The writer stares at a blank white window, a
Reminder that she must write 1,000 words today. She’s a novelist
With five books, each one starting as empty screen. Who
Knows if this one will finally coalesce. She turns
To another window, sees gray clouds bunch on the
Horizon. The air vibrates, anticipating a feast from tables
Of nimbostratus. Raindrops spell words on
The glass, jolting her fingers to keyboard and a new history.
source: A Novelist Who Turns the Tables on History
Science speaks, but who listens? Crossroads are where
Two sides meet, to yell, perchance to talk. Few
Are comfortable with the uncertainty of a new disease that got
From somewhere to here. We waited anxiously for a vaccine,
But when it came, only half took it. There were many
Who thought the vaccine was a Trojan horse. They have
Refused vaccines until they got sick, then wish they’d gotten
It. They beg for it in the ICU, but now they are too sick.
source: Where Few Got Vaccine, Many Have Gotten Sick
She lunges for the iron door, hoping to escape, but she’s
Just too late. She’s drowning in sparkles of dust that rise in a
Tidal wave. Destiny rings a torrent, echoing the shape-shifting
Stars, who beckon a tease. She reverses the artist,
Sloughs off history, whips coins into a froth. Who
Will drink the potion of morning, glory in the plays
That star her lovers? She’s locked in an iron box where all
Her fears braid chains in crimson, cobalt, waiting for the
Moment that ties her in knots, yet unravels all her parts.
source: She’s a Shape-shifting Artist Who Plays All the Parts
She feels her arms too long, her legs too short
To reach the stars, her desired goal for answers on
The questions that wake her at midnight. How many doses
Of moonlight will awaken her dead mother and
How many sprigs of belladonna will feed the dreams struggling
To strangle her? Will Orion hunt down her demons to
Feed his hounds? Is it Virgo or Hydra who will deliver
Her from Nature’s womb? She submits to the universe, to them.
source: Short on Doses and Struggling to Deliver Them
For swimming in Hades’ lake. She’s told to trim for
Form, but where to begin. Everyone is watching, audiences
Of one or a thousand, hoping she glues herself shut. She can
Blur hopes, but whose desires strangle the night, spin
Her needs to suit the ruling class way over our heads.
source: Rules for Audiences Can Spin Heads
Her spirit rallies while she sleeps under trees, with
No limits. Reality jimmies the lock to her dreams,
Glaze of light bursts borders, crashes onshore, making sport
Of wishes that juggle for attention, nowhere near
Satisfaction. She’s reprieved for a moment, huddles in a
Corner, gathering allies and strategy and tactics, critical
To overcoming reality. No gods rescue her at the crossroads
Of hope and despair, yet she holds close a nostalgia
For the time before birth, when all possibility reigns.
source: With the Sport Near a Critical Crossroads, Nostalgia Reigns
Her hold on power is stronger than gravity. She’s not sorry
She rules. It is her right. We bow before her, we
Bring tribute: sunflowers, mica chips, hummingbirds that aren’t
Quite adult. We crawl before her, caress her feet, going
Back to our cabins refreshed. We return at dawn, back
To groveling, but now she’s impatient, daring to
Demand equality. We do not understand her words. Their
Sound rocks our innards, twisting us into images of movies.
source: Sorry, We Aren’t Going Back to the Movies
I ran into an old friend on the street today. He’s about my age, 70s, more my husband’s friend than mine. I was masked, he was not, so I recognized him before he recognized me.
I commented that it was easier to recognize people by their eyes than I had expected. He commented that I was wearing a mask.
Well, I said, I’m wearing a mask on the street where there are lots of people. He said, we’re outside, you don’t need a mask.
I said, how does it hurt you if I’m wearing a mask? I’m not judging you for not wearing one. (I felt he was judging me for wearing one.)
He said, there’s a little space around your nose where the mask doesn’t fit tightly. I pressed the mask closer to my nose.
I feel safer with the mask. He feels safe without it. We agreed to disagree.
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It’s Slice of Life Tuesday over at Two Writing Teachers. Check out this encouraging and enthusiastic writing community and their slices of life every Tuesday. And add one of your own.
