Day 76 of #the100dayproject - Praise

Praise

I praise your tired palms

the underbelly of your joints.

I praise the curls of your hair

their tangles like a black crown.

I praise your chest where I rest

my head to feel your heartbeat

against my cheek. I praise your

belly where all the sounds of you,

that constant labor, the beautiful shape 

over and around the smoothness of you.

I praise you with my body, my hands

idolizing the rituals of your limbs,

the slopes of your neck. I praise you

with my lips, each kiss a type of incense

the gentle touch of smoke and prayer.

I praise you with my ears, the sounds of

your voice erupting in laughter and ecstasy.

I praise you as you move through this world,

I praise you as a dream alive. I watch you 

with my eyes, your golden form. How you are mine,

how I am yours is the serendipity of life.

Day 74 of #the100dayproject - The Game

The Game

I show him fir cones,

but the cones are too small.

I show him moss

and he stomps through it.

I show him mushrooms

under a pine tree;

He shrugs his shoulders

and plays with his toy gun,

carved out of cedar and pine.

He pulls back the rubber band,

squints his eye, lines up

his target, the soft

underbelly of a redwood;

it hardly has a chance.

The band snaps,

a trajectory of conquest;

a tree, in a little boy’s eyes,

is the shape of defeat.

Day 73 of #the100dayproject - Even at Five Years Old

I'm behind in posts, but I have been writing in my notebook many poems. I haven't had a lot of access of internet connection. We took a family trip to Glacier Natl Park and Yellowstone. Now Ashish and I are in Olympic Natl Park. We parked our travel trailer on the beach and are enjoying life.

Even at Five Years Old

And when he discovered

grass with its tassels ripe

with seed, he also discovered

conquest, grasping the stalk

with his small hands, pulling

until the stem separated

from the whole plant.

Then he raised it above him

Like the flag of a conquistador

or a sword used to weaponize

discovery as if land could be

discovered, claimed, and owned.

And that long stem of grass

an extension of his arm.

And in that moment, he knew

what it was like to destroy

and show off his handiwork;

the fruit of his pillage.

To everyone, he thrust

his trophy into our faces,

“It’s mine. All mine.”

Day 66 of #the100dayproject - The Pain of Being

The Pain of Being

I need to know the earth will stay green

All of us worshippers of sunlight, wind, and rain;

our bodies wild, untamed, desperate for being.

Bears lumber through yards thin and lean,

gnash their winter teeth to lessen their pain.

I need to know the earth will stay green.

The kittens under the shed cry and keen.

Their mother left. Her fur bitter, eyes insane.

Our bodes wild, untamed, desperate for being

like the squirrels that scuffle up the trees,

their hunger drowned by the roar of an airplane.

I need to know the earth will stay green

that the rivers will never lose their gleam

and the mountains will never wax or wane.

Our bodies wild, untamed desperate for being,

tongues outstretched to taste the ocean’s aquamarine

and smell the wet musk of loam and terrain.

I need to know the earth will stay green

with our bodies wild, untamed desperate for being.

Day 64 of #the100dayproject - California Poppy

California Poppy

Wind

of semi-trucks, traffic and concrete,

bitumen, litter, shredded tires. Leavings.

Detritus.

Homeless objects lost in our creations,

our architecture of efficiency. Then, there.

Look.

The poppy, at home in the soulless

spaces, roots digging into every corner,

groove,

and crack. Living on the shoulders

of overpasses, freeways, or between

slabs

of sidewalks, roads, and medians.

Subsisting on the smallest speck of dirt,

oracles

              of life beneath our crumbling

structures, our failed attempts to build

better

              than what the earth provides. All

these orange flowers shaking stems and

petals

              as if they are bodies in trance

divining the language of the earth,

conduits,

              as the planet cradle us,

and continues to give and give and

give.

Day 63 of #the100dayproject - Constant Companion

Constant Companion

I am married to the ache of my body,

tuned like a musical instrument

That must be plucked and played.

Pain my life long companion,

growing old together towards

a horizon that, naturally, ends in death.

Day 62 of #the100dayproject - Progeny

Progeny

Children rip tears in the fabric of the earth

creating roads and tunnels of futures

more terrible than the last.

Day 61 of #the100dayproject - Grace

Grace

Stripes on spider legs, how beautiful they

must be to spiders. How long and lovely,

agile, like thin boned fingers threading

a needle. The embodiment of grace,

walking on walls, ceilings, and water,

dangling from every surface.

