9 to 5 Poet

The lovely chapbook Savage Machinery by Karen Rigby is about to be released by Finishing Line Press. I reviewed this book a while ago for Read Write Poem, and I cannot say enough good things about this amazing book.  I would strongly urge you to pick up a copy here.  (Scroll to the bottom to find her title — the list is alphabetical by author last name.)  Support this poet — buy her book!

I’ve been so buried in the freelancing gig that I almost missed this awesome RWP prompt.  Luckily, I got up at 5 AM to clean the house and instead have spent an hour and a half (and counting) reading up on old blog posts in my feed and playing online.  Please excuse my multiple posts as I try to make up for the lack from the last three weeks. 

Above is the poem I assembled on Shufflewords this morning, while dusting the sleep out of my eyes.  (Click on it to enlarge it.)

Really, I’ll clean the house sometime today.  I promise.

What is the proper noun for a person that uses Twitter? I think the posts are called tweets, which makes the verb tweeting.  But who is the person that tweets?

I’ve broken down and signed up for Twitter, after reading this post at Read Write Poem.  I’ve avoided the site for a while, because I’m over 30 and it scares me.  However, I like the concept that the gals at RWP have about ways to use the site.  I think being able to connect in a different way with other poets is really wise and I like the informality of it all.

Plus, I’m convinced that in 140 words, you could totally write a rockin’ little poem for the day.  So if you’re into RWP or just poetry, check out their page! Well, I’m off to gussy up my profile!

In Minnesota, lilacs are finally in full bloom. The bushes are so weighted down with blooms that their brances are sagging.  Even so, the air outside is fragrant and everyone seems to be in a slightly better mood.  I was stuck for a poem, until a bus driver pointed out some lilacs on my commute home. 

Thursday Evening in June, #2 Westbound

I see you, bus driver,
crack open the door, breathe
deeply the scent of white
lilacs blooming beside
the bus stop.  A smile spreads
across your dour face as

you turn to the woman
behind you, cloaked inside
her beige hajib.  “Do
you like lilacs?” you ask,
as she nods, smiles.  “I love
lilacs. I wish they’d last.”

Behind me, the rough boy
in over-sized sweats slides
open his window, sticks
his face out and breathes in
spring.  We all watch you, see
our neighborhood as new.

This week, I read a wonderful chapbook called Savage Machinery (18 pages) by Karen Rigby.  I don’t want to spoil my review for it, which will appear on Read Write Poem on Wednesday, but this is a wonderful series of poems. 

My husband read over my shoulder while I was writing my review and said, “Oh an Adam and Eve poem.  You must like this chapbook!” And of course, I did, for more reasons than having an Adam & Eve poem. The chapbook weaves together several of my favorite themes. It’s about sensuality, food, religion, human connection despite distance and dang it, it rocks. 

When it comes out from Finishing Line Press in September, I heartily encourage you to pick it up!

Total For 2008: 3819 pages
Genres: Memoir (3), Essay (1), Graphic Novel (1), Non-Fiction (3), Poetry (5), Comic Book Anthology (1), Novel (2)

I am only tangentially on prompt today for read. write. poem., this uses figurative language more than specific metaphor or simile, but I was just so happy to have written a new poem, that I had to share.

My Morning, In Yellow

Tree pollen cakes my shoes
as I crunch through fallen beginnings.

A man in a yellow polo carries a body length
mirror, reflecting his twin.  Dandelions dotted

on the lawn behind him.  At the bus stop, the young
girl says on her cellphone, “You know what he said

to me — Bitch, if you don’t back up, I’m gonna
cut your stomach. He’s retarded!” Her nails flash bright

yellowed tips.  I count yellow signs:
Two Amigos Bazaar, Subway, For Sale By Owner, No

Trespassing, on the ride to work.  Two empty
school buses idle on opposite corners.

Crude mural on the abandoned day care shines
a shaft of lemon yellow light on cartoon Jesus.

Pregnant woman ahead of me sips nuclear bright
Mountain Dew. Gold stars on my journal cover.

I see street signs, lamp posts, speed bumps,
in chipped yellow hues.  The light

rail train glides silently on flat tracks,
yellow warning lights blink on and off.

