiopian restaurant?” — and build a poem around it. Maybe you have deep thoughts on mangoes or a narrative of heartbreak and spicy injera from the restaurant mentioned. Trust in fate.

I think this offering may be relevant to only those who have some experience in education. Teaching has become, unfortunately, a very thankless job. I will leave it at that. Other than to say that both my husband and I teach English and this was the first 'interesting' thing he said to me this morning (he's been awake for hours already grading and I have just entered the world of consciousness).

“You should really read my Pimpernel Sonnets”

While I’m spreading too much
margarine on my bagel
and the kids are playing
in the basement

Beside the basket of unfolded
laundry on the table, and the doll
stroller in the middle of the floor

“I told them that if they want the full
grade, they will write with iambic
pentameter...”

There’s a google of dandelions
waiting my destructive attention
and the grass climbs closer
to heaven than it ought

There’s a list a mile long that needs
my thought, but I take
the papers because you’re so proud
and want to share one of the still
small joys, so few that exist
while they are more interested
in their recent ‘biological’
adventures

Breakfast will wait, laundry will
crease, but who cares, the doll
will still be there this afternoon
even after admonitions and
dandelions are forever

But this moment...

NaPoWriMo Day #24 - Faith: thereby hangs a tale

2010-04-24T18:55:00.003-05:00

For today's prompt we were to write about a phrase, cliche or idiom that took us somewhere. "Thereby hangs a tale" from Shakespeare caught my fancy. That might have something to do with the fact that I have Macbeth on the brain because I am just wrapping up teaching the play.

I have an apology to make though too. I have really appreciated all those of you who have commented in the last couple of days, and I want you to know that I am not ignoring. I plan to respond and to read your poems too, but I have been completely wiped the last couple days. "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day..."

Here's my offering for the day:

Faith: thereby hangs a tale

It’s been hanging on
a hook by the door
for quite some time
there for others to see
shiny, new
unused, except to show
others

It never moved
a mountain, or a mustard seed
It never moved
me

And yet, I have looked
at it, stroked the fine folds
longed to put it on but
I was never quite ready
always some excuse
“It will get soiled.” “I don’t need
it right now.” “It’s too
constricting.”

But wherever I have chosen
to lay my head, take
myself, it has followed
omnipresent, quiet
shining on the hook by the door
waiting

Till one day, cold
and alone, I dared
to try it on, expecting
something too small,
too old fashioned
expecting to be feel
guilt and shame for having
left it so long

As I grasped the softness
felt the fine material
slipped it about my shoulders
in a last attempt for worth,
for something more

All I felt was
home

NaPoWriMo #23 An Epic Battle

2010-04-23T15:36:00.002-05:00

Well, we were supposed to write about two ideas that would not normally be placed together, a juxtaposition (I LOVE that word -- it is such a savory thing). And since I watched the much-hyped Avatar last night and spring cleaned this morning, I believe the two may have influenced me somewhat. Also, I am exhausted. Nevertheless (another word that I love), I sort of like this one.

An Epic Battle

Quickly (as noisily as possible) remove
the heinous
beasts; destroy
their lair and wipe
them from existence
Murder their children, slash
with the swift strokes
of villainous intent

Suck them into oblivion
Swirl them into the void
Take the vicious creatures hence

With an malevolent laugh
I tip the offensive miscreants
Into the dark plasticy depths
And banish them to the far reaches
Of my queendom until the final
Sentences can be carried out

And I so the dust bunnies die
Their burrow beneath my bed
No longer

NaPoWriMo #22

2010-04-22T21:06:00.001-05:00

A revision:

Scars

My brother likes to tell
The story of the scar
That runs half the length of his thigh.
Everyone asks if he was in a car accident
But he smirks and says,

"My sister did this"

He knows I feel guilty again
And again.
I was young, I say
I didn't know any better.
I don't remember the incident
well, but I do know

It was my fault.

I remember the toy box,
The broken lid,
The nail.
I remember the screams.
I remember blood.

I liked this

2010-04-21T18:06:00.001-05:00

"A poet is like a drummer alone in the ballroom of a deserted hotel. If he plays well enough, a passer-by might pick up his ears and step inside to see what is going on. But he can only play the way he likes because when he starts, at least, he is the only one listening." ~ Richard Hugo

NaPoWriMo #21 If You Look Closely

2010-04-21T12:19:00.001-05:00

Okay, this poem began very bitter, and ended a little less so. But it is still something I think about even though my kids are older... and I am too.

If you look closely

Look at them, perfectly
coiffed hair, not a hang nail
to be seen. Makeup expertly
(painstakingly?) applied
using all the right tools.

Look at their children, in their Gap
clothes, matching and stylish;
little girl’s hair curled just so;
little boy’s cap perched
at a jaunty angle. Their strollers
are immaculate. No spit up or milk
stains on their diaper bags, and
goodness knows not on their clothes.

Look at their perfect bodies that look
like they’ve never even carried a child
or an extra pound. How do they do it?
Do they have a personal trainer start
right after the birth?

Look at their husbands. Giant hunks of men
in Armani suits with their Bluetooth devices
glued to their faces, yet aware enough
to pick up the dropped soother and whip
another out of a sterile bag in their pocket.

And look at me, hair brushed and clean, but
flying frizz in the humidity. Makeup? What’s
that? Nails short, clean,
but my cuticles are a mess. There’s dried
carrot on my shirt that I didn’t notice
until just now. And I just realized, as I crossed
my legs, that I am wearing two different socks
because I dressed in the dark.

