tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17643997934377265812024-03-08T15:43:03.141-05:00The L.Ho Show (Season 4)Welcome to the Show where anything can happen, but mostly poetry.Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-25062189184429216942011-04-30T07:38:00.001-04:002011-04-30T07:38:28.741-04:00Poem #30 (!)"Miner"<br />
<br />
For thirty days, you are a poet<br />
sifting through the daily bread<br />
of your life, lifting words<br />
like light from the depths of a mine<br />
<br />
You rediscover quiet mornings<br />
filled with sparrows and dew<br />
the hush of trees newly clothed with blooms<br />
<br />
You remember the taste<br />
of ink on paper, the sweat<br />
to polish and cut a rough diamond<br />
<br />
You remember<br />
this is why you are here.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
[Whew! I made it! All 30! Woo-hoo! Of course, out of these raw drafts, I'll probably only have an handful of keepers. Maybe 3 or 4 poems. Maybe. Still, it feels like quite an accomplishment to complete 30 wannabe-poems in 30 days. I can't believe the month is over! Well, for my audience: thanks for reading! And now the big question: will the Show go on? Or will it go on hiatus until next April? We shall see, my friends, we shall see. L.Ho out! :)]Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-87628598490361131452011-04-29T06:19:00.000-04:002011-04-29T06:19:10.067-04:00Poem #29"Tahrir Square, Cairo, Egypt: February 11, 2011"<br />
<br />
My clothes were torn to<br />
pieces. They raped me with hands.<br />
Will no one stop this?<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
[The first two lines of this haiku are direct quotations from Lara Logan, the CBS journalist, who was sexually assaulted by a mob during the celebrations of Mubarak's fall. Read more <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/29/business/media/29logan.html?src=twr&pagewanted=all">here</a>.]Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-60795534301372256252011-04-28T06:30:00.002-04:002011-04-28T06:31:56.771-04:00Poem #28"The Naming Ritual"<br />
<br />
They arrived at the hospital<br />
all huff and puff--<br />
Lamaze an evaporated memory<br />
<br />
Swept into labor and delivery<br />
a room papered with flowers<br />
to create calm: a failed plan<br />
<br />
They had forgotten everything:<br />
warm socks, a tennis ball<br />
overnight clothes<br />
the baby's layette<br />
even a name<br />
<br />
After hours of labor<br />
a cloud of baby's cries<br />
in the air, tiny lungs working<br />
<br />
then cooing<br />
<br />
a peace<br />
<br />
Someone turns on the tv<br />
"Mission: Impossible" is on<br />
He says, <i>I like that name</i><br />
She nods, exhausted, on the edge of sleep<br />
<br />
Yes they name the baby<br />
after the actress<br />
Lesley Ann Warren<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
[The writing prompt was to write a poem that explores how one was named & the meaning of the name. I only went with the first part because, as usual, I'm out of time. But there you go. True story. Well, the last two stanzas, anyway. :) And of course, for me, those "true stanzas" feel like the weakest ones of the poem-draft.]Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-50555085810853052982011-04-27T06:35:00.000-04:002011-04-27T06:35:13.928-04:00Poem #27"Secret Garden, April 26, 1986"<br />
<br />
The sudden bloom<br />
of Chernobyl's flower<br />
shoots up in the air--<br />
a surprise this April spring day<br />
Its seeds falling out<br />
like active radio-<br />
waves over Prypyat<br />
<br />
It radiates like an invisible sun<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">spreading its rays far and wide</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">over Urkaine, Belarus, Russia</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">scorching the earth</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">to an arid char--</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">the forest blank with shock</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">the farmland useless and limp</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">No one whispers a word</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">No one says anything for two days</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">They want to keep this flower</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">to themselves, to keep</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">this beauty--four hundred times more</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">potent than Hiroshima--</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">to keep this beauty</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">a secret</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">*</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">[I wrote this poem on the occasion of the 25th anniversary of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster, which was yesterday. I sense there's more to this poem but as with every unfinished poem this month, I'm out of time. Go <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/42751745/ns/news-picture_stories/displaymode/1247/?beginSlide=1&GT1=43001">here</a> for photos and <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/42760861/ns/world_news-europe/">here</a> for a quick article on the anniversary.]</div>Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-44657682754147426852011-04-26T06:23:00.000-04:002011-04-26T06:23:17.217-04:00Poem #26"Just One More Snooze"<br />
