postcard from indiana (one)

Front:
A landscape of snow-filled rows in fields that once held corn and soybeans surrounded by woods full of naked, brown trees with a highway running through it. The setting of the winters of my childhood.

Back:
"I come from / a tiptoeing, still, winter home." A line from a poem I wrote almost a year ago…I have walked back into that line as I traveled by plane and car and foot to all that I used to know. Walking down the roads that led to patterns invites an awareness to why the patterns continue even on a blank page of all that can be. I have allowed the samscaras to create a rhythm that is not inward resonance, but instead has pushed a feeling of off-kilter that has become my life on certain days, in certain moments.

i come to the water

more poem notes (or maybe an early, early draft of a poem) on this thursday...

I come to the water
to breathe in
salt,
hope,
shadows
I come to the water
to remember
her laughter
I come to the water
because I fear
forgetting
everything
I come to the water
to open
a space
inside me
I come to the water
to find
pieces of the past
I come to the water
to grieve
I come to the water
to let go
I come to the water
to seize life

head on over to jillypoet's for another thursday of the traveling poetry show...

i almost...

Carolee is hosting "The Traveling Poetry Show" today, so please visit her blog to read her post, find out next week's prompt, and visit her comments to link to some posts about poetry.

*****

Yesterday, thinking about the idea of fear that Delia posted as the prompt last week, the writing prompt "I almost" sprung to my mind. I wanted to just write and write all that came from thinking about that phrase. Fears can spring from that word almost. The following phrases aren't current feelings necessarily, just thoughts that came to me as I wrote for several minutes without stopping or editing (much):

I almost

Sat until I couldn't feel
Closed my eyes to truth
Got in the car and never looked back
Quietly allowed the world to happen around me
Believed that things just seemed to happen to me
Stayed in a belittling, suckerpunch-filled relationship
Wished it all away
Felt so much envy I forgot me
Stuffed anger in until my belly bloated
Forgot to remember myself
Slept my way to stagnation
Thought I didn't have a tribe
Didn't believe someone could change
Didn't own all of it
Didn't allow for possibility
Didn't dream of something breath taking
Lost my footing

And from this free writing came the following little poem of sorts:

I almost slept
my way to stagnation
but instead
I swim inside
possibility
balance
and breath

the last poetry thursday

I cried last night as I wrote my last post for Poetry Thursday. I surprised myself a bit by how deeply sad I felt as I saved and published it. This project has been more important to me than I think I even realized. Part of the reason is how connected it is to my own discovery of how much I love poetry and how I believe poetry can change a person…and the world. I know it is also connected to finding light in darkness as poets (the ones I discovered on bookstore shelves and the ones I connected with in blog world) were some of the first people to say to me, "You are not alone in the deep well of grief." So, this gift is also connected to Poetry Thursday.

I realize that I don't have to return these gifts because the project is ending. It isn't as though I will suddenly stop reading poetry or stop writing it. Of course not. I am not leaving blog world, and I will continue to connect with other bloggers who love poetry. I will continue to share my own poetry, links to other poets/poems/blogs, and thoughts about poetry here. And, I imagine I will probably find myself sharing them on Thursdays the way many of us still share Self-Portrait Challenge photos on Tuesdays. I suppose I must admit that I will have more time for my own love affair with poetry as cohosting a site does take up quite a bit of time. But, to me, it is sad all the same.

To all of you who have participated in Poetry Thursday: Thank you for all you have shared and taught and the community you created. Please keep changing the world one poem at a time.

*****

A short poem note (or maybe it is indeed simply a short poem) on this last Poetry Thursday…

We stood until the drum of your heart, the water rolling down my back, and your hands cradling my head were all we were.

i took {poetry thursday}

Tonight, as my "to do" list fights with my "people I seem to be letting down lately" list for the top spot on my inbox and the television speaks only sadness, I took a break. From all of it. I took a break holding a Spire cider in one hand and Billy Collins or rather the poetry of Billy Collins in the other. I took a break sitting on my front step as day turned into dusk pulling on the hem of evening's skirt. I took a break from all of it. I took a break with a cider and Billy Collins. I took a break from grief as I skipped over poems that called to me with titles like "The Dead" and "The Afterlife."

I allowed laughter in.

I took a break from it all and spent time with laughter as I read "The Hunt" four times to paint the described landscape in my mind. I let this landscape where Noah Webster and his assistants hunt a new word become, for a moment, my landscape. I took a break with laughter. I took a break. From all of it. I took a break from fixing when I turned to "Going Out for Cigarettes" and nestled inside these words:

Let us say this is the place where the man who goes out
for cigarettes finally comes to rest: on a riverbank
above the long, inquisitive wriggling of that line,

sitting content in the quiet picnic of consciousness

I took a break and let Billy Collins remind me.

I took a break sitting on the front step as dusk settled over the stretching northwest skyline. I took a break. From all of it. I took a break to breathe in nature and words. I began to breathe in every word and then found myself suddenly chewing. As I reread "Metamorphosis" I was suddenly chewing as though if eating "If Kafka could turn a man into an insect in one sentence perhaps he could turn me into something new" and "Not that I am miserable, but I could use a change" would cause the page to turn and I would find myself away. From all of it. From the fighting, stretching lists. I even contemplated consuming the ant that crawled across the words as though his ability to walk on the actual letters would make the words grow inside me and root.

I took a break. From all of it. I took a break and watched the ant crawl across page 70 then 71 and toward the back cover. I took a drink then gave the ant freedom with the understanding of safety from me and Kafka and Collins.

I took a break. From all of it. I took a break with cider and Collins and dusk turning into a warm breezy August nightfall. I took a break to remind myself. I took a break to let poetry remind me of myself.

I took a break. From all of it. I took a break until I could no longer read the words in the dimming light.

I took a break to remember.
I took a break to remember me.

*****

Poems mentioned are from Questions About Angels by Billy Collins. To read "Metamorphosis" in its entirety, click over to this Washington Post article. Note that the poem ends right before the last paragraph (the last word of the poem is face); this isn't clear in the online layout.

Go on over and visit Poetry Thursday to link to more participant posts...