And look at my children. My daughter dressed
herself today, and I let her. I was so
tired. She’s clean, but the same
dried carrot I missed on myself lies
tauntingly in her hair. And my son, just a few
months old, has spit up again, for the third time,
and there is not any clean laundry until
I find my way home again.

Look at me and my children. I have no
illusions. But we’re happy.

NaPoWriMo Day #20

2010-04-20T13:57:00.002-05:00

I don't know about anyone else, but I have feeling drained. I am enjoying NaPoWriMo immensely and I am learning a lot, about myself, my writing, about writing in general, and about poetry specifically. But I am finding myself counting the days now. I don't want to, but I am. Maybe I will try to write a poem a week after this. :)

Today's challenge was to write about a hero. I have many heroes in my life, I am privileged to say. I have written several poems already about one particular hero -- my father, but I haven't been able to do something similar for my mother, and while she would never, ever say so, I wonder if she sometimes feels that I don't appreciate her in the same way. It's not true, but somehow it seems harder to say for some reason. Here's my attempt:

There are no words

For a while now I have wanted
to write a poem
for my mother
to honour her, to demonstrate
in some tangible way how
she has shaped me
beyond giving me her
laugh, smile and hips

But somehow the words are
reticent, unwilling as if
they won’t be enough
and they aren’t

When I attempt to describe
clichés foam forth:
bubbling laughter (like a brook)
ever willing nature (a perpetual helping hand)
constancy, stability (a rock on which to stand)
free spiritedness (as a butterfly, an eagle)
endurance (she stuck it out)
And yet, it’s all true

It’s hard knowing words
are my blood and not being
able to pour them out
for the one who gave
me life, and so here’s a
meagre offering

For my unsung hero

NaPoWriMo #19 Epiphany

2010-04-19T20:19:00.002-05:00

We were supposed to write about an "light bulb moment" today, a moment of truth or realization. This is a true story. And it is a draft too... I know there is more here, but I am frankly too tired to flesh it out right. Suggestions would be appreciated.

NaPoWriMo #19

Epiphany

Phoned an old friend
for casual conversation
everyday things and cares
changes and challenges
the usual chat

Long and verbose she winded
with comments random
and slightly strange

A moment of doubt
but the voice seemed right

Questions about work
expectations of a visit
and still a niggling doubt

“Do you have a cold?”

Twenty minutes can be
a life time between friends

And between strangers as well

Instead of mortification, her
response to her mistake

Marriage.

NaPoWriMo Day 18 - To All The Cats I've Known Before

2010-04-18T12:55:00.006-05:00

Imagine Willie singing and then Johnny Cash talking the extra bits. This prompt was a little silly for me.

To All the Cats I’ve Known Before

To all the cats I've known before
Who travelled in and out my door
I'm glad they came along
I dedicate this song
To all the cats I've known before
The cat aptly named “Kitty”
A barnyard find
A loveable grey pretty
To her loss, I am resigned

To all the cats I once patted
And may I say I've pat many that’d
Scratched up my couches
Shown me the meaning of slouches
To all the cats I've patted
To Axel, the kitten with issues
Seriously insane
Chosen for your orange hues
And given an apt name

The bells and balls are always rolling
And everywhere I try to walk
The fluffs of fur keep blowing
Those balls and fur my cleaning mock
To Tinker and Snowball
Childhood friends
Listeners and pals
Met untimely harvester ends

To all the cats who shared my lap
Curled tight purring then unwrap
I'm glad they came along
I dedicate this song
To all the cats I've loved before
To Desdemona, more
His cat than mine
I’m sure you’re still sore
That I crossed that line

To all the cats who ignored me
Who filled my house with allergens
They now climb someone else’s tree
And I try my house to freshen
To Pixie, Blackie
Vixen and Belle
To Caleb and Jacky
Sultan and Nels

Of all the cats I've sneezed at before
The pollens’ always blowing
And every time I try to stay
The asthma inhaler’s always blowing
And they just carry me away
I’m sorry to say that
I’m no longer a fan
Of the furry small cat
Too little breath made that ban

To all the cats I’ve loved before
Who travelled in and out my doors
I’m glad they came along

I’m glad they’re gone

To all the cats I’ve sneezed at before

NaPoWriMo Day #17 - Water

2010-04-17T10:05:00.003-05:00

NaPoWriMo #17

Today's prompt asked us to examine an element. I wanted, at first, to write about fire or earth -- both of which have personal meaning to me -- but I was drawn to water instead. I am fairly sure this is not a finished poem. I want to expand the imagery more and make the voice more personal, but it needs time. Any suggestions would be appreciated.

Water

You hovered above me
In the beginning, stirring my surface
Sounding my depth
You filled me, making me
fruitful and fertile

In the garden, I flowed out
From Your presence
You wielded my waves
To wash the world
And made a covenant
With Your servant

The maiden fed the camels
Who thirsted for me
And I became your symbol

Blood supplanted me in the Nile
When Your people were enslaved
And I parted to let them through

At your servant’s command
I flooded from the rock
In the desert, despite disobedience,
And soaked the calf that still burned
When You moved

And when You came,
Small and vulnerable
I bathed You, fed You
When You thirsted

And in Your mission here
You used me again
Transforming me to wine
For the wedding guests
At Your mother’s request

You walked on me to demonstrate
Your power to the fearful
And Your words calmed me

At Your command I stir
Rivers and oceans
Carve ravines and well up
By Your design I nourish
All that is
And in me, Your followers
Are reborn
And soon, to me, You will again lead
The redeemed

Another Coffee Poem

2010-04-16T19:53:00.003-05:00

For a friend who lives far too far away, and is one of my favourite people with whom to imbibe ambrosia.