Skittering across kitchen floors like

ballet dancers rushing on and off stage

to form a union of organized flurry.

Such design to give so many eyes

to view the world, to give the will

to weave string into webs, the work

to capture mammal dreams to ponder

like reading tomes of books, something

to be watched and observed, if not less

than, at the very least, equals on this earth.

Day 29 of #the100dayproject - Phase 4: We Are Not Ready

For the past four days, I've been writing a series of poems based off of a Washington state #covid-19 policy that was flowed out by Governor Inslee. He wants to use a four phase approach to reopening Washington which he outlines here. I used that PDF as a prompt, trying to visualize how reopening will look, how it will feel. All the while, I feel the tension in the air. How can this plan work when so many people, so many states are disregarding the gravity of this #pandemic ?

Phase 4: We Are Not Ready

I sit in an auditorium, sounds amplified,

the building shell-like, the shape of an echo.

People file in, sit with friends and family,

a cacophony of conversations, each person

wants to be heard. There are no distances

between us.

Again, I am the fish tucked

and laid neat into a can.

Again, I ride the bus,

and stand in a cramped elevator.

Again,

the awkward silences and squeezed lines

outside of coffee shops. We are many

and each one of us a host, a vector.

No one will forget this time, when we stood

apart, our lips and nose covered up until

none of us could decipher what part

of us is human. It is the purpose of a virus

to move into and through us, change us,

like how a river carves its signature into land

with canyon, gorge, marsh and delta.

So too the virus has embellished us

with its marker, and yet, we don’t know

if it is indelible or not.

Day 28 of #the100dayproject - Phase 3: Gather in Numbers

Phase 3: Gather in Numbers

It's been so long since we saw

each one of our faces, our faces,

not the pixilated RBG version

of our faces. I have spoken

with your simulacra for hours,

listened to the garbled sounds

of you through laptop speakers.

I’ve looked at your face as a flat

screen, your picture in picture,

only to realize the camera lens

is you, not the picture of you.

I could not look you in the eye,

nut now, here you are, a body

moving through the world.

At one point in the distancing,

I believed that you stopped

being real, I imagined everyone

else was not real; quarantine

became the truth. Now I can touch

your hand, hug you close to me.

The atoms of your body comprise

you of you. Atoms are like pixels

and my body is made of atoms;

I think I am what I am, and you are

what you are. Even the stars

are like millions of pixels;

the night sky a screen lightening

as if the stars, too, must shelter in place.

Day 27 of #the100dayproject - Phase 2: The Eyes See New

Phase 2: The Eyes See New

I move my magical thinking outside

The container of my body, into

The open air for all to witness

This collection of treasures. Ideas

Can become so powerful they

Solidify like water into ice, transform

Their intangible selves into objects.

So too does the idea of us sleeping

Outside, our bodies content with

our sleeping bags, the sky as our tent.

So too does the idea of setting camp,

The methods of pitching and staking,

The wrangling of poles and herding

Of waterproof canvas. So too does

The idea of building a fire with

Newspaper, kindling and branches,

Creating the orange throated roar.

So too does the idea of placing

Our chairs, popping the tab

Of a beer and warming

Our feet close to the fire pit.

So too does the idea of

Our conversations over

Campfire, how our voices

Wonder and weave through

The night as if our language

Grew legs and moved through

The dark. So too does the idea

Of being outside, so too does

The idea of being; the fear

Lifting as if the fire could burn

the virus, turn it to coal and ash;

we could use the light of the fire

to guide us to the next parts

of our collective turmoil.

Day 26 of #the100dayproject - Phase 1: The Slow Reopening

Phase 1: The Slow Reopening

Stay with the couches and carpets,

The wood floors and vinyl. A home

Is a home to stay at home. Brick

And mortar, we all have time

To lay on our floors and look up

At the ceiling as if we are laying

In grass, looking at sky and cloud.

We have the time to memorize

The shapes we find in the popcorn

Ceilings, find the images of our desires.

Then we go upstairs and memorize

Every creak and sigh of the steps.

Through our bedroom windows,

We view the street below, a scenic

Display of asphalt, concrete, trimmed

Lawns, and the parallel line of cars

Each one of them parked, not a single

Space open. All of us going nowhere

Fast.

Day 25 of #the100dayproject - Keys

Keys

We hide them under door mats

and beneath the stairs of our deck,

under the toad stools and sculptures

of frogs inside of our garden.