<br />
Reach over and feel<br />
the magic button. Press it<br />
for more dreams of flight.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
[I feel like a cop-out when I write these BS haiku, but the goal this month is production, not quality. Right? Right. The practice is what counts for now. The good stuff is coming. I know it is.]Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-53696063143903874992011-04-25T06:44:00.001-04:002011-04-25T06:45:25.564-04:00Poem #25"In the Sauna"<br />
<br />
<i>Nice bonnet</i><br />
she says to the towel-wrapped woman<br />
who walks in, sturdy shower cap on<br />
<br />
"My hair is different from yours<br />
I can't get my hair wet"<br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">a beaded braid pokes out </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">from beneath the elastic</span></i><br />
<br />
<i>I'm dying</i><br />
she wanted to say<br />
but instead offered<br />
<i>I can't get my hair wet either</i><br />
<i>but that's because of my cancer treatment</i><br />
<br />
fully clothed in exercise gear<br />
she sits on the cedar bench<br />
with two friends<br />
<br />
they talk about nothing<br />
dancing around that word<br />
that floats like a balloon<br />
tied to one's wrist:<br />
you want it to fly away<br />
but it won't<br />
<br />
nail salons, hair appointments<br />
gym guest passes<br />
anything to forget<br />
the civil war in her body<br />
anything to forget<br />
she can't get her hair wetLeslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-30702146870339364192011-04-24T08:09:00.001-04:002011-04-24T08:09:50.234-04:00Poem #24"The Old Drunk"<br />
<br />
Does too much wine ex-<br />
cuse the razors from your mouth?<br />
Sad woman, hush now.Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-85668723861852053772011-04-23T07:13:00.002-04:002011-04-23T07:15:18.266-04:00Poem #23"Manila, May 1973: Immigrate"<br />
<br />
She boards the plane<br />
rice still stuck in her hair<br />
turns and tosses the bouquet<br />
to the crowd of family, weeping<br />
even her new mother-in-law<br />
who does not approve<br />
<br />
She does not know<br />
when they will return<br />
<br />
Martial law tightens its grip<br />
on the country's exit doors<br />
<br />
She and her husband sit<br />
in the exit row, poised<br />
for a quick escape<br />
<br />
There is crying everywhere<br />
Someone lights a cigarette<br />
Another unwraps a pastilla<br />
A mother hums a lullaby<br />
<br />
Twenty-four hours<br />
to the other side of the world<br />
twenty-four hours of night<br />
<br />
No friends, no family<br />
Only a hospital and an apartment<br />
in Akron, Ohio<br />
<br />
What will she do<br />
in a place known to her<br />
as jeans and Diana Ross<br />
What awaits her<br />
<br />
She fingers the rosary<br />
given by her mother<br />
wondering if she should prayLeslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-71927638480302311882011-04-22T06:58:00.000-04:002011-04-22T06:58:31.922-04:00Poem #22"Judas, After"<br />
<br />
shiny silver suns burn in my palms<br />
their brightness beckons me<br />
I cannot turn away<br />
<br />
the crack of whips snap<br />
me awake, moans<br />
and laughter mock me like crows<br />
<br />
I see him fallen as a tree<br />
cloaked in purple thorns<br />
what have I done<br />
<br />
the suns bleed in my hands<br />
and I throw them on the temple floor<br />
try to wash in the river, useless<br />
<br />
the highest tree then<br />
the strongest rope<br />
the tightest noose<br />
<br />
no one can bring me to life<br />
no one can save me<br />
I have come undoneLeslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-47723521681957213812011-04-21T06:31:00.000-04:002011-04-21T06:31:46.599-04:00Poem #21"Morning Ritual"<br />
<br />
race against the sun<br />
whose slow and steady birth finds<br />
you hiding in prayer<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
[A BS haiku because I woke up a little late this morning. I don't even know if I know what this is about! :p But hey, it's one to log in the 30/30, right? :) Better poems will come, I hope!]Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-72125887217132751442011-04-20T06:46:00.000-04:002011-04-20T06:46:50.695-04:00Poem #20"Friday"<br />
<br />
They're taking him<br />
from me<br />
You're taking him<br />
from me<br />
<br />
They bind him with rope<br />
strip away his clothes<br />
whip him whip him whip him<br />
like a criminal<br />
like a murderer<br />
like Barabas a year ago<br />
<br />
For loving you--<br />
some God that no one<br />
has seen, all this blindness<br />
rampant like a disease<br />
Watch your disciples<br />
scatter like mice<br />
into the shadows<br />
No one claims him<br />
No one will defend him<br />
<br />
This was your will<br />
This was your word<br />