After Vinegar¾Coffee

I know
you
are
bizarre, delectable
mix
delight-
ful heart-
burn
a flame, caramel
are
you
know I

NaPoWriMo Day #16 My Caffeinated Love Affair

2010-04-16T19:17:00.003-05:00

Today's prompt was from Julie Jordan Scott. She started with a quote from Diane Ackerman which was so incredibly beautiful that it made it hard to write today. “Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines hidden under the weedy mass of years.” Scott says: "Practicing the art of writing from the sense of smell will open language in a different way than writing from a more “language friendly” sense, like the sense of sight or sound. Because of this, writing that uses a scent prompt evokes visceral, richly experienced poetry."

She was right. I am not sure this is complete "keeper" but the ideas are good and I am happy with some of the images. If you can't tell from this, I love coffee. Unfortunately, I am no longer able to partake, but I still think the aroma is ambrosia. Seriously. I mean every word here.

My Caffeinated Love Affair

I remember my first encounter
Your acrid tendrils tickling seducing
Your tang burning engraving itself on my psyche

I remember so many seasons since
Your incense lingers in dialogues
Of philosophy, literature, relationships

Cloying, your aroma coincides
With the deepest friendships
The longest lonelinesses

I remember your comfort while I cried
I remember your stability in uncertainty
I remember your taunting tendrils – just
Out of touch while the smaller hearts lay beneath
My own, even now

When your essence no longer offers
Succor, your essence is early mornings
Scrabble games, tiny shops in small towns
Old friends, good conversation, new love,
Old love, relief, joy, grief

In the miasma of chaotic surroundings
The zephyr of your fragrance can lead
Me home

NaPoWriMo Day #15 Fridge Talk

2010-04-15T06:13:00.002-05:00

We were asked to take stanza of a poem that wasn't quite working and put it to a tune. I am not at all musically inclined, so I went for a rhythm of sorts. I have been severely neglecting my house and cooking for my family this week so I am struggling with that guilt; somehow the two things created this...

Fridge Talk

Chopped, minced
Stir fried, sliced
Because it was
Flaccid, limp

Lying in the pan
Celery vows
revenge or begs

For therapy
Whichever

NaPoWriMo Day #14

2010-04-14T18:21:00.014-05:00

This is a new and very challenging poetic for, at least for me. I found myself, once again, in that dark corner, watching the shadows of the greats.

The picture here is how I *want* it to look, but formatting here is difficult.

But here's my first attempt.

Thanks to Nicole Nicholson for the great prompt.

The Cleave: Between Papa and Bard

A traitor he calls it
Cramped and clawed
Untrained, aged
Its twin ragged, bloody
Still holding the line
Waiting for sharks

On one hand there’s
the craving, deep and dark
like bloody daggers
to write legends
move to ecstasy
words that spawn
splatter and spill

How deep does the scarlet
Seep, she wonders
Staring at the once familiar
Friends that shaped her future
No, they didn’t commit the act
But the blood’s still there

NaPoWriMo #13 - Poem Starting with a Line From Norman Dubie

2010-04-13T06:13:00.003-05:00

Our prompt from Sarah J. Sloat for today was to launch a poem from a line from Norman Dubie, a poet who I had not read previously. I thank her for introducing me to another amazing poet. She gave us a wonderful list of lines and this is my result. It needs work, but I like where it is going.

Poem Starting With a Line From Norman Dubie

In triplicate, she’s sent an application, listing grievances, to the stars
Careful lines, hand written and spelled correctly
Double-checked for clarity and audience appropriate diction
She wrote her objections

My hair’s too flat, too grey, too lacklustre
My hips are too wide and they don’t swing in the way hips should
I go on for years about my eyes, disappearing when I smile
And I will not even mention the problems with my breasts

A precise list, recorded after hours, days and years of observation
Replicated thrice for the trinity
An inventory of issues

My legs are too thick, too long
My feet have stick-like toes and don’t fit any shoe made by man
My teeth are crooked
My arms lack muscle and definition

Sitting quietly on her porch, beneath a patchwork quilt of blues and greys
She waits for their reply.
She waits for their renovations.

When her eyes tire, and her neck cricks from staring up
She sighs, I knew it, and makes her evening preparations

Looking in the mirror, she prepares for her ritual
For her listing of complaints, a nightly ceremony never changed
As she has hoped for change

But looking at her reflection, pondering her application
She sees the stars’ response, lovely lines, in triplicate:
“She is good. She is worthy. She is ours.”
And she saw that she was beautiful

NaPoWriMo Day #12 In Which Silliness Ensues

2010-04-12T06:09:00.002-05:00

My prompt for today was a fun one, and my lack of sleep and my preparations last night for class today have seriously influenced this one. I am not sure it is quite fulfilling the prompt which said:

Begin by writing a few nonsense sentences, like “The raindrops tap out a cry for help” or “The dandelions are saying all at once, ‘You are overwhelmed.’” The formula is easy: come up with a message and assign it to something unlikely. Remember, of course, that inanimate objects can speak and that signs and symbols may be nonverbal.

