finally getting a little sexy with poetry {poetry thursday}

A few weeks ago, the prompt at Poetry Thursday was sex. And I happily shared two poems written by others on that day. Because, well, ahem, my parents sometimes read my blog. And my friends who may not talk about such things also stop by. And a friend I also work with might be reading it right now (hi). So writing about sex is something...ahem...that doesn't quite come easily to me. Except that isn't really true. It is more writing about sex and then posting it for others to read (anyone out there in all the world), well, that is the part that gets me in a bit of a tizzy.

But, as soon as I read this week's completely and totally optional Monday idea, this poem began to dance in my head. And it continued to dance throughout these last few days. So tonight, as I listened to Itzhak Perlman's violin play "Tango (Por Una Cabeza) "on repeat, this poem took shape. A little blending of PT's sex and music prompts.

tango on a hot july night

the click of the record player
needle skids
as the first notes play
a sigh

her hands move to the roundness of her belly

a woman in a black dress,
pink rose tucked in her hair
eyes dark
fierceness on her face
his hand splayed across her back
they stare at one another
quick turn
long step
look away
her leg kicks
and slides across the floor
then his
long step
slow turn
bodies collide
skirt twirls
long step
quick quick quick
turn

ba boom
ba boom

her hand moves to her breast

the woman turns her face away
he pulls her in
a violence that invites no fear
quick turn
long step
long step
her foot slides
then his
slow turn
knees bend
pivot
pull closer
anticipate every move
breath
turn

ba ba boom
ba ba boom boom boom

fingertips to lips as another sigh escapes

sweat begins to form
the small of her back
his forehead
quick turn
long step
he thrusts her closer
pause
long step
quick quick quick
bodies lean in
never letting go
feet know
her foot slides
then his
quick turn
skirt twirls
slow slow
quick quick
turn
breath to breath

hands roam where needed
soft sighs
the music quiets
a whisper until the final moment

one hand to her forehead, the other below her belly

ba boom
ba boom

********

Poetry Thursday was a weekly poetry project that I created and then co-hosted back in 2006-2007. The site is no longer online.

it's all about the layers around here {poetry thursday}

happy poetry thursday to all!

i didn't have time to bring my pen to paper and write my own words this week (too busy editing the words of others), but i did venture out into the web to find some poems that got my mind turning a bit.

for my post at PT today, i talked about layers. i feel like poetry is all about the layers of our lives, but i think this is because poetry is really about the journey that is life. this is why poetry has plopped itself down into the middle of my world. and why my response was simply "you are welcome to stay" when i realized it wasn't going to leave.

as i read this poem, "Persimmons" by Li-Young Lee, the words wrapped around me like a blanket and i settled into the poet's memories as he peeled them back, layer by layer. i admit to letting the tears just fall as i read the last lines again this evening. not that it is sad so much as gorgeous. it is as though the lines have reached inside of me. inside of my heart. i breathe them in.

i love poetry.

and then i visited "True Love" by Sharon Olds. over the last few months, she keeps stopping by for tea. and how lucky am i to read her words when she does. this poem speaks to a piece of the reality of married sex. how it is to feel so very comfortable with another person. to be yourself with this person. to love one another. but to also venture down the hallway to the bathroom in the middle of the night together after you have made love...

and finally...i discovered a delightful podcast about sex, weddings, and wrestling at poetryfoundation.org. click over to this page and scroll down to the May 24, 2006 edition. sit back with your tea, or wine, or coffee, or ice cream....and enjoy.

a little laughter...but also grief (again) {poetry thursday}

Reading the posts of Poetry Thursday participants last week...well...my heart felt so full. The community, the sharing, the discussion, the words, the poems, the introductions to favorite poets...all of this. Yes. Thank you. I am doing a little happy dance as I think about how much this project has grown in the last few months. A happy dance.

This week, I am sharing the poem I was working on last week. (It is still a bit in progress, and I welcome gentle suggestions via email if any spring to mind.)

A vacation interrupted

Last Tuesday,
with the temperature at 92 degrees,
I began to stick to myself.
Thoughts of rainbow sherbet,
icy raspberry, orange, and lime,
sent me on a holiday from
the hell of the living room.
As I snuck away,
I did not anticipate a memory
ripping off the bandage
I use to hold my heart together,
when at noon the next day,
I lifted the plastic lid, inhaled,
and traveled to the humidity
of another kitchen.