but must there be so much suffering<br />
Must I watch him crumple<br />
like an olive tree without water<br />
Watch him stumble<br />
under the weight of so much wood<br />
Watch him get nailed<br />
like a sign, hanging<br />
in the sun<br />
What mother can bear this?<br />
<br />
There is nothing good<br />
about this day.<br />
<br />
*<br />
[A hurried poem. I'm running late. There is more to this poem...]Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-55316295273331555992011-04-19T06:07:00.002-04:002011-04-19T06:08:34.105-04:00Poem #19"It Hurts to be Awake"<br />
<br />
Teary sting of eyes<br />
Fatigue: an ache, like anchors<br />
Oh, Sleep, don't run. Please.Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-20819867367998860522011-04-18T06:28:00.000-04:002011-04-18T06:28:31.239-04:00Poem #18"November 2004"<br />
<br />
The Raritan moves slow in its silt<br />
a gray sheen to its surface--<br />
On Hoes Lane, in the cold sun<br />
we bury him next to burning bushes<br />
bright with their flaming leaves<br />
Who knew he'd stay here in Piscataway?<br />
The immigrant who saw war<br />
survived Bataan<br />
then came here<br />
to deliver mail<br />
<br />
We left oranges for him<br />
so that he'd rest in sweetness--<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
[a totally unfinished poem. unfinished and incomplete in every sense of the word. ah, the madness of the 30/30 challenge.]Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-24321103601045329972011-04-17T06:35:00.004-04:002011-04-17T08:07:10.938-04:00Poem #17"How to Win the School Talent Show"<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Call your four best friends</div><div>Say you'll be the black Pussycat Dolls</div><div>or the next Destiny's Child</div><div> --but with five--</div><div> there haven't been any black girl groups in a while</div><div>Decide to sing "Say My Name"</div><div>because you want everyone to know yours</div><div><br />
</div><div>Practice in your room:</div><div>break out harmonies like puzzle pieces</div><div>build choreography like lego houses</div><div>design costumes like Beyonce</div><div> you will win this contest</div><div><br />
</div><div>Until you hear the rumor mill churning its words</div><div>their clatter echoing on hallway floors:</div><div>that girl Shacara</div><div>had a lock</div><div>on the win</div><div><br />
</div><div>There's no way this is true, you think</div><div>but don't want to risk losing to that loser</div><div>that poor excuse for a girl</div><div>that second-rate singer</div><div><br />
</div><div>So you call your girls, gather</div><div>in front of her voice coach's house</div><div>like paparazzi, waiting to pounce</div><div><br />
</div><div>Soon, she emerges and you spring</div><div>with a lock in a sock</div><div>whip her like a slave who's been bad</div><div> (the repetition of hate lost on you)</div><div>aiming for her head</div><div>while your girls, like anchors, pull her down</div><div>to concrete</div><div>kick </div><div>their newfound soccer ball</div><div><br />
</div><div>This is how you win</div><div>This is how you lose</div><div>This is how you find</div><div>yourself</div><div><br />
</div><div>*</div><div><br />
</div><div>[I'm reluctant to post this because it's so rough, in dire need of revisions. I think I've done almost everything I tell my students *not* to do, but that's what rough drafts are, right? Just the getting-down-on-paper. The real writing is in the revison.]<br />
<br />
[Also, this was inspired by an incident that happened last week. Go <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/news/ny_crime/2011/04/15/2011-04-15_bad_girls_gone_wild.html">here</a> for more details.]</div>Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-11723570428877068512011-04-16T06:59:00.005-04:002011-04-16T07:03:45.511-04:00Poem #16"Altercation"<br />
<br />
He shot his mouth off--<br />
don't he know who I am? Gun-<br />
totin' silencer<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
[A man was shot on College Ave at Rutgers-NB around 2am this morning after he and the shooter exchanged heated words. The shooter is still at large. The man has been treated for non-life-threatening injuries.<br />
<br />
A message from the police:<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Anyone with information related to this incident or who may have been in the area at the time is asked to contact the New Brunswick Police Department’s Investigations Division at 732.745.5217 or the Rutgers Police Department at 732.932.8025 or 732.932.7211.</span>]Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-62341924994294988782011-04-15T06:10:00.012-04:002011-04-15T06:10:00.128-04:00Poem #15"Her Ten-Year-Old Son Speaks"<br />
<br />
