Archive for the On Poetry Category

Poppies.

Posted in On Poetry on May 25, 2009 by boychick1

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“Poppies” by Mary Oliver

The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn’t a place
in this world that doesn’t

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats about everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curving blade
from hooking forward-
of course
loss is a great lesson.

But also I say this:  that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it’s done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight-

and what are you going to do-
what can you do
about it-
deep, blue night?

Enjoy your Memorial Day Weekend… (I’m dating again…weeeeeeee!)

Say What You Mean

Posted in On Poetry, personal ramble on May 23, 2009 by boychick1

I saw this poem last night on my friend Patti Digh’s Blog – she has written a wonderful book titled “37 Days” and her blog is here.  I love the poem & I went to bed with the sense of peacefulness it filled me with.  So lovely.  To write about a human feeling so simply and yet with such eloquence.

I Confess

I stalked her
in the grocery store: her crown
of snowy braids held in place by a great silver clip,
her erect bearing, radiating tenderness,
watching
the way she placed yogurt and avocados in her  basket,
beaming peace like the North Star.
I wanted to ask, “What aisle did you find
your serenity in, do you know
how to be married for fifty years or how to live alone,
excuse me for interrupting, but you seem to possess
some knowledge that makes the earth turn and burn on its axis—“
But we don’t request such things from strangers
nowadays. So I said, “I love your hair.”

-Alison Luterman

If I said what I mean I would say…

thank you. i love you. forever grateful for every moment and memory. i hold onto the hope that someday we can sit and talk to one another again. but regardless  always.  love. always love.

Is there something you forgot to say? Want to say?  Need to say…maybe you should start with “I love your hair”…

Off to walk six dogs (help me, help me) two are staying for the weekend because I needed more and it’s easy money.  Then I am off for a gathering of queer women that get together for coffee, a much needed trip to the gym.  I am really enjoying this weekend of selfish agenda – and it’s even time to dust off the road bike and play Lance Armstrong.  Enjoy your weeeknd all.

Poem For A Saturday…kindness.

Posted in On Poetry on April 18, 2009 by boychick1

Kindness

-Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

Andrea Gibson, Yellowbird.

Posted in Andrea Gibson, On Poetry on April 11, 2009 by boychick1

I adore her — this is for the artists of life, it’s for you!

On Kindness

Posted in On Poetry, Uncategorized on April 10, 2009 by boychick1

I’m not particularly inspired to write today – so let me share a poem instead.  It is after all National Poetry Month.

Kindness

-Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

So what are some of your favorite poems…please share their titles here.

Day Seven: Seven Straight days of blogging – well not exactly…

Posted in On Poetry with tags on April 3, 2009 by boychick1

Day seven – I’m on day seven of a 37 day committment to blogging everyday.  It feels good – and thanks for following along on the blog moves.  This will remain a personal space and queer blog but I like having control over some of my writing.  Over a decade ago I had a huge crush on a woman I worked with – she had dark curly hair and dark eyes.  A look I happen to really like – she was a competitive cross country ski racer and a mountain biker. Sigh.

She was straight – well so was I at the time but she was really straight.  Life is so cruel.  Those gorgeous cheekbones wasted on some guy when I was so damn ready to worship them.

After a bad breakup I gave her this poem (no I didn’t write it) it’s from one of my favorite poets Galway Kinnell.  I am finding it comforting too lately.

Wait

Wait, for now
Distrust everything if you have to.
But trust the hours.  Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become interesting.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again;
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands.  And the desolation
of lovers is the same:  that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired.  But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough;
Only wait a little and listen:
music of hair,
music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsing by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.

6. National Poetry Month

Posted in On Poetry on April 2, 2009 by boychick1


It’s national poetry month — so it’s time for a poem.

Fearing Paris
by Marsha Truman Cooper

Suppose that what you fear
could be trapped
and held in Paris.
Then you would have
the courage to go
everywhere in the world.
All the directions of the compass
open to you,
except the degrees east or west
of true north
that lead to Paris.
Still, you wouldn’t dare
put your toes smack dab on the city limit line.
You’re not really willing to stand on a mountainside
miles away,
and watch the Paris lights
come up at night.
Just to be on the safe side,
you decide to stay completely out of France.
But then danger
seems too close
even to those boundaries,
and you feel the timid part of you
covering the whole globe again.
You need the kind of friend
who learns the secret and says,
“See Paris first.”

To my friends, to the truthseekers, to those comfortable with the questions – the bold and the restless… I say “See Paris first!”