Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Poetry Day

Tonight, in honor of National Poetry Month and Shakespeare's birthday, we are holding a poetry reading at the college. I'll be reading Alone (Maya Angelou), a work of one of our remote students, and one of my own pieces. Here are two poems of mine for your amusement. The first is the one I'm reading tonight. The second is another of my favorites. Tomorrow I will write more and perhaps have pictures of the event! Peace - D

Once There was a Girl

Where has she gone,
the child spinning stories,
dressing up, singing off-key?
Have you seen her around?

A minute passed, a lifetime
formed, blonde hair now Black
as the Stone of Mecca. She sat
right there for suppertime.

Madness crept in,
I know not when.
It cast its thin
grey sheet within
her mind, frozen
in time she spins
into insanity.

Where has she gone,
my once innocent girl
Her skirts awhirl?
Have you seen her around?


All the Best Honey-Bees

Your rose bushes,
lush green peppered with
pink or red or mottled peach,
around the tiny porch
drew all the best honey-bees
from five counties.

From dawn, you worked
the soil, chased the aphids
with ladybugs, Sevin-dusted
if you must, to keep the
blooms full, sensuous
heads of amor

Hanging low on the long
thorn-spotted stems, bent
as in prayer, burdened
as a mother of ten, in love
with but worn by the effort
of such passion.

My own roses wither,
some stems burnt, some
green, all rigid, spotted
leaves, weak blossoms
that breathe for a day, maybe
two at best.

How often do I water?
Not nearly enough, that is,
my time is so short, my life
harried as a mother of ten
though but two tug at me.
I have failed.

How often do I prune?
When the brown stems grow
more abundant than the green
or when the mood strikes.
When the day is bright.
Not often enough.

Your gentle laugh, instructions
fall not on arrogance but on ears
too tired to carry the message,
so the roses fail, stems
wither, lacking enough of
whatever they need.

All the best honey-bees
are wanting now, lost without
your tender blossoms, supple
petals, voluptuous pistils,
neglected now, they rust beside
an ill-tended house.

Ghosts of roses past
come into view only when
the sun is of a certain whim
when dew rises and
the house forgets that
you are gone.

What's this? A memory?
From beneath the peeling paint
on the far corner of the porch,
a tiny blossom, buttery, strives
forth, fighting with honor
to live on in spite

Of our loss, of its loss,
of the absence of the bees,
of the absences of water and pruning.
of the absence of ladybugs,
it rages on and lives
to bring the bees.


All poems and blog posts are © and are not available for use without written permission of the author.

10 comments:

Don Mills Diva said...

Those are both wonderful.

I love the second one the best - you are truly talented.

Dave Baldwin said...

Both poems are very well written. Good luck this evening.

As one who also tries to write poems, I can appreciate how difficult it is to express these deep and subtle thoughts with such clarity. Keep writing. You have a real flare for poetry.

Thanks for making my day!

Not Afraid to Use It said...

Oh god, D. Your first is so sad. What a beautiful way to express this situation. Hugs.

Momma said...

DMD - Thank you so much. My mother was the inspiration for the second one.

Dave - So good to hear from you! And I take your review to heart, one poet to another.

NATUI - Yes, often I can only express the unexpressable through poetry.

Peace - D

Maggie May said...

Momma thats lovely. You are quite a poet. The first is very sad.

Daryl E said...

Hard to believe but I have never before read these poems .. thank you for posting them .. they're quite lovely and touch just the right spot. ... Daryl

The Diva's Thoughts said...

You are very talented.

San said...

I wish I could hear you read tonight! I'm new to your blog and didn't yet know that you write poetry. Thank you for posting these. Both are poignant and alive with imagery and feeling.

Baroness von Bloggenschtern said...

Momma! Wow! Those were exquisite. How talented you are, being able to distill such strong vision into but a few exquisitely-turned lines.

As I am a gardener, and while gardening tend to mull over all the allegory that the activity has to offer, I'm slightly more drawn your second poem. And I also just finished The Secret Life of Bees.

Momma said...

Maggie May, Daryl, San and Diva - I responded to you via email (since your email was available). Thanks for reading and for your compliments!

B von B - I read The Secret Life of Bees, Sue Monk Kidd's best, I think. Great book. That you compared me in some small way to her is flattering. :-) Glad you liked the poems!

Peace - D