Because of me they are dead because I was too busy to show them how to scoop with their hands too busy to show how to kick with their legs how to blow bubbles to keep the water out how to float on their backs because I had to do my homework because I had to wash the dishes because I wanted to shut out the fighting because I hid in my room because I didn't teach you how to swim because of me you are deadLeslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-36916856585266214102011-04-14T06:19:00.001-04:002011-04-14T23:33:22.744-04:00Poem #14<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">“The River’s Secret”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">A white teddy bear at the edge</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">of a boat ramp, the water still as glass</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">The sparrows are not yet singing</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">their morning concerto, the trees silent</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">in sleep—</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">No one knows the river’s secret</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">How a mother –all rage and sadness</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> blind with fear and darkness—</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">clasped her four children into their seats</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">drove away from the cramped apartment</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> littered with broken toys and unwashed dishes</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">away from that man</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">How she stopped for a brief moment—</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> perhaps a moment of light—</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">to let her oldest, her ten-year-old son, out</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">of the worn light blue minivan—</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">before driving on, driving away</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">How she kept driving</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">until there was no more road</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">no more asphalt</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">only water</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">How her foot kept the gas pedal down</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">even after the water</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">after the van began to float —an instant boat—</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">before sinking, before filling</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">with the mouth of the Hudson</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 48.0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> the light melody of a children’s song</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">drowning out the cries of her own children</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">the fiery blindness driving her foot</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">against the gas, fierce against water</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">and then</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">the swallow of the Hudson</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">and then</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">silence</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">the teddy bear remains</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">keeping the river’s secret</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">until the boy—forced to age at light speed—</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">finds a firehouse</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">and whispers into the night</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">*</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">[This needs a lot of work. For example, more details about the incident have surfaced after I wrote this. There's more but I've run out of time. Keep a lookout for the revisions.]</span></div>Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-60784667556529061442011-04-13T06:31:00.004-04:002011-04-13T10:27:42.698-04:00Poem #13<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">"Ode to Advil"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Tiny brown pills, coated with candy:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">how you fit into my cupped palm--<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">the miracles that lie within!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">How you come in other forms<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"> liquigels / PM / cold & sinus / allergy sinus / migraine<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">The relief possibilities are endless!