A teaspoon scooping
rainbow sherbert, she watched
as I pressed two scoops
into the little pink bowl with
scalloped edges, then she said,
“Are you going to eat all that?”
Later, after a commercial
break, with Gramps and I
sucked into a story about
teenage mothers on 20/20,
she would sneak to the kitchen
for seconds. The suction
of the shutting freezer door
became the invitation
to echo her words.

Lacking manners and
sneaking up from behind,
the eager claws of grief
clutched at my center
when her laughter
rang out inside my head.
Untangling, I opened
the cupboard, reached for
a small purple glass,
took out a teaspoon
from the drawer, and
began to scoop up
the ribbons of color,
pressing each spoonful
closer together.

*********

Inspired by The Writer's Almanac link I posted last week, my husband has invited me to share a new evening ritual with him. We sit together on the couch and listen to Garrison Keillor's daily post. A nightly date with my husband and poetry. What more could a girl want really?

grief and patience {poetry thursday}

grief. over the last year and a half, this has become a theme of my life. the deep, wide, gut-wrenching reality that grief invites. and one of the ways i am healing (also known as "holding it all together except when i am not and am instead knocked over only to realize i am not alone on this path") is reading poetry (and writing a little as well).

one of the poets who has spoken to me in the midst of this journey into poetry as i travel through grief is marge piercy. earlier this year, i checked out her book Colors Passing Through Us. in this collection, she has a few poems that whisper about her experience of her mother's death. this line, from "The day my mother died" stopped me right where i was and i recall sucking in my breath as i read it out loud:

That day opened like any
ordinary can of tomatoes.

so much said in these words. with this line, she evokes a kinship with people who have lost someone. yes, an ordinary day. that suddenly becomes something else entirely.

visit this page from The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor to read the all of "The day my mother died." (OH! and please note, this page loads in an odd way. the top of the page is basically gray and blank, but don't dispair, just scroll down to find the poem.) if you click on "Listen" under the date on this page, you can also hear Keillor read this poem (just keep listening, he does read it, but it is toward the end). as jon and i listened to this tonight, i turned to him and said, "i kind of want to curl up inside his voice and take a nap." i love listening to him read. and now that i know you can hear him read all these poems he posts at this site, i am going to try to listen to one a day.

i will visit this week's Poetry Thursday prompt at some point in the future. just not in this post. i am learning the valuable lesson that even though you want to finish a poem, it might want to sit a bit longer and unveil itself to you over time. so the poem i planned to share is doing that right now. we are both learning patience.

what i say {poetry thursday}

Ocean Creation

I find both my feet wondering when last I
noticed how it felt to stand and feel every toe.
Inhaling as instructed, with reaching arms
I seek the space that forms around my heart.
Navel toward the spine, the exhale begins
then my body folds in half, head toward knees.
Always a friend, gravity completes the journey
as hamstrings greet my jumbled thoughts.

“Find the pause, then the breath.”

Inhale, the heart leads as my body rises, all toes
connected, firmly grounded feet retain my balance.
Exhale, movement begins, hands slide down
my thighs, fingers wrap around my calves.
The invitation to hear the body is received;
I stay with my crown to the turning earth.
The struggle as I seek to find a pathway clear of clutter
and boxes piled high with all that I am not.

“Let go of judgment; find the breath.”

A crack in the top of my head, shame, fear,
doubt rush out to form an ocean on the earth below.
I close my eyes and find the breath,
permission to feel the space inside.
Oxygen moves stillness through the veins,
as energy pulsates from fingertips and toes.
Inhale, the heart opens and uprights my view;
exhale, the body settles as the mind finds the quiet.

“Feel the effects of the pose
on the body,
on the breath,
on the mind,
on the heart.”

This poem shares some of the phrases I use when I teach yoga. Over the last two weeks, I have tried to observe myself as I teach, noticing the phrases that pass my lips. This poem also shares what it feels like to have a moment in the midst of a pose, a moment when you realize yoga is about a lot more than just stretching the body. (And the post above is me reading this poem. I am still trying to figure out audioblogger but thought I would give it a try.)

*******

This week, I also brought poetry into an everyday moment when I read a poem at the end of class this evening. After the students rest in savasana, they come back to a seated position and I share something with them. A meditation, blessing, chant, "words of wisdom," a poem. Tonight I read "Threading the Needle" from Yoga Poems: Lines to Unfold By by Leza Lowitz. This poet is a writer and yoga teacher who shares images of asana poses, moments in her life, how yoga affects the mind and soul through the poems in this book. I highly recommend it.