Even in this abundant morning light, I see you,
portents and possibilities, blooming and lying dormant.

It’s still Monday here, so I’m turning in my read. write. poem. prompt under the wire.

For the Voiceless

“In Darfur, arms are like sticks. They are everywhere. You just need to bend down and pick one up.”
- IBRAHIM HASSAN, a Chadian rebel based in the Darfur region of Sudan. NY Times, April 2008

They still surround you, never making a sound.  Hundreds
of silent memories trail you.  Bend down.  Pick them up.

He says arms litter their landscape, spare limbs found lying
everywhere.   If you want one, just bend down, pick it up.

Dandelions litter your lawn. Strong weeds sown each spring
by silent insistent spores.  You bend down, pick them up.

Language is our choice, a luxury found only in
sentients.  We collect words, bend down to pick them up. 

Number 4001 made a hard choice, wound himself
around a bomb to save his friends.  Bent down, picked it up. 

I prefer animals, their soundless love, to our world’s
angry iterations.  I bend down to pick them up.   

For read. write. poem. this week, the prompt was “aunts.” When I spoke with my mom this week, she told me that my great aunt Crystal turns 98 this week, so she was going to visit her. I probably haven’t seen her in 10 years or so, but I immediately flashed on the memory below. 

Visiting Crystal

She had the husband with the cauliflowered ear,
and an ash brown buzz cut, tight
around his lumpy, curled flesh. She wore thick

high heels, tight polyester slacks, and turquoise
eye shadow layered over crepe paper lids.
She always gave me Jean Nate for Christmas

powder and parfum, exotic to an eight year old. I hugged
around her neck, her red curls brushed across my cheek.
The one time I visited her cramped house in Berkley,

Mom dropped me off early. I wandered, peered
at photographs from the ‘40’s, pushed open doors
and peered inside. On an oak dresser, a faceless

plastic head was smothered by flame
red curls. Crystal was half dressed
and her white camisole matched the sparse white strands

haloed around her head. She smiled, red lips
stretched broadly, covered her fragile skull
and asked, “Well kid, what are we doing today?”

It’s the first day of NaPoWriMo (yet another silly abbreviation of Make Yourself Crazy Month) and I have done it.  I wrote a poem.  29 to go. I will be posting as many poems as I feel comfortable, but I’ll also install a counter on my template to keep track of what I’ve written, including forms.   Below is my late read. write. poem. offering, where I go slightly off prompt.

 Reading Material While Riding the Bus - A Running List

The Purpose Driven Life, by a woman sucking on a lime lollipop. The black and white comics from yesterday’s paper, man hunched over in the front seats. Shiny crumpled edges of someone else’s shopping bag: Thank You For Shopping, folded in on itself, like a deflated balloon, read by everyone. Signs indicating Passengers Are Not Permitted to Stand Forward of the Yellow Line While Bus Is In Motion, me. The red and white faded Stop Requested sign, above the driver, illuminated and extinguished each block, everyone. The faces of every man who boards the bus, scanning for threats or attraction, me. The faces of every woman who boards the bus, skimming for recognition or disapproval, me. The faces of every child, looking for the moment when innocence hardens. The black and white sign, one inch by one inch, Press to Signal, for escape.

If I wasn’t such a dork when it comes to computer stuff, this would have taken much less time.  The blog has a new, pretty WordPress home.  You probably don’t need to update your links or feeds, but WordPress doesn’t use the www. prefix. 

In other random blog related news, my friends and I have started a new movie-reviewing website, Attack of the Movie Watchers, which is also a pretty spiffy WordPress blog.  So basically, I’ve been the domain purchasing queen lately.  (Asphalt Sky is on the docket, after I finishing laying out the issue.)  A stressful experience, but good.  I started this new blog because I wanted a space to review movies, but didn’t want to do it on this literature-related blog, so I made a new one and invited some friends. 

Oh, and speaking of literature and writing a lot, I’ve decided to commit myself to NaPoWriMo.  read. write. poem. is organizing some extra prompt-age in their sidebars and created a pretty button, which you can see below. 

So that’s my life in a nutshell.  How’s yours?