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">You possess the power<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">to crush menstrual cramps<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">to chokehold toothaches<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">to suffocate any ache: muscle, bone, head<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">but above all, you wipe away<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">the remnants of excessive drinking<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">leaving a cloud to rest upon<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">If only you could remedy<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">that mother’s grating voice<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">pleasantly scolding a child <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Impatience stuffed down<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">into the tiny coin pocket of her jeans<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Please, dear Advil, cast her out<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">into the sun and expose her<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">for the fraud she is:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">she is no Supermom.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Oh, candy of my eye!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Small tabs of delight!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">I toss you in<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">to the back of my throat<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">gulp down some water<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">to chase you down<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">relish in knowing<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">you will <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">cure <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">all<o:p></o:p></span></div><!--EndFragment-->Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-89461432402801557202011-04-12T06:27:00.001-04:002011-04-12T06:28:22.763-04:00Poem #12"First Hot Day"<br />
<br />
Temperature rises<br />
breaks eighty A runner peels<br />
off his shirt like skin<br />
unwanted prisons of cloth<br />
shedding his hibernationLeslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-10559797325286417442011-04-11T06:10:00.000-04:002011-04-11T06:40:39.853-04:00Poem #11"Jesus Tries Not to Serve Aces"<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>I toss the green ball in the air </div><div>with my left hand</div><div>raise the racket behind my head </div><div>with the right</div><div>elbow bent like a catapult</div><div>ready to spring</div><div><br />
</div><div>the ball begins to descend</div><div>I release the coil of my arm</div><div>and serve across the net</div><div>into the shadows</div><div><br />
</div><div>I wait for the return</div><div><br />
</div><div>silence</div><div><br />
</div><div>I toss another ball into the air</div><div>retract the racket</div><div>and launch another serve</div><div><br />
</div><div>nothing</div><div><br />
</div><div>maybe I have the wrong sport</div><div><br />
</div><div>I palm a white ball with my left hand</div><div>my right, loose in a fist, bumps it</div><div>from beneath, fires the shot </div><div>over a higher, larger net</div><div>again into the darkness</div><div><br />
</div><div>my legs wide, knees bent</div><div>a stance ready for a return</div><div><br />
</div><div>still nothing</div><div><br />
</div><div>I try everything to start a rally</div><div>to engage in a volley</div><div>but they do not hear</div><div>the sound of the ball coming</div><div><br />
</div><div>they are too preoccupied</div><div>with fumbling in the dark</div><div>looking for a place to stand</div><div>to see that my ball is filled</div><div>with light, that my voice</div><div>is their salvation</div><div><br />
</div><div>*</div><div><br />
</div><div>[This poem took a turn that surprised me. I started thinking the poem was about A but then it turned out to be about B, something completely out of left field. I love when that happens. And for the record, I'm not a religious person but I think the season of Lent and Easter has me occupied with Christian figures, like Jesus and Mary (see Poem #8).]</div>Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-43470899189745665692011-04-10T07:06:00.000-04:002011-04-10T08:17:02.983-04:00Poem #10"Girl Talk"<br />
<br />
I want raisin toast with butter<br />
I want pink juice<br />
I want Froot Loops<br />
I want my penguin slippers<br />
I want my sheep<br />
I want the panda bear with the giant eyes<br />
I want the little monkey with the giant eyes<br />
I want a princess crown<br />
I want footie pajamas<br />
I want a pretty dress<br />
I want sparkly sandals<br />
I want the bubble wand<br />
no-- <b>I</b> want the bubble wand<br />
I want it! It's mine. That's not nice.<br />
I want a Band-Aid<br />
a fairy Band-Aid<br />
I want you to kiss it<br />
I want a hug<br />
I don't want to nap<br />
I want to read<br />
I want to watch tv<br />
I want to color<br />
me too<br />
I don't want to eat my chicken<br />
I want dessert<br />
I want raisins for dessert<br />
I want mochi for dessert<br />
I want mochi for dessert, not raisins<br />
I cry because I don't have words yet<br />
I want words<br />
I want you to carry me<br />
I don't want to use the potty<br />
I want to use the potty -- I'm a big girl now<br />
I don't want to share<br />
I want to share<br />
I want to build a tower with blocks<br />
I want to knock it down<br />
I want to cry<br />
I want to scream --she ruined it<br />
I build it again<br />
I laugh<br />