But this is where it led. My apologies to Shakespeare. After analyzing the porter's scene in Act 2 last night, I am not sure if the Bard would be proud or would chastise me fully.

Bad Housekeeper's Soliloquy

Is this a broom I see before me?
The handle leaning lopsidedly against the wall? I will ignore you.
I want thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Are you not, shameful vision, capable
Of guilt as to sight? Or are you but
A broom of the mind, a false creation
Proceeding from the clutter oppressed conscience?
I see you there, red and neglected
As the dust pan that lies beside you.
You show me the way I should be going,
And such an instrument I should use.
But my psychologist says “should” is a dirty word.
My eyes are made the guilt production for the other senses,
Or else unworthy of the rest. I see you there,
And on your bristles and handle bits of dust bunnies,
Which were not there before. There’s no such thing.
It is the dusty business under my kitchen table which informs
This to my eyes. Now over the one half-house
Productivity seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
My caffeine-free sleep. Good Housekeeping abhors
Pale Lori’s offerings, and withered intentions,
Alarmed by good purposes,
Whose shriek the lacking, and thus like a charger,
Riding towards the oppressor,
Moves like a neglected child. You are sure and firm-set
But it moves me not. You’ll not see me grasp your handle
Nor lift your pan, until my procrastination dissipates
Or my present horror at your leanings increases
Or the foodles, Cheerios and raisins scattered multiply
Beyond number. While I threat, you are inactive.
Guilt to the heat of deeds does little but make me turn away.

NaPoWriMo #11

2010-04-11T17:13:00.002-05:00

I do believe this is my most pathetic attempt yet. I am so tired from a weekend long conference at which I spoke in front of 200+ women and meeting after meeting. When I read the prompt, I thought, "Oh, this should be easy." All I have to say, Ha. Not. So, here it is in all it's stupid glory. Yes, I meant that oxymoron.

It wasn't you, it was
me. I was seduced
by the greener grass
the prettier painting

I didn’t look
deep enough, I didn’t
check closet sizes
or foundation cracks

I was sucked in
by the wrought iron light
fixtures and the trees
shading the patio

And now I yearn
for your walk-in closet
your four bathrooms
and the larger rooms

Who really cares
that your yard was
postage stamp size
or that the hot tub didn’t work
or that your garage
was a shambles

Oh yeah... I remember now
It was you.
I’m fine.

NaPoWriMo Day #10

2010-04-10T06:22:00.004-05:00

I will admit this right away. I am cheating a little today. I have a conference and a speaking engagement that promises to be a very long one in which I don't believe I am going to sit down, let alone find time to write. So... I have revised a poem that I have been meaning to revise for a while. Our prompt was to write about a celebration. This poem is a celebration of my daughter. It was written when she was just turning one, but I wasn't really happy with it then. I am feeling more comfortable with it now. It is based loosely on the poem "To a Little Invisible Being Who is Expected Soon to Become Visible" by Anna Laetitia Barbauld. I promise to write a "real" response to the prompt today if the time allows.

To the Small Being Who is Expected Soon to Become Grown
(or to my daughter on her first birthday)
(Apologies to Ms. Barbauld)

Germ of new life, you began
And only one short year ago
You bound yourself to these hearts
Now your powers are expanding hastily
And for many a moon your perfections have swelled,--
Hasten not, precious harvest of happy love, to grow
Too quickly, for already you have left us wondering
How the little bud that you were is so soon blooming
What powers lie folded in your curious little person,--
Senses heightening and mind expanding!
Little do you know at this time the horizons and lofty places
You may reach
When I look upon your sweet face,
I see prayers answered and blessings beyond my asking,
And wonder at God’s plans for you.

NaPoWriMo #9

2010-04-09T16:01:00.003-05:00

This day's prompt was the cliche and proverbial "humdinger"... Don't know about this one at all, but I couldn't resist the Mission Impossible allusion. Here's the prompt:

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to:

Use at least twelve words from this list: flap, winter, torch, pail, jug, strum, lever, massage, octopus, marionette, stow, pumice, rug, jam, limp, campfire, startle, wattle, bruise, chimney, tome, talon, fringe, walker;
Include something that tastes terrible;
Include some part (from a few words to several lines) of a previous poem that didn’t quite pan out; and
Include a sound that makes you happy.

Here's the result:

Words

I am
a marionette

They strum and heave
my strings. I am an easy
walker in their sway
tome talon torch
Playful and suggestive
stroke startle stow
Horrid and bitter
carob winter
Joyous poignant bliss
coffee maker gurgle
first born giggle
Warm and edgy
chimney fringe
Betraying and truthful
aware and oblivious
of contradiction

NaPoWriMo Day #8

2010-04-08T05:53:00.003-05:00

Today's prompt from ReadWritePoem was hard. Here's what we were given:

Today, think of your current love, your current obsession or the one who got away. Now come up with five or more unusual metaphors for the object of your affection/obsession: wool scarf, cough drop, puddle, half-empty bottle of red wine… Choose your favorite of the bunch and write a poem celebrating (or trashing) your love.

It's not that I don't have love to write about, it's just that I find love poems often too sticky, cliche and, well, boring. I am sorry if I offend anyone.

