Upcoming Projects

I'm listing a few project ideas here to keep myself motivated (and to just record this transitional place in my life). Maybe, just maybe, if I've made this list public, I'll actually buckle down and get to work on a few things.
But don't really count on it. Ha!

1) First, the inevitable, ongoing project of BABY. This includes being pregnant and pursuing the cravings that go along with it. It also includes selecting a name for the sweet baby girl on the way. We're struggling big time with this task...so if you have any suggestions- send them my way!!! PLEASE! Also, send boy names too just in case the ultrasound tech was mistaken.

In addition to the Great Name Project (which is driving me a bit insane), I want to try my psuedo-crafty hand at making pink and frilly baby stuff- clothes, toys. If you are crafty and have any ideas for simple, beginning projects- please comment.

The nearby fabric store was having a Spring sale and I popped in today. Picked up these lovely girly-girl fabrics.

Before we knew the gender, I made this bib. Because any groovy guy or gal can appreciate the King.

 2) Besides baby stuff, I want to make/decorate a special Big Brother shirt for Noah. I have fabric paint. Just need to pick up a T-shirt and get to work. That should be easy, and I like it easy. 

Noah did not try to hide his disappointment when he found out that a little sister is on the way, rather than a brother. He fantasized about teaching a little brother all of his Boy Ways.

I need ideas about how to get him excited about the new FEMALE person arriving in his life. Thoughts? Suggestions?   

3)  On top of having a baby due in August, we are also trying to move...AGAIN...and in August. We're looking to become first time homeowners. So, I guess house-hunting is another project keeping me busy. I just want an extra bedroom for the littlest one, a small outdoor space (yard? patio?) for a garden/container garden, and a kitchen that is larger than our current apartment kitchen. And I'd prefer to stay in Takoma Park, of course. I'd also prefer to stay within the particular school zone that we're already in...I like the kindergarten that Noah will begin in the Fall.

I have so longed for my backyard garden from Syracuse this spring. I've envied our non-apartment dwelling neighbors and their gorgeous blooms. And as much as I love to cook and bake, I haven't been able to stretch my wings in the closet-sized kitchen we currently have. The cheese-press Michael gave me for Christmas sits gathering dust because there is just no room for a cheese factory in our apartment. No room! So a place with more room to further pursue more PROJECTS. That'd be ideal. : ) 

4) Then there's my poetry. I would love to grow further as a writer. I need more practice. I need mentoring. I would ultimately aspire to mentor others...oneday. Takoma Park is a fantastic place to be for an artist, plenty of inspiration, plenty of people to look up to for guidance, a community that is passionate about art. 

Unfortunately, I don't feel like I can really committ to a strict, disciplined writing schedule at this point. But it is a plan for the future. 

Well then, that's enough to get me started (and I haven't even mentioned salsa dancing or learning French).

I welcome all suggestions and encouragement...crafty, baby, home-hunting, writing, or otherwise!

Time Capsule/Frankenstein Love Letter...or: I never throw away anything written to me

I was looking, tonight, through a dusty box of old poetry; trying to select enough tasty morsels to read to a captive audience (I have a reading on November 18th). Within that dusty box, there was an entire history recorded, cryptically. Some of the things I wrote should not only be thrown away, they should be burned and the ashes should be stomped on, scooped up, and tossed over the edge of a cliff. But, alas, I can't do it.

In fact, I'd rather humiliate myself a little more by sharing a few things here. Oh, why not.

I'll start by sharing a strange creation of mine. I can't call it a poem. I didn't write a lick of it. Way back in the dawn of time, people used to write actual physical tangible letters to each other. There were folds and creases and handwriting quirks and doodles in the margins, tear drop stains and lipstick streaks. Well, I took a bunch of letters written by friends and family, cut them all up and pieced them back together into a freakish Frankenstien letter to my 19 year-old self.  Don't strain your eyes trying to read these! I'll type it all out for your amusement! It's been over 15 yrs since folks wrote these words to me. Some are no longer alive. Some are lost to me in other ways. But I have their crazy, wonderful, earnest and silly longings and wishes in this time capsule to myself.  

July 5, 1994 Tuesday Morning

Dear Madona, Dearest Niece Madona, Hey Tyler, Ty, To Tyler from Jon-Boy,

After you're rich and famous, I'll say

Same people, same places

Did I tell you that Aurielle lost her two front teeth on the bottom?

I can hold a pencil in my fingers.

...and I can't. Isn't that unfair? You can work 4 days a week at the club and you don't think that bothers me? But I don't say I have no respect for you. I love & respect you.

my period is very irregular lately

and the radio said Lollapalooza was rained out

Mike sounds soooooo cute, I think that blond hair and

my theory that rap music is a communist  plot to weaken the infrastructure of American society

backbites her own children, Ok? Try to give the person the benefit

computer you ganked from the family. Why you little devil.

