A poem is a soul in action through words.
From Mary Oliver, May She Rest in Sweetness & Joy
Prayer
May I never not be frisky,
May I never not be risque.
May my ashes, when you have them, friend,
and give them to the ocean,
leap in a froth of the waves,
still loving movement,
still ready, beyond all else,
to dance for the world.
Wild Is the Spirit – new poetic form
Wild is the spirit that urges sin be
Child is the dearest that surges in me
Pain is the prison that holds it inside
Feign is the -ism that told me it died
Angst is the effort to break out of chains
Strong is the deft thwart that aches, shouts, and strains
Strife is the giant that shoulders the cross
Life is the triumph of soul over loss
Hope is the whisper that runs through my veins
Trope is the image that stuns you and reigns.
Love is the life force that rises beyond
Dove is the wife – source that prizes the fond
Home is the destiny, freedom the scheme.
Roam till I rest in me, Eden’s redeemed.
This is a new form based on a form created by Mary Meriam, called Basic Me.
There are four rules and I added one of my own to this poem.
Meriam’s rules:
– 4 to 14 lines of dactyl-dactyl-trochee-iamb
– rhymed couplets
– first word of each line is one syllable
– the word “is” must be in each line
My additional rule: every stressed syllable should have a rhyme or a near rhyme in the second pair part of the couplet. (This one I believe I invented?)
Choosing a Muse – Lines of the Day
“And some of the muses are only in it for the energy.
Have you ever felt drained after writing a poem?
Oh sure, there’s that post poem high,
But something has gone out of you
Into the world.
Muses are paid with energy.
Surprisingly, you want to find a lazy muse
One who goes after the high intensity poem,
So he can slack off for awhile. . . ”
Excerpted from A Muse Met Parks by Mike Crowley in Poets Anonymous 25 and Beyond, ed. Nick Hale, pp 37-39.
Poetry That Bores the Shit Out of Me – Lines of the Day
“. . . so much contemporary poetry
that just bores the shit out of me.
At any rate, I really enjoy a salad
with plenty of chunky iceberg lettuce,
the more the merrier,
drenched in Italian or roquefort dressing.
and the poems I enjoy are those I don’t have
to pretend that I am enjoying.”
Gerald Locklin in “The Iceberg Theory”
Swims Inside the Fish – Lines of the Day
“To some degree we are what we are longing for. Some part of the ocean swims inside the fish.”
Coleman Barks explaining Plotinus’ metaphor about the predicament of human consciousness as a net thrown into the sea (we are the net, the sea is the soul) in his introduction to Rumi: The Big Red Book. (p. 9)
Our Last Adventure – Poetic Memory
The number of your days
was down to the double digits,
but we did not know this yet.
You could still walk and
pull around your IV pole
with its multiple bags.
The pseudo-boyfriend
was a flake and had never
fulfilled his promises
to take you out to
Lake Michigan
or for a picnic anywhere.
His negligence infuriated me.
I don’t know where
I got the gumption,
but we finally dressed
you up in a pair of
overalls, stuck the IV
bags in your pockets.
I wheeled you down
to the lobby.
Left you for a few panicky
moments while
I dashed out to pull up the car.
I felt like I was robbing a bank,
sneaking you out of the
hospital like that.
We drove five minutes
to the house of a friend
where I had been staying
while caring for you
during the days.
No one was at home.
We walked in through the
garage– I worried about fumes
and filth somehow
infecting you.
I sat you down
in the living room
and you ate a Popsicle
on the white couch.
It was our last adventure.
In the Monster’s Mouth – Lines of the Day
. . . As the nerveless moths, that live their night or two–
Though like a moth a bright soul keeps on beating,
Bored and impatient in the monster’s mouth.
Robert Pinsky, “Dying”
All We Know of Heaven – Line of the Day
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
Emily Dickinson, “My Life Closed Twice Before Its Close–“
You Meet Me There
A song from my heart:
I come to the garden
and wait for you there,
longing for a moment
just to meet with You in prayer.
Underneath the branches
of a mighty spreading tree,
I feel Your presence cover me
and fall on bended knee.
And You meet me there . . .
oh You meet,
oh You meet with me there.
In the stillness of the night,
when all my light is gone
I call your name quietly,
waiting for the dawn.
In dark so deep I cannot see
the shape of my own hand,
I reach out just to touch Your hem,
Oh holy Son of Man.
And You meet me there . . .
oh You meet,
oh You meet with me there.
Standing on this mountain,
gazing at the stars,
I am drunk on this fountain
of love that You are.
Higher than an eagle
would ever dream to fly
I step out onto air
and slip into the night sky.
And You meet me there . . .
oh You meet,
oh You meet with me there.
[I probably wrote this song in 2002. If I knew how to write up the musical score, I would]
Gasping for Light 