Here is the result that I plugged out today. I am happy with some of the ideas, but the poem itself is probably one that I will leave in the composting for a long while. Still, I am curious to hear what you have to say about it.

Everyday Love

Among the plethora of cds
On the shelves surrounded
By action figures and Star Trek
In the corner with your discarded socks
Beside the red marking pens on the counter
where you left them after work

Around the belt resting on the dresser
In the camera case you take on every outing
Under the pillow that holds your head
In the precise angle for optimum movie watching
Over the barbeque that you tend
Above your iPod

Wherever you are, whatever you touch
I am there.

In my binder full of notes for classes
On the desk piled high with paper and texts
In the Eeyore cup you gave for a cheer up present
Beside my snug black chair where I work
Around the flowers I try to grow
Under the bed where I leave my shoes
Among the books that clutter our living room

Inside my purse, alongside my umbrella
On every day of my calendar
In every word I inhale
In every breathe I let go
In my heart

Wherever I am, whatever I touch
You are there.

NaPoWriMo Day #7

2010-04-07T05:26:00.002-05:00

Today's prompt challenged us to write a 5 line poem called a tanka. This is a new form for me, and normally I don't like forms. The prompt asked us to write about a funny or humour love incident. I couldn't really do that, so I wrote about the funniest attempted "pick-up" incident I've had. He became a friend, and that is all because, really... you'll see why.

Really?

In the video store, nose running
fever high, looking for diversion
You noticed my heightened colour, I suppose
And asked for my number
All I had was a tissue.

NaPoWriMo #6

2010-04-06T06:47:00.004-05:00

Today's prompt from ReadWritePoem was one that challenged me a bit. It prompted us to use an image that spoke to us. I have done this before using images from my childhood home, but I decided to push myself a little and use something new.

This is the image I chose. It was the picture that challenged because the prompt questions made me ask difficult questions. This is the result. I am not at all happy with the title or the last line, but I will need some time (or maybe suggestions???) for that.

Infinite Longing

She pleads, stay

Rising to his hand

Teasing, he runs his image
Over her inky skin
scattered blue on an obsidian canvas

cratered blue rounding
still alluring, perfection is misshapen in reflection

But she isn't capable of stillness
It's not in her nature –

Her surface may belie tranquillity, her depths
When plumbed are perpetual motion

Yet it is he that moves her

Moon and Ocean, ever drawn together
infinite longing

Here is another picture prompt poem that I wrote lately and was published here.

Unseen Harvest

A favourite photograph
Pictures my father
Grey overalls and tattered cap atop salt and peppered hair
Standing, back to the camera
Unaware
While he surveys his crop
With the broad prairie sky beyond.

A solitary man against a field of black
And an endless sky of blue
Pondering the tiny shoots
Yet unseen
Upon which rest his future
His family’s future.

All his hopes
Depend on the still, quiet seeds
Painstakingly planted.

And just as he was not aware
Of the lens and unseen observer
Capturing this moment,

I wonder if he knows how
His faith in those roots, now grown
And blossoming have shown me
Promises of another harvest.

NaPoWriMo Day #5

2010-04-05T07:37:00.000-05:00

Obsession

I want to write in the way
Your ink floods across the page
but I struggle
with a crippled pen

I wait for a muse

I pretend

I read your words and ask
How
What are you that words become
flesh

Mine lie
Dust, dry white bones
Never even whole

Obsession flows from the lacerations
Your words cause
I cough jealous blood
It splatters,
scars the page

I lick my lips hoping
And the sickness seeps
deeper

I try to resist
But I am drawn

From my dark corner
I see your shadow
pass

NaPoWriMo Day 4 - Inside Out: A Conversation

2010-04-04T07:09:00.002-05:00

Inside Out: A Conversation

Come in, out of the weather
Don’t forget to wipe your feet
The welcome mat is right there
Oh, I know I shouldn’t remind you.

But I don’t want mud tracked through

Won’t you sit and take
tea, two lumps isn’t it?
So lovely to see you again.

Why yes, that is the latest addition
I have been working night and day
To add that last bit of cholesterol
In just the right place

Would you like to take a tour?
On your left just behind
The pulmonary valve is my heart

Its been broken so many times
It has patches and fixes galore
And still it goes on
Ticking and waiting to be broken again

Oh, that isn’t the case. It isn’t a matter
Of wanting to be broken,
It is what happens

Let’s continue, shall we?
On your right are the lungs
They have been giving me some
Trouble lately, but I am hoping
For the best

Yes, that is a new space there.
No, I don’t have anything to fill it.
Please, don’t worry, the tears will pass.

Besides, it isn’t as if there has never
Been anything there. It has been filled
Twice, with beautiful results

Shall we go back to our tea? I don’t
Feel up to much more right now

Yes, I guess the windows here are quite lovely,
Or so I have been told before.

I don’t know why the emptiness bothers
Me so. It was a planned move. It was giving
Me no end of trouble. But now, I just cannot find
Something suitable to plant there.
It is as if nothing can be as beautiful as what has grown there before.

I don’t want to seem ungrateful though.
Do you see there, through the window?
Do you see them playing?
Thank you so much. I do think they are gorgeous.
My breathtaking children.

No, I hadn’t thought of that
I hadn’t thought
Of it like that. My emptiness
As a gift.
You always know just what to say.

