Poem Post

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

I wrote a poem tonight and as usual, I suck at titles, so it doesn't have one at the moment. But, here it is:

I left the vestibule door open
when I ran in
jacked up on generic Kool-Aid
and store bought cookies
and I knew
as sure as I knew that my
new Reeboks were a size 11
that this year I was
gonna sing so loud
they'd hear me across the river
across the tracks
even if the old L&N coal train
went by
blowing it's horn at the
Black Bottom crossing.

I never was good at the craft part
of Vacation Bible School
I couldn't, still can't, paint
or work with my hands.
But Jesus loves the little children
red and yellow, black and white
I could sing it
over the clicking of Kodaks
the whipping of bulletins as fans
and the heathen kids riding by
on rusty Huffys outside.

Mama was gonna be proud.

I pledge allegiance to the Christian flag
Onward Christian soldiers
marching as to war

Oh, Victory in Jesus
My Savior
Forever

Lord, it's been a month of Sundays
but I still know all the verses to
How Great Thou Art
but my voice is rusty

The B-I-B-L-E was not the book for me
I stood alone
on grown man feet and
couldn't walk back through
the vestibule door.

Blessed assurance
Jesus is mine
Little ones to him belong
I once was lost
or am
or wasn't

The son has now outlived the Son
But I can look outside and
see Him in a December sky
in my boyfriend
feel Him in the marrow of my sternum
as I write these words
with shaky hands
But, oh God
Is it well with my soul?

End of Summer poem

Ok, it isn't really the end of summer for a few more weeks, but seeing the back-to-school ads and our general population increase, it feels that way. So, I wrote a quick poem this morning. I suck at titles, so it is as yet, untitled:

Summer is precocious
in this college town
when internships and so many
soon to be lost virginities cause
our population
to feel its age.

At first, it's just the
traffic's lighter and
the cereal aisle
less crowded.
Raisin Bran is on the
10 for $10
instead of Lucky Charms and Trix.

At the downtown bar,
you'll realize that
blue-eyed boy is gone
and your glass of wine
is delivered by a girl
too young to have crow's feet
and a picture of a toddler
in the black wallet where she
takes down your order.

Sure, you'll fire up the
grill, make sangria and
suntan your forearms and shins,
but even the boys brazen
enough to jog or play tennis
with their shirts off seem to
apologize for the 6 packs
being Bud Light Lime.

It isn't until the first, cool
night in August,
just after the extra long
twin sheets appear in Target
that you realize the prodigal
Abercrombie princes
have returned
wearing unabashed sex
as easy as pre-distressed
t-shirts and plastic flip-flops.

A table over, you hear someone
use the word "syllabi"
and a group of girls
in homecoming court heels
walk by
talking about "circle up".

And so, you sigh
force a wider smile
and slide an extra $5
in the wallet
and remember the
blue-eyed boy
is named Jacob.

Impending Spring

On my way home today, I had a rare moment of optimism inspired by the sudden shower. I came home, wrote a quick poem and decided to post it. It's about 10 minutes old, so forgive that it isn't revised or edited. I'll resist the urge to explain more, but I will admit to heavily referencing my favorite poem, "The Waste Land".

roll up the window

the shower came suddenly,
as jolting as mud
on the windshield
thrown up by the semi

now taillights are misty
brake lights blurred

but even the thunder said "shanti"

spring may cruelly impend
but blossoms and buds bring more
than the wishes made on
the lap of a phony Santa Claus
in merry December.

Autumn Poem

I'm posting this because I think the previous entry had been up for about as long as anyone wanted to see it. I know it doesn't really feel like fall yet, but the calendar says it really should start feeling that way soon. So, without further ado, a quick poem:

Because I love the way 

I feel when seasons change. 

I turn brightly inward

deeper, more reflective.

something about that imminent change

the potato chip crispness of the air

while i still wear sandals.

the way coffee tastes richer and

every breath in could initiate a tear

senses more alive

eyes less heavy

the atmosphere more awake

and shaking me

like my Mom used to

when lying in bed on 

those first cold mornings. 