I laugh<br />
I laugh<br />
I want you to hold me<br />
I want to give hugs<br />
I want you to hold me<br />
I want to give kisses<br />
I want you to hold me<br />
I want youLeslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-12897712166200275462011-04-09T07:53:00.002-04:002011-04-10T06:39:20.324-04:00Poem #9"How to Love a Disappointed Parent"<br />
<br />
I want to swing a bat<br />
at your mouth, watch the knives<br />
of your teeth fall like hail<br />
on the broken sidewalk<br />
I want to smash the glass<br />
of your face to hear the scatter<br />
on pavement. But I don't.<br />
I can only clench my jaw and hold<br />
the table's edge, white-knuckled<br />
breath held, waiting for release--Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-1487791453750984682011-04-08T06:31:00.000-04:002011-04-08T06:31:55.670-04:00Poem #8"The Virgin Mary, After"<br />
<br />
thy<br />
will be<br />
done, my Lord<br />
<br />
take<br />
my life--<br />
host for yours<br />
<br />
take<br />
my love<br />
for your Son<br />
<br />
take<br />
my son<br />
off the cross<br />
<br />
take<br />
my grief<br />
away like rain<br />
<br />
take<br />
my body<br />
my faith unshaken<br />
<br />
take<br />
it whole<br />
consumed by heaven<br />
<br />
take<br />
me for<br />
I am yours<br />
always<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
[This follows the form of the <a href="http://www.baymoon.com/~ariadne/form/haynaku.htm">hay(na)ku</a>. I've always been interested in giving the Virgin Mary a voice --people write *about* her, there are movies about the birth of Jesus (as well as his death) where she has speaking parts, but has she really ever had a voice of her own? I haven't found anything that gives her an individual voice, anything that shows she was a person just like the rest of us. This particular poem is only the beginning -- it's not exactly the voice I imagine her to have, but I have to start somewhere.]Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-71543643789170255352011-04-07T07:22:00.000-04:002011-04-07T07:22:25.690-04:00Poem #7"What She Cannot Say"<br />
<br />
1.<br />
<i>sista-girl look here</i><br />
<i>hair nappy in the kitchen</i><br />
<i>you are not angry</i><br />
<i>I always assume you are</i><br />
<i>black skin is nothing but---</i><br />
<br />
2.<br />
<i> </i><b>white teeth, picket fence</b><br />
<b> I want to open your mouth</b><br />
<b> climb in, look around</b><br />
<b> wave my flashlight beam on words</b><br />
<b> buried under PC's cover</b><br />
<br />
3.<br />
no one wants to talk<br />
about this word that lies still<br />
on our tongues' edges<br />
we dance a waltz around it<br />
pretend its fire-breath quenched<br />
<br />
what will happen when<br />
we trip on our own feet and<br />
fall into its lap<br />
this word we believe is dead<br />
but no, it's not, sista-girl<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
[This is a tough one. I'm working within the poetic form of tonka --a sister to the Japanese haiku-- which is 5 lines long and follows the syllabic pattern of 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 7 but I'm also trying to write about things people don't talk about --how to write about the unsaid? to say the unsaid?-- without being esoteric, though I feel that this draft is just that: a big code for something vague --and I hate that! So I need more time to work on this... time I unfortunately don't have right now. So yeah, I don't like this poem. Not this draft, anyway.]Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1764399793437726581.post-61165640409019786062011-04-06T06:59:00.002-04:002011-04-06T07:01:10.751-04:00Poem #6"On Eagle's Wings"<br />
<br />
was your favorite hymn as a child<br />
outfitted in a light blue blouse, a navy jumper<br />
sitting with other children dressed the same<br />
<br />
You would sing, mouth open wide<br />
imagining being borne on the breath of dawn<br />
and fitting in the palm of His hand<br />
<br />
You even learned sign language<br />
and performed at the choral concert<br />
palms turned toward your heart<br />
thumbs interlocked<br />
fingers fluttering as wings<br />
rising to the heavens<br />
<br />
You dwelt in the shelter of the Lord<br />
feeling safe from harm in His shadow<br />
your Rock in whom you trusted<br />
<br />
Then she died.<br />
<br />
Your grandmother, your second mother<br />
whose voice you cannot remember<br />
even as she lay there listening to you speak--<br />
<br />
Her funeral was at the very church<br />
where you sang as a child<br />
and even now, you cannot remember her voice--<br />
if she sang with you, if she prayed aloud<br />
<br />
You only remember hands<br />
your hand holding hers<br />
the cold metal bar of a gurney between them<br />
wondering if this was what trust looked like<br />
<br />
wondering if God has raised her up<br />
on eagle's wings and now holds her<br />
in the palm of His hand<br />
<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
[still working on this one. not crazy about the ending.]<br />
[Note: some lyrics from the hymn appear in this poem]Leslieannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06913230176326644398noreply@blogger.com0