In which I Discuss Fear

2010-04-03T12:01:00.003-05:00

The prompt from ReadWritePoem today was to write about fear -- what we fear most. I had already been contemplating fear, whether Christ felt fear as he headed towards His death. And I began to wonder if He feared death or if He feared nothingness. I thought about the possibility of Christ, in His human form feeling fear, and this is where my NaPoWriMo poem #3 started.

And I began to think about this whole process of NaPoWriMo and what it is making me accomplish -- and really, it is pushing me to share my writing before I feel ready; it is pushing me to face my fears of inadequacy, of lacking, of nothingness. Who am I to write? Who am I think that I might have something worth sharing, something that might enlighten or illuminate?

Because, ultimately, that is what I long for, to enlighten or illuminate, not only others who read, but myself more so. I fear that I do not. I fear that I cannot. But I have hope.

Posting these NaPoWriMo poems right after they are written is difficult for me, because I haven't had time to think about them too much. They are raw, and putting them out into the public makes me feel raw, fearful, alone.

I thank each of you who have commented.

A final thought to ponder -- my author friend, Trudy Morgan-Cole wrote this as her status on Facebook today:

We do not go directly from Good Friday to Easter morning. Jesus rested in the tomb on Sabbath; His followers lived with the pain and fear of thinking He was gone forever. Do we, too, need times of darkness, emptiness and solitude, before we can move from suffering into the glorious hope of resurrection and new life?

Have a blessed Sabbath and a wondrous Easter.

NaPoWriMo Day #3

2010-04-03T10:15:00.002-05:00

Easter Sabbath

Did the darkness frighten you?
You who understood the cosmos
And heard its song sung
Before we even contemplated
one note

Did the nothingness panic you?
You who formed the nothingness
You who fashioned the emptiness
And made it matter
So that we might also

Knowing it was coming, knowing
What was coming, you cried
In the garden surrounded

It must have weighed heavy
That darkness, the nothingness
That rest between the agony
And the glory

And for those who loved
You
That resting, the darkness and the tomb
Was despair, disbelief

And yet, you rested
And awoke in splendour
To shine through, to strengthen
To save

We who tarnished the song,
Chose the darkness,
Lived in nothingness

So that we may sing the song,
Choose light,
Live

NaPoWriMo Day #2

2010-04-02T06:32:00.003-05:00

Today's prompt from ReadWritePoem was less interesting to me. It asked that we take the acronym RWP and plug it into http://www.acronymattic.com and see what acronyms would inspire us. I found examples such as "regular white paper" somewhat interesting, but "rural white paper" stimulated a recent fascination that I have with my youth and this is my take on RWP.

Like all the posts I am putting up for this project, this is my first take. It could stand polishing. But I am posting and composting here. All comments are welcome and encouraged!

Reclaiming Wild Prairie

It’s not what I expected
this longing

For chaff and the pebbled
gold, for choking blonde
flowers, for endless
days filled with aches
and blood

For simplicity of doing
what I’m told and complaining
about it later on an hour long
phone call to an understanding friend

For freedom and wildness
of uncertainty, unknowing
ignorance, for joy of running
with abandon through dark
ridges of soil that settles
in the crevasses and creases

For longer days in open
spaces under unending skies.

NaPoWriMo Day #1

2010-04-01T14:06:00.006-05:00

Because I am seriously lacking in inspiration right now after fighting the flu for a week, I am using the writing prompts from ReadWritePoem.

The prompt was to take the first five songs from your iPod shuffle and use them to compose a poem. We were not to change the wording or rearrange the titles; they had to be intact, although we were allowed to add punctuation. Here's the result. I am not thrilled yet, but I see some potential. Can you find all five song titles??? Would love to say there is a prize in it for you, but there isn't -- beyond my respect. ;)

Would love your comments!

Shuffling

I know you were waiting
for me to take
a first step

A step towards something
blue and green
maybe gold

I do
crave the colours,
the experience

But still you wait to take me
to the river of sapphire
bottle green

But you will wait
a thousand years, a thousand
thousand years

For that step,
while I watch
patio lanterns

Picture courtesy of www.monniblog.com

Why I Work Two Jobs As Well...

2010-03-31T09:24:00.004-05:00

"In Which Natalie Finds the Fallacy" from http://wondermark.com/

Click on the image to read it all... Why oh WHY can I NOT get pictures to fit correctly here?

Anyhow, it is amusing... just saying.

I Should Really Learn My Lesson

2010-03-29T14:38:00.003-05:00

In the middle of the night, especially when I am not able to sleep, I can compose the most beautiful and heart-wrenching lines. I say them over and over to myself, amazed at my own words. Thankful for the gift.

But I don't get up and write them down.

I know every writer worth their salt keeps a pen and paper next to the bed, and I actually do this. But the problem is that I don't want to turn on the light and wake my husband, or get out of bed to go somewhere where I can turn on a light without disturbing anyone. Because this then adds to the sleepless issues.

So I don't write them down. I repeat them over and over, praying that the words will still be with my in the morning. Last night was no different than a hundred other such nights. I awoke this morning without them. Bereft.

Now, I am here wishing -- again -- that I had just sacrificed the sleep. Because I am wordless, and I hate that. I don't have any delusions that the words I wrote last night were going to be perfect this morning, but they would have been words...

Strange Fruit

2010-03-18T10:29:00.000-05:00

It has been exactly a year since I had major surgery that made me both less and more. I am less somehow because I am missing an organ, but I am more because I have less pain and less regular trauma.

