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Entries in poetry (78)


i come to the water

cannon beach

more poem notes (or maybe an early, early draft of a poem) on this thursday...

I come to the water
to breathe in
I come to the water
to remember
her laughter
I come to the water
because I fear
I come to the water
to open
a space
inside me
I come to the water
to find
pieces of the past
I come to the water
to grieve
I come to the water
to let go
I come to the water
to seize life

head on over to jillypoet's for another thursday of the traveling poetry show...


i almost...

Carolee is hosting "The Traveling Poetry Show" today, so please visit her blog to read her post, find out next week's prompt, and visit her comments to link to some posts about poetry.


Yesterday, thinking about the idea of fear that Delia posted as the prompt last week, the writing prompt "I almost" sprung to my mind. I wanted to just write and write all that came from thinking about that phrase. Fears can spring from that word almost. The following phrases aren't current feelings necessarily, just thoughts that came to me as I wrote for several minutes without stopping or editing (much):

I almost

Sat until I couldn't feel
Closed my eyes to truth
Got in the car and never looked back
Quietly allowed the world to happen around me
Believed that things just seemed to happen to me
Stayed in a belittling, suckerpunch-filled relationship
Wished it all away
Felt so much envy I forgot me
Stuffed anger in until my belly bloated
Forgot to remember myself
Slept my way to stagnation
Thought I didn't have a tribe
Didn't believe someone could change
Didn't own all of it
Didn't allow for possibility
Didn't dream of something breath taking
Lost my footing

And from this free writing came the following little poem of sorts:

I almost slept
my way to stagnation
but instead
I swim inside
and breath


spending time with poetry

this week, the community formed at Poetry Thursday is leaving links to their thursday poetry posts at delia's blog...go visit her to find out next week's prompt and who will be hosting the next week of, in her words, the traveling poetry show. love that. at some point tomorrow (thursday), i plan to share some more personal thoughts about what's happening (a bit more than what i shared on the most recent post at poetry thursday) and why the community is going to "jump from blog to blog" for the next couple of weeks.


sept 5
september 5, a moment tucked in bed with the words of sharon olds.

to read the words of sharon olds in her collection of poetry in the book "the gold cell" is to repeatedly breathe in the knowledge that my story, although it is my story, is a story, a song, a path that is known by others.

feelings long pushed deeply into a little pocket inside me burst out of me each time i visit with this poet.

but i come back often because i am face to face with the knowledge that to examine the bits in the internal pocket is to examine the quietest, most truthful pieces of me. it is a raw, breath-catching experience that somehow makes me feel more whole instead of sad.

the gift of poetry.

(tonight's experience was with the poem "late poem to my father," which you can find here if you scroll down a bit)


a poetry thursday favorite poem

The Sunday before the Wednesday I was to see you
the conversation played
on a stage in my mind.
Knowing you would pretend to be irritated that
I had flown across the country unannounced
because you did not
want me to see you like this,
I would pull the chair next to your bed,
see your emaciated body,
and my hand would brush
away the hair around your face
like I did twenty-five years ago
right before I would smear Pond’s cold cream
across your nose, cheeks, and forehead.
I would tell you that I finally understood.

But then you died on Tuesday.

In their need for reason,
people said you chose to die
the Tuesday before the Wednesday I was to see you
because you knew I was coming and
you wouldn’t have
wanted me to see you like that.
Infuriated, I turned my back
on the words that meant nothing
to the open wound you left behind
that people saw as me, and
I sat in the darkness,
my throat choked with silence,
my fingertips filled with regret that I
did not brush your hair
away from your face
when I saw you on
the morning of the Thursday after the Wednesday I was to see you,
when I heard your voice say,
It isn’t me.


I originally shared this poem in the summer of 2006 and again here as part of Poetry Thursday, which was an online community I co-hosted. It poured out of me one day when I was processing the grief surrounding my grandmother's death and my anger at the platitudes people say. Of all the poems I wrote during my experience of Poetry Thursday, this was my favorite.


the last poetry thursday

I cried last night as I wrote my last post for Poetry Thursday. I surprised myself a bit by how deeply sad I felt as I saved and published it. This project has been more important to me than I think I even realized. Part of the reason is how connected it is to my own discovery of how much I love poetry and how I believe poetry can change a person…and the world. I know it is also connected to finding light in darkness as poets (the ones I discovered on bookstore shelves and the ones I connected with in blog world) were some of the first people to say to me, "You are not alone in the deep well of grief." So, this gift is also connected to Poetry Thursday.

I realize that I don't have to return these gifts because the project is ending. It isn't as though I will suddenly stop reading poetry or stop writing it. Of course not. I am not leaving blog world, and I will continue to connect with other bloggers who love poetry. I will continue to share my own poetry, links to other poets/poems/blogs, and thoughts about poetry here. And, I imagine I will probably find myself sharing them on Thursdays the way many of us still share Self-Portrait Challenge photos on Tuesdays. I suppose I must admit that I will have more time for my own love affair with poetry as cohosting a site does take up quite a bit of time. But, to me, it is sad all the same.

To all of you who have participated in Poetry Thursday: Thank you for all you have shared and taught and the community you created. Please keep changing the world one poem at a time.


A short poem note (or maybe it is indeed simply a short poem) on this last Poetry Thursday…

We stood until the drum of your heart, the water rolling down my back, and your hands cradling my head were all we were.

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