You haven’t been home for years. It’s time to revisit
The homestead. Except you have no homestead or a
Single home where you grew up. The past
Is a patchwork of city, country, suburb, an experience
Of all schoolgirls named Judy Linda, Nancy, Joyce, or
All boys named John, Bill, Mike, Spike. Perhaps
You have lived many lives coded with a tap
On a tab of memory that mixes the kaleidoscope of your
Past life or lives that cannot connect your heart to your feet.
source: Revisit a Past Experience or Perhaps Tap Your Feet
Fire meets Fire aloft, introduced by lightning, a
Cousin to cumulus. Sere redwoods bloom with fire.
Orange flames lick dry leaves, wrapping a necklace so
Tight on the trees, they shatter in overwhelming
Heat. Fire skims tender caresses over the forest. It
Melts into a gale where Fire nestles on sequoias, controls
All wind, sun, air, jilts water left steaming in the
Streams. Fire scripts love letters to Fire in the weather.
source: A Fire So Overwhelming It Controls the Weather.
a revision of what I posted earlier.
Father lightning shoots down a sharp jolt and a
Dry tree welcomes his jab, leaping into fire
That creeps gingerly among dry leaves so
Slowly she’s unnoticed until a burst of overwhelming
Flame takes charge, leading fire’s advance. It
Revs up, gobbling all tinder handy. Fire controls
The earth, the air, all becomes nourishment for the
Fire, announcing her dominance to power the weather.
source: A Fire So Overwhelming It Controls the Weather
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I’m continuing to use Terrance Hayes’s Golden Shovel poem format, as proposed by the Sunday New York Times "At Home" section, for 30 Poems in 30 Days during National Poetry Month.
Take a newspaper headline that attracts you.
Use each word in the line as the end word for each line in your poem.
Keep the end words in order.
Describe the story that the headline is for.
The poem does not have to be about the same subject as the headline that creates the end words.
-------------------------------------
It’s Slice of Life Tuesday over at Two Writing Teachers. Check out this encouraging and enthusiastic writing community and their slices of life every Tuesday. And add one of your own.
Yesterday, I had to go to White Plains to see my dermatologist. He has not been coming to his Manhattan office since covid arrived, and I haven’t had a body scan for almost two years. (Since I’ve had two noninvasive melanomas, I want to be checked out regularly.)
I got on the train at Grand Central. At 125th Street, a young man got on, with backpack and two folded-up walking sticks, and sat across from me. When the conductor came around, the young man said he only had a receipt, said the ticket never got spit out of the machine. “Someone got a free ride,” the conductor said. “Show me the credit card you used.” The young man gave him a credit card, but the conductor said it didn’t match the receipt. “Find the transaction on your phone,” he said, and continued down the car.
I wondered if the young man was trying to use a receipt he’d found to get his own free ride. When the conductor came back later, he inspected what the young man had brought up on his phone, and was satisfied.
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It’s Slice of Life Tuesday over at Two Writing Teachers. Check out this encouraging and enthusiastic writing community and their slices of life every Tuesday. And add one of your own.
A couple of weeks ago I went to a movie theater for the first time in a year and a half, to see Lin-Manuel Miranda’s “In the Heights.” The city street scenes were great, but I don’t know that neighborhood so well, and mentioned to a friend who lives in Washington Heights that there should be walking tours of sites associated with the film. She immediately volunteered to take me on one, and that’s what we did yesterday.
I will definitely watch the movie again — it’s available on Hulu — now that I can see outside the frame of the camera.
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It’s Slice of Life Tuesday over at Two Writing Teachers. Check out this encouraging and enthusiastic writing community and their slices of life every Tuesday. Add one of your own.
source: The Podcast 70 over 70 Puts a Forward Spin on Older People
Some think old people are unfamiliar with the
Internet. They think we don’t know what a podcast
Is. Now there is a podcast called 70
Over
70,
The mirror-image of 30 Under 30 lists. 70 Over 70 puts
The focus on we old folks and could be a
Positive, reversing the stigma on old people. Moving forward
On this rethinking requires we stop the spin
Of “age is just a number,” “you’re only as old as you feel,” “I’m 79 years young,” and on
And on. Age is real, we will all die sometime, and older
People are closer to the end than young people.
source: World Is Facing First Long Slide in Its Population
She retreats to a distant cave in desert hills, feeling the world
Recede to a pinpoint. An alien force circles the Earth, is
Nearing her refuge, blocking the entrance, until it is facing
Her, a phantom filling her cave, the first
Visitor from another universe. It’s come a long
Distance away in space and time, but the phantom can slide
Past wormholes and black stars. The phantom senses her in
Her refuge. It haunts her dreams in an unknown language, but its
Intention is unknown to any population.
So it's been a while since I wrote a golden shovel poem, but I've been saving source headlines to work on. Even though it's now June 7, here's one for May 22.
source: Rural Oregon Votes to Quit Its Own State and Secede to Idaho
They don’t want to start a war, the rural
Citizens of Oregon.
They only want to not be overruled by the votes
Of city citizens, to
Escape values that rural citizens dislike. Country folk quit
Empathy, its
Apparent weakness intolerable for people who carry their own
Guns wherever they go. They state
Their need for more compatible associates and
Demand to secede.
City folk escort them to the border, to
Their own private Idaho.
source: Summer Is Coming. Let the Words Flow
Words line up neatly in dictionaries, until summer
Heats the pages. Pages curl restlessly until one is
Tempted to fling itself from the binding, coming
To dance in sunlight. Sunlight rinses words loose to let
Them alchemize in any order: meaning the
Existence burnt into is new. New sentences of words
Revolutionize my mind as language takes on original flow.
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I’m continuing to use Terrance Hayes’s Golden Shovel poem format, as proposed by the Sunday New York Times "At Home" section, for 30 Poems in 30 Days during National Poetry Month.
Take a newspaper headline that attracts you.
Use each word in the line as the end word for each line in your poem.
Keep the end words in order.
Describe the story that the headline is for.
The poem does not have to be about the same subject as the headline that creates the end words.
·
source: Transforming a Fake Reality into Real Drama
Fireflies light up the meadows, transforming
Fields into a galaxy hugging the earth, where a
Constellation mirrors Orion, luring owls in their hunt to fake
Nests where sleeping mice feel safe in reality.
Ferrets, sloths, pangolins wander lighted grass streets into
A confusing dreamland where prey hide in real
Time, welcoming an escape from life or death drama.
---------------------------------------------------------
I’m continuing to use Terrance Hayes’s Golden Shovel poem format, as proposed by the Sunday New York Times "At Home" section, for 30 Poems in 30 Days during National Poetry Month.
Take a newspaper headline that attracts you.
Use each word in the line as the end word for each line in your poem.
Keep the end words in order.
Describe the story that the headline is for.
The poem does not have to be about the same subject as the headline that creates the end words.
He hitches up damp denim overalls in the morning after what
He feels is a call from unknown forces to bring this
Vision of trash turned into beauty to his town.
He cannot know how wants turn into needs
Desires into demands, peace into war. What is
The elusive route away from days drowning in a
Maelstrom, tsunamis of jeweled seas battering concrete
Dikes, planting seeds of the invasive whale.
---------------------------------------------------------
I’m continuing to use Terrance Hayes’s Golden Shovel poem format, as proposed by the Sunday New York Times "At Home" section, for 30 Poems in 30 Days during National Poetry Month.
Take a newspaper headline that attracts you.
Use each word in the line as the end word for each line in your poem.
Keep the end words in order.
Describe the story that the headline is for.
The poem does not have to be about the same subject as the headline that creates the end words.
source: Finding a Sailor Lost to Ice and Time
She joins the exploration team in hopes of finding
Answers to all questions. She believes certainty is a
Requirement for wisdom. An alien sailor
From a galaxy far away whispers in her ear a lost
Knowledge of only question after question. She splits to
A shady world, leaving a closet full of known ice
And fire, opening up to unknowns, uncertainty, and
So many questions that overdoses on time.
---------------------------------------------------------
I’m continuing to use Terrance Hayes’s Golden Shovel poem format, as proposed by the Sunday New York Times "At Home" section, for 30 Poems in 30 Days during National Poetry Month.
Take a newspaper headline that attracts you.
Use each word in the line as the end word for each line in your poem.
Keep the end words in order.
Describe the story that the headline is for.
The poem does not have to be about the same subject as the headline that creates the end words.