But as I sit here thinking about that space that is not empty, yet not full, I wonder at my sense of longing. "What ifs" and "what could have beens" aren't helpful or productive.

Wombless in room without a view.

On the Anniversary of Your Leaving

2010-03-14T07:39:00.000-05:00

A year has passed
since you left me

while I slept

We had said our goodbyes

but still I awoke

in shock

Noone has moved in

to the space you left

just neighbours

slowly taking over

I was eager for you

to leave, but now

I find myself

longing

When I see

my children playing

laughing

When I wonder

about the children

unborn

I miss you

It is strange

to feel this way about

an organ

That is likely

sitting in a jar

on a shelf

forgotten by everyone

but me.

And another thing...

2010-03-11T08:15:00.000-06:00

Yes, it is the second post in one day! No, the world is not coming to an end... well, yes it is, but not because of me... that is another story.

Just wanted to add that I have had another poem published. You can read it in on the last page of the January issue here www.adventistmessenger.ca.

Happy Thursday!

Gearing Up for NaPoWriMo 2010

2010-03-11T06:32:00.001-06:00

In 2009, I tried (again) to do NaNoWriMo, but failed miserably. I got about 25,000 words and stalled. AGAIN. I don't seem to be able to keep the steam rolling for a novel. I have ideas, I have plotlines, but I don't seem to be able to create characters I care about that are more than two dimensional. Maybe someday...

BUT a whole month of writing a poem a day? Maybe that is something I can do. I know it will be challenging, but a fun sort. So I am starting to make a list of prompts that I like for each day of April to help keep the juices flowing. I have some... but would LOVE to have more. If you know of a good place to find them, please comment!

Anyhow, my goal is post the poems here -- good or bad, finished or unfinished. So, we will see what happens.

Happy writing all.

ReadWritePoem

2010-01-15T13:46:00.000-06:00

I just KNEW there had to a site like this out there. And I finally found it! I am so excited!!! Check it out if you are interested. It is wonderful! BTW, if you do, you can find me at lorikmacdonald or lomac.

Oh, and I have a few new poems to share, but I will have to do that later. I haven't forgotten about this place. It's just so darn intimidating... and I don't really know why!!!

Light, Darkness and Poetry Personified Unpleasantly

2009-12-02T18:02:00.000-06:00

Like most things that I start that don't have specific deadlines, I have been VERY delinquent with this. I had great intentions, but they floundered in the mire of daily life and trying to be a mother, wife, professional, friend, and the plethora of other things we try to do.
Lately I have felt that I have failed in many ways. And this blog was one of the failings. So, today I was going to delete it. I was going to move on.
Then I read the comments posted and I was heartened to keep trying.

I am still working on Kim Addonizio's book and one line has stayed with me through it -- and through this as well. Forgive the language, but it spoke-- "Poetry is a b****. It wants your energy, your intelligence, your spirit, your time. No wonder you want to avoid it" (57). This spoke to me, because I can't seem to write these days, no matter my intentions, needs or drive. And as I was reading, I found myself even more taken in as Addonizio states: "Secretly you feel too boring or stupid to write good poetry. You felt ugly as a child; you still do. You don't know if you can truly love anyone. You are afraid to leave the house some days. You can't make small talk. Or you talk too much, and lie in bed in the middle of the night regretting the things you said." So often when I am reading I find myself wishing I could have the same experience as the author or the character, that what I am reading is better than my life. But this screamed at me. THIS IS ME!!! And it was so terrifying, so disturbing, that I had to put it away for a while.
But she goes on to quote Sri Aurobindo (Indian yogi, poet and political leader) "You carry in yourself all the obstacles necessary to make your realization perfect. Always you will see that within you the shadow and the light are equal. If you discover a very black hole, a thick shadow, be sure there is somewhere in you a great light. It is up to you to know how to use the one to realize the other."
I am not sure I agree with the whole premise stated here, but I do love the idea that even though I am wallowing in self-pity, drowning in regret, stimied in condescension, there IS a Light that can draw me out. And while Aurobindo states that the light and dark are equal I know the Light is Stronger, Mightier and Better if only I can hold on.

So, your comments have been a glimpse of light for me. I will strive to see more of it. I wiill strive to be more light. And I won't let Poetry intimidate me further. I will make Poetry my muse instead of allowing her to make her toy.

Devouring Delicious Poetry --

2009-09-02T19:46:00.000-05:00

Because I have felt that I needed to do something to kick start my writing again, and because my first option of finding a good writing group close to home has failed, I have done what has served me well in the past – I have found a good book. I am currently reading Ordinary Genuis by Kim Addonizio. And so far, I have been impressed. Rather than a “here’s what poetry is” sort of book, I have found it more of the “these work for me” sort. She connects with poetry that I am fond of such as Wilfred Owen’s “Dulce Et Decorum Est” (fantastic poem for sound, imagery and general word choice).

And the second thing I have been doing is reading a LOT of poetry. I am digging out my old textbooks from which I taught – the trusty Norton Anthologies, the books of poetry that I have collected over the years and anything that looks remotely interesting from the public library (although I think that I must have burst a blood vessel in one librarian’s forehead when I asked where the poetry section was – not sure anyone had ever asked him that before).

But really, I have been, as Mark Strand so aptly put it, “eating poetry.” Luckily, poetry is calorie-free (which agrees with my Weight Watcher’s plan).