Brass, silver, steel, and sometimes gold;

they’re inside my coat pocket or

in the slit of your wallet, but we forget

and leave without them, lock

the doors. All of our plan Bs not

where they’re supposed to be,

so we open every screen until

we find a window to open like a door.

Day 30 #napowrimo - day 24 #the100dayproject - Almost Rain

I decided to write an acrostic poem for my final napowrimo poem. But this is not good-bye! I will be writing a poem a day for the 100 day project, officially starting on 5/1.

Almost Rain

Right now,
eternity circles back into
time, but I only
understand how the water in a
river surges with rain or how the
night is always followed by a
sunrise.

Day 29 #napowrimo - day 23 #the100dayproject - The Dark One

The Dark One

You moved darkness with your form

and so we named you shadow;

the only kitten born in the litter

without fur white as clouds.

You inherited the night into

your fur; you did not glisten

with light, you absorbed it.

You matured and your muscles

grew lean, honed for the kill.

Your true form emerged

in twilight as you wedged yourself

deep into long grass, beneathe

oak trees, where you waited

for creatures to scurry past,

the night sky a witness to the blood

and spent fur, your hungry massacre.

Day 28 #napowrimo - day 22 #the100dayproject - A Room of One’s Own

We were tasked today to write of a room that we remember. My room is my office back in my old home in Connecticut.

A Room of One’s Own

On the second floor, I walk into my room

With its aged carpet, a gray overcast,

And its crooked closet doors about to

Fall off of their hinges. My bookshelves

heaped and straining with tomes of poetry.

The windows white paint chipped,

baseboard clicking awake to warm

my space. The smell of grapefruit

and jasmine; my desk tucked into a corner

covered in the colors of knickknacks

and homemade ceramic pots, lopsided,

filled with bookmarks, pencils and pens.

Perched on top, an open notebook,

Its pale lined pages like my open palms

asking to be filled.

Day 27 #napowrimo - day 21 #the100dayproject - Homemade Cocktails

My review of my own drink....

Homemade Cocktails

The mint could be more muddled,

the cucumber more thinly sliced.

The ice cubes are gigantic and

every time I tip my glass,

they hit me in the lip.

I want fresh lime juice,

but I get the leftovers

from a week before

a hint and aftertaste

of refrigerator

Then the glass sweats

Leaving a pale rim on

my end table,

but the half ounce

of rum and orange

liqueur obscures

that it is served

in a coffee mug.

Poem: What's the Worse that could Happen? #the100dayproject Day 31...69 more to go

Today I took inspiration and prompt from Writer's Digest day 2 Poetry-a-Day challenge for my #the100dayproject 

What’s the Worse that Could Happen? 

A candle could topple over, 

the garbage bag could rip, 

the fish could be rotten, 

the dairy may curdle. 

You could break your ankle; 

my phone could shatter. 

We could get into a car accident, 

the sky could actually fall. 

It may rain and that could 

lead to you getting struck by lightning. 

The power lines may cause a fire, 

you could trip and fall down the stairs. 

But if we walk out the door together 

at least we’ll have each other. 

Writing 750 Words

For all of those writers out there, I recently discovered a new site called 750words.com. Buster Benson of Seattle created this site to encourage himself and others to write everyday. It's completely anonymous and it doesn't matter what you write. You can use the site as a journal or as a means of expressing your creativity. You can write stories, poetry, outlines, etc. It doesn't matter as long as you write at least 750 words a day. After you sign up and write your first 750 words, the site breaks your writing down into metadata. For me, the past two days have been busy and hectic and it shows through in how I write. The metadata below is a collection of graphs that show the emotions in my writing compared to the emotions in other people's writing:

That is only one example. There are other ways that the site breaks down information. It also compares your emotions, concerns, word average, word usage, and mindset. So fascinating!

This site is a great place to vent or to set professional writing goals. I joined with the hopes that daily writing will become second nature for me. Fortunately, the site lets you sign up to receive daily reminder emails, and every month a challenge is held. I joined October's writing challenge and signed the mini-contract that says if I write everyday of the month, then I'll treat myself to a chocolate mousse cake. Yum! Also, on the site, my name will be put on the "Wall of Awesomeness." How cool is that?

However, if I don't write everyday, my punishment will be no new clothes for the whole month of November. Not even on Black Friday! And my name will be put on the "Wall of Shame." But I'm confident I can rise to the challenge. Can you? Of course you can. Come and check out the website and see if it's for you. I'm sure you'll love it!

If you're interested in what else Buster Benson is cooking up, look at his other website called Health Month.