A little bit of motivation

I know I have potential for something,
because some slowly bubbling mush inside my chest
fills with sun,
The ray slows my heartbeat heard in my ears
and fills me inexplicably full;
With more worthwhile breath
than I think possible.

from the pith

Leaves forfeit after all, dismounting and falling away almost like snow,
their branches and buds are bare.

Red and yellow are the only pure colors left to die.
Blue shrivels up with the sun’s casting-off–

I have pushed lucid hints out
to sea, it is a scape,
a bull, a let-it-go-this-too-shall-pass,

I converse drought resistant Others
with you,
behind closed eyes of silence
and watch mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers and their pithy chlorophyll descend
finally to where we are.

Dear stranger, I have to thank you
for not kicking me or turning a green eye, cold.
I have to thank you, for dancing when I wish to pull the land around me, with all of its twiggy crusts.
And, dear stranger, I am sure now
there is no such thing as being lost, but
we must not let ourselves hollow away.

dementia

It is just before dinnertime in late September.
We are unsure of the sky’s color;
blue, gray, creme, gold,
Autumn falls gently
and squints up at the light:
gold, creme, gray, blue,

my family loitering around my grandma.
80 years is a long time to be here, a
long time to see faces, to talk, to
walk, to see time fly-

we laugh at Auntie’s sunglasses on Grandma-
cool, sleek, reclined in a pocket of earth
and she looks, Mother to
My mother;
“Be careful.”

We rejoice,
words
we say
are important, but
not so much as actions.
Autumn falls gently,

Her eyes blue, gray, creme,
gold, open and squint
up at the light. She
closes them, and naps.

present

you’re looking past your hands
like they are an old man
picking up tennis balls
too slowly, too meticulously,
marveling at the bright yellow gems
he’s putting in a metal basket.

The Liebster Award

Hello, I hope you are peaceful and smiling.

I’d like you to take a moment to click this link here…

https://joyjosephs.wordpress.com

…and go to Joy Joseph’s blog. (Discover Joy)

She has nominated me for the Liebster award, and I could not turn down the opportunity to share a few things. First, I’ll introduce you to Joy, if you haven’t visited her inspiring blog.

And then I’ll answer the question’s she’s posted for her nominees.

And then I’ll put some more links to other blogs that I’ve come to love, if you’re on it, congrats! If I didn’t nominate you, trust me, your blog is still worth every minute. I  just have a selective memory. (Don’t we all?)

Okay! Joy Josephs is a rightly titled Poetess. Experienced in living her life (as one of my favorite authors Natalie Goldberg puts it in Writing Down the Bones) twice: first she just does, like all of us, and then focuses it into her pen. Joy writes her mind. She’s honest and peels back her skin for us to see inside of her, all within a few lines.  I’ve had my mind and heart opened a few times, but hey, enough about Joy and her awesome work. I’m going to answer some questions!

1. What inspired you to begin blogging?

(shout out to Uncle Dave) We (my sisters and uncle and I) were trying to find our live’s passions, or if not our passions, then one thing that keeps us individual: creativity. And you choose to act on it or not. So I don’t remember if it was early morning or late night, but I decided to make an anonymous WordPress. I’m sure we all kind of know how it goes 🙂

2. What was one thing you found difficult to write/blog about that you eventually overcame?

Negativity. I’ll admit, sometimes the coolest poems are deep and dark and twisted. But I decided that I was going to stay away from that for a bit. Its tough, when you’re used to brooding, and everything that’s not sardonic sounds like a vague awareness that everything will end in the sky. I don’