It is working; I am writing more comfortably every day, and even more than once a day – stealing moments in the backyard to write American Sentences while my kids play with the neighbours, snatching moments to scribble down my thoughts about my friend’s brother’s death, thieving time while the beans braize for supper.

Soon and very soon, I hope to have more to put up here of my own, but the perfectionist in me is not yet willing to share them...

So, for those of you who are unfamiliar with Mark Strand, here’s one of my personal favourites.

Eating Poetryby Mark Strand

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.
Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Stallings

2009-08-26T19:18:00.000-05:00

I’ve had a particular idea for a long time. Part of it came to me in a dream, and part has been stewing for a while, popping up now and then – mostly in the middle of the night when I am least likely to actually get up and write it down.[1] But somehow, every time I try to work this onto paper I seem to freeze. I am not sure if it intimidation, laziness or if it is just that the idea hasn’t not become yet.
I often wonder if other writers have this problem. It really isn’t “writer’s block” per se, because I know the basics of what I want to write; it seems more like I am stalling, like a young driver in a standard car at a light that has just turned green. I jerk the gear shift around, trying to find first and then lose it when I try to pull my foot off the clutch. And just as the young driver gets frustrated and flustered by each time he or she fails to achieve motion, and gets even more distressed by the fact the drivers behind them are less than sympathetic, I am distressed by my lack of motion.
But as I was reading the blog of a gifted poet and fellow Word Guild member, Violet Nesdoly, the sub-line for her blog “Promptings” is a quote from Eliza Thomas. It struck me. It says “Write it down, whatever it is. It may surprise you.” This encouraged me to seek out Eliza Thomas, an author with whom I was not familiar. Which of course is completely fitting with Nesdoly’s title. Her blog has continued to “Prompt” me to think about things and discover new things, ideas and people. This was my way to stop stalling.

Maybe I don’t need to have all the details worked out, as I often do before I start. Maybe knowing whether this is a short story, a poem or something else isn’t important at this point. Maybe, just writing it down is what I need to do.

And maybe, just maybe, the results of "writing it down" will be my next post. I will try to make it a surprise.

[1] Taking a side path for a moment – why is it that some of my best ideas come to me in the wee hours? I have taken to keeping a notebook and pen beside the bed, but that doesn’t solve the issue of light. I don’t want to wake my husband up just because I have had an epiphany. I am considering buying a book light or a flashlight for the purpose. What I have been doing up until now is 1) trying desperately to remember what my idea was, 2) scribbling in the dark and hoping that it will be legible in the light of day, or 3) tromping off to the bathroom to quickly scratch down the thought. But none of these are good solutions as 1) usually doesn’t work as I have a horrid memory since having children, 2) doesn’t always work for the obvious reasons, and 3) wakes me up so much that I usually end up lying awake for hours afterwards or I just get up and go to the computer. So, I think I just convinced myself of what I need to do. Sad and strangely ironic, that I have to write it all down to come to this conclusion. Oh look, I am surprised.

Beginnings

2009-08-22T17:40:00.000-05:00

Beginnings are both exciting and terrifying. When I start something new, I am always excited about the possibilities, and really, at the beginning of anything, the possibilities are endless. This is most likely the reason why beginnings are terrifying too.
So, here I am beginning a "real" presence online. Not because I have profound and esoteric things to share, but because a writer these days must be willing to put themselves "out there."
And while I am not not a "beginner" writer -- I have been writing for years, I am very new to the public sharing of my work as I have been self-conscious and, well, a little intimidated by the GREAT writers to actually expose myself in this way.

Here's how my perspective changed:
In February, I had a fit of insanity or possibly it was the Spirit leading, I don't wish to presume. Nevertheless I decided to send in a poem that I had had published the year before. It was my first poetic publication and I don't really know what possessed, but I sent it in. And a couple of months ago, I was honoured to receive the Award of Merit for Poetry from the Word Guild at their gala awards ceremony in Mississauga, Ontario.
It was an amazing moment for me. I was recognized by other established writers, and by other wonderful poets, one of my new favourites especially D.S. Martin. And then a few short weeks later, I had another amazing moment -- I received the judge's comments for my poem. It was both humbling and encouraging. The judge, a poet and professor of poetry, gave me a very impressive grade and also some very helpful comments; it was these words that have spawned my newfound wish to share in a grander scope. "I hope to see more of your work in print soon" she said.
So, here's a beginning. While I will sometimes publish some of my poems here, I am hoping to use this as a sounding board, a place of discussion and well, a general "composting" place (to use my creative writing professor's words).

Please comment. I will welcome any and all comments.

God bless.

For your interest, here is the poem that won the Award of Merit from the Word Guild:

In My Father’s Field

A perfect number they stand
Spawned from the same lot
Tortured: cut, pounded, pierced, strung

Three former fence posts
Sixty some years later
Now willow trees
Tall, alive
Branches and roots intermingling
Joined by more than nature

On either side
Linked by wire and pain with those
Not chosen to grow
Linked with those posts whose purpose
Is still only to keep out or in

Meant to enclose
The living with the dead
Barbs and nails
Once invaders now
Family
Grown essential
Into and through each heart
Binding together
Past and future

Out of utility, death, pain
Willow beauty
Love

© Lori Wiens-MacDonald
Canadian Adventist Messenger January 2008