Because of this I sit in 

the coffeehouse while 

slow, easy almost maroon

jazz plays. 

with the impending equinox

making me feel as deciduous

as an oak tree in October. 

Tonight's Poem

I started several little intros to this and eventually decided to scrap them all. So without further introduction, here's a poem I wrote tonight. I don't have a title yet.

sometimes, I hear the

church chimes ring

11 minutes slow

as a kid, I waited for

the 12 o'clock whistle

to echo off an Appalachian.

everything's always been

clockwise and spinning

you spring forward

you fall back

every a.m. is a pulsing beep

and I don't wear a watch

but my phone's always on

seconds click quietly

and then it's June 9, 2010

in the year of our Lord

when it's summer

but I'm still

feeling deciduous

while all those beeps

chimes and whistles

are silent.

and I realize that

I don't know the name

on my own business card

there's always been a

game of freeze tag

a tv game show

a class

a job

to get to

and even with only

memories of reminders

I fold the laundry

and talk about dinner

but sometimes, I hear the

church chimes ring

11 minutes slow

America and Gay Yoda

Over the past year or so I've had an extraordinary group of new friends enter my life. To a person, they've all been fantastic in their own way and I truly feel grateful for the pleasure of getting to know them.

I call one of them my Gay Yoda. He doesn't know that. He's wise and dispenses fantastic advice and knowledge as casually as I sip bourbon. His words are occasionally cryptic and require some time to sort out, but once I have, I always come out better for it.

And though he will hate that I'm even writing this introduction, it is upon his advice that I'm posting today. He challenged me to let my inner poet speak on here. I've mentioned that I write poetry, but it never really shows up on the blog. So, I'm posting a poem I wrote a few years ago that I came across today while flipping through a notebook.

Like my blog posts, it was written quickly (after driving to work and just as I sat down at my desk). It was towards the beginning of the Iraq War and I was suddenly overwhelmed while in the car during my commute. After the bomb scare in New York this weekend and the growing popularity of the teabaggers and their ultra-patriotism, the poem seemed to still have some relevance. And so...without further ado and and with a nod to Gay Yoda, here it is:

and then it occurred to me

that i too am an american

smelling lilac through

air conditioning vents in

stop and go traffic.

there's a crest on my polo

shirt and i've just stood

in line 13 minutes for coffee.

i don't know what to think.

there's fighting in fallujah

more killing in kabul

texas runs coast to coast it seems

and i felt so

separtist

so isolated

so us and not them.

you see, i'm not what most

would call a patriot

you won't hear me singing

"oh beautiful for spacious skies"

or "pilgrim's feet"

or hell, even smog clouds and Nikes.

but on a thursday morning,

i'm reminded that i too

am an American

another consumer on the capitalist

food chain

a getter, a spender, a place me

on my mark and show me

where the rats are racing runner.

and..i'm shaken

disoriented

if i give into it

i'm shocked...i'm awed.

and i'm angry

i'm angry with myself...hypocrite!

and i'm angry at my friends...how did we get this way?

and i'm angry at the forefathers...look what you created!

and i'm angry at my country.

yes, i'm angry with you

America.

land of the free??? home of the brave???

i've been dreaming your american dream

while suffering from sleep apnea

and now i'm gasping for breath

and realizing how incredulous

you are

how sneaky and covert

you can be.

you've made me one of your own.

its your blood that flows through me

and even if i choke and wheeze

its your air that i'm breathing.

yes, i too am an american

not just because my passport says so

but because there is something you've

instilled in me.

something unmoveable

something modern

something so vital and fundamental

that it can live inside me without

my even knowing it's there.

until

this thursday morning

with the smell of lilac

filtered under my hood

and i realize the irony of

climate control and

climate change

yes, i too am an american

one of yours, and by default

one of theirs.

one of the hordes, the masses

the consuming and the consumed.

and i'm forced to wonder

if i too am an american

lady liberty,

can you take that away from me?