When we were fixing to take the boys back swimming he gave me

fast cars, a nice house, a couple of rug rats, a small harem, and to in general just be happy

the children put on plays, skits, sings and dances

but we claim healing in the name of Jesus!

What do you want from life? Well, besides sex

go down the river in Mason's boat. That's one of my favorite things

and not be so possessive, I will promise to be everything to you, including your future

I do worry about you

(one was killed by a pack of dogs) then the dog catcher

He made the Dean's List.

I came into the theater today looking for a job. Do you remember?

I have emotional problems

I would rather call you Madona, but if you like Tyler I will call you that. Sometimes I call myself Chicken Wang

Cold Cold in MN tonight

you haven't found you a fella yet! there has to be one nice single cute man in Minnesota

Well we got to the beach last night, however, I never left Lake Butler

We stood on the front porch last night and watched fireworks. They were mostly duds.

watched a movie and later that night called and said you would have kissed me if I had tried

don't strike me down with your wrath

1995 will be the best

incredible friendship and relationship. I'm ready to commit myself

Forgive me for getting pissed off

housework keeps me hopping

I have the feeling you're a booty call. I like Bryan, he's nice, but 

Hot! We need the rain

Don't lead me on or use me as a security blanket

From Will The Temp Guy reading the Barbara Kingsolver book, Grandma, Love, Erica M. Freeman, I love you, Jon, Dawnnita, Your Friend, Travis, Love Always, Aunt Beth, Cousin Fritz and Cousin Biener, Love Jay, Love always and forever, Mommy, Aurielle and Smokey, Love you, Granny Erlene, Always Friends, Leslie, Love & Hugs, Shannon, Love ya honey, Mary, Love, Aunt Peg

P.S. If the pictures do not arrive soon I shall gather my tools of torture (handcuffs, whips, etc.)

P.P.S. Everyone says hi and sends their love. 

A few recent poems...with a disclaimer.

I'm not extremely confident that my poetry is anything. I just write it because I have to. I don't edit very much. I don't rewrite. I don't strive for perfection because life is too short...and there is no such thing as PERFECT in poetry or life. So, there. I have given you my disclaimer, and at the same time set the expectations low. I'm off the hook! And so are you. Enjoy. Or not.
There's only 3 short poems to endure here. The last one being the most 'positive'- written today.

A few poems written recently on trains or during walks home... (listed chronologically):

Unanswered Questions

If I cross a line
Will you
Remind me
Where the boundaries are drawn?

Is the question
‘What part of me do you see
that I am blind to?’
Or is it
‘What part of you is blind to me?’

I have only the
Most miniscule inklings
Like the faith in a silent god
Affirming

A defense mechanism
Preventing the harshest of falls


What Can Stop a Train?

The expectation of amnesia
Understanding we experience
Then choose to forget
Especially those things
That would force change
What we can’t change

The mind races along
A high-speed train in its dark passage
Grasping for nothing
But a steely track

If we could only
Brake, pause, seal in amber
The touch of skin
The knowledge of a line crossed for the better
A connection tender
Sweetness recollecting, tasted on lips

But what can stop a train
From plowing along its predestined course
You? Me?
Figures illuminated ahead on the tracks
Phantoms disappearing on impact


Wishes for you:

To discover a secret hidden message
Written on your window’s condensation
Carving out heat from autumn chill.

To find a forgotten 5 dollar bill
In last year’s coat pocket.

To discover a fresh route
To walk your way home
sun-on -your-back.

To find a capital M, Mystery
That unravels your heart.

To discover a gift that was never lost,
you didn’t know you possessed
Until it was too late to do anything
But appreciate its grace.



 
 

Batter My Heart...and then WHAT?!!

I've been watching some thought-provoking films lately:

The Cove
Food Inc.
Dark Days
The Gleaners and I
The Road
Precious

I recommend these if you do, indeed, want your heart battered. When I say 'battered,' I'm referring to violent blows dealt to your vulnerable spots ...not 'battered and deep-fried'.

It's enough to lose faith in humanity.
Hard to be hopeful when there is so much grim and grime and cold-heartedness, ignorance and greed.
 
From my film list, you might think that I don't know how to have any fun. But don't worry about me. I have enough selfish pleasure in my life- time and laughter with Michael and Noah, delicious food and drink, zumba and salsa dancing, watching birds and flowers, music and art, and the sweet nectar of poetry.
But life, for me, isn't just about how to enjoy. Even though we are constantly given the imperative from all directions to ENJOY, ENJOY, ENJOY!

What do I do with this bombardment of sorrow, this frustration, the feeling that I'm one little person without power to change anything unjust?
I vote. I donate. I make educated choices about what I purchase and consume. I sign petitions. I am kind to people around me. I listen.
But I continue to feel a restlessness, a call to action, a strong desire to do more. I've always been uncomfortable on the sidelines. Do I just put my hands in my pockets? Do I just stare at the players and their passions? I abhor feeling useless.  

Do you ever feel this way? What do you DO when the gray sea's waves crash and thunder and beat you down? And I really mean what ACTIONS do you take when you are moved to act? Not prayer, not optimism, ACTION....
How do you channel that restless, frustrated energy?

Just now, John Donne's Batter My Heart came to mind:

 Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to'another due,
Labor to'admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly'I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me,'untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you'enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

So my question persists...once your heart has been battered, ravished, burned (by a God, or by whatever Unspeakable Truth speaks to you through great Literature, Film, Art)...
How do you live a life broken open? What do you DO?
Teach me. I'm learning as I go.

If Only

Another poem from today. Just a rough draft.
All of my poems are rough rough rough drafts.


If Only

If only, if only you could tell me
Bluntly, the way I don’t fit
Why the knobby imperfection
Has grown around that hole


Remove the splinter now
That it’s firmly wedged
Now that I’ve spent so long
Polishing this great flaw

Turning it over and over
Searching for significance
Why a fragment, rejection
This path instead of that


A restless, painful curiosity
Magnified by time
And the mind’s trick
Of projecting beauty onto loss


If only, if only I could build a bridge
Gnarled wood for you to burn to the ground
The crackling dissonance
Could maybe loosen your hold on me

Mr. Carrot, the Herald of Spring

I had to pull my car over today and pen a short poem.
I had just driven by an obscene snowman. He had a huge carrot erection.
After the initial blushing, I felt a bit angry that someone had
perverted the sweet, innocent, familial pleasure of snowmen.
It was almost blasphemous.
Then my anger turned into sadness.
Sadness for the loss of innocence in general.
Finally, though, after imagining that it was
probably the prank of teenaged kids,
all hormones, pimples, and awkwardness, I was able to laugh
at this lusty snowman,
and look at him as the
Herald of Spring!


Carrot

Spring, I reckon, is around the bend
Teenaged, neighborhood boys

Have plucked the Snowman’s
Innocent carrot nose
And arranged it, suggestively,
On the Snowman’s lower half.

The snow will melt soon
And all that will remain, besides puddles,
will be the carrot’s bawdy
salute to procreation.

Keep raging on
Youth and Humor and Hormones

And with the green breath of another dawn,
Help us forget the hollow raggedness,
The death of winter,
The crushing ache of a long, memory-filled night.

Transient

A poem of mine from way back in the day....





















Transient
Take the 7:20
To wherever you lead yourself
Touch off
Take off into towns
Named after presidents
Gleaming in rain-soaked streets
We become perfectly meaningless streaks
Just passing through
Take my address
Take my big love
Take down these numbers
Scrape them into skin
We can step around
Photograph or sue
Everyone we’ve been
Passed through

Take my place
Don’t have to talk about ghosts
I’ll take my death when I get there
Haven’t you heard?
We are all so small
We count everything we’ve lost
From the very first day of our pasts

With adoration
With devotion
I hope for a handful of salt
To take from the ocean

Passing through

This Morning's Drive

This Morning's Drive

Sometimes the beauty here stops me in my tracks

The trees are raining a delicate yellow spray of tiny lacy leaves

As I take my son to school

He is quiet and watchful as we drive through

this feathery 'car-wash'

Surprisingly, the geese remain, even in October
Grazing beside a pond
Red trees reflect across the water
Their hearts, a fire, bleeding out into the ripples

I see this in just glimpses driving by

A woman on the sidewalk pushing a stroller

She wears a halo of sunshine

Now I've witnessed an apparition

The synchronicity of two cars changing lanes at exactly the same moment

One on the left, one on the right, merging to the center before me

Perfectly timed to the chords and melody on the radio

A dance performed for me alone

I want to pull over and applaud this day, to thank someone

I want to kiss someone's holy blessed momma! ; )

Two Poems Inspired by The Song of Everlasting Sorrow (pages 13-18)

I've been reading The Song of Everlasting Sorrow for my book club. It is extremely dense and rich with language. I had to put the book down twice to jot down little poems inspired by the tone of the book and her intense, vivid, word-choice. Here is the result:

A Thunderously Noisy Melancholy

I write poetry in the fall, winter, and spring
The summer- too alive, too many adventures to experience
A ripening joy drops fruit and flowers

Autumn arrives with a hue of memory, old loss
Remembrances of withering hope and aching sorrow
Orange afternoons

Death's pallor- pressed against winter cheeks
By the time the snow starts flying
Lonely ambition is buried under drifts

Spring returns like a lover's tender kiss
The heart looks around with shining eyes- see a silver flash
Of lightening- fragile life, hatching

Easier to Part than Join (The Non-Loss of Virginity)

The Young Lady's Bedchamber
She didn't invite him into her own room
With pictures of laughing friends
Instead, the spare room- generic, adult, king-sized bed
Hungry secret thumping under the cover of night
Revealing a sunken-chest, sweetly treasured
Because it was his, hidden
She stammers, stutters
There would be no way to explain away
Her intact heart, wild and timid
Not cradled by this one
A moth spinning away from the flame