How is it exactly that ancestry and nesting go hand in hand

In the rushing toward the deep of something thawing

Comes this breaking, which is vital to becoming green

Eventually must come this ripening


Last night, I played in the meadow, got muddy and covered in seeds

But when I awakened this morning, the window was shut tight

So many blossoms, and I’d been allotted a glimpse of just one


Grey hillsides blanketed and kissed

Like the whisper hidden in the poet’s verse

There is the sense of being untouchable here


Exercise #21 Go to your pile of poems that you’re just not sure what to do with. Choose one poem from each year of the last five or ten years (haven’t been writing or saving drafts that long? use your own time frame). Choose a line from each. See what happens.

I elected to open old documents from each year and to choose a line that drew me, seeking to let my heart, not my head, do the choosing. One line I couldn’t fit into the poem, so I gave it to the title.


Voice lessons

Today’s assignment is to write a series of connected Haiku. I couldn’t find the suggested model poem, Nancy Pagh’s “Fat Girl Haiku” in No Sweeter Fat.  I suspect each individual Haiku within the longer series was also to be able to stand alone, but I chose to simply let the meter 5/7/5 guide me.

I tried my hand twice.

Voice lessons 

1.       She smells the fragrance

That so many walk right past

And yearns to sing it


Her voice unmeasured

Seeks an instrument to play

This magnum opus


Her timid descant

Stricken silent for too long

Supposes absence


What made her conceive

She could learn those scales and chords

At such a late hour


Lovemaking of course

Bringing that moan of delight

Quite unexpected


Almost demanding

To be sung with a passion

Unfettered by form


 What made her believe

She could so tame or contain

Or package that gift?


Perhaps there’s no way

To share such intimations

As subtle as scent


Though her body screams

It cannot find words nor song

For such ecstasy




2. There is a sweet song

That yearns to be sung through her

She hears it out there


Her body receives

With delight the lush beauty

Oft hidden from view


She longs to bear it

To unearth that rich treasure

Though it eludes her


Perhaps a woman’s

Incompetent to bring forth

From this vessel, clay


So shattered like this

Great boulder split as if dropped

From some lofty height


Though she understands

Seasons of rain and of cold

Eroded her poise


Can those stones cry out

Though voiceless they seem to be

Stuck overlooking


Musical vistas

With her still, bearing witness

is but a small gift


She hopes it’s enough

Though she yearns to make some noise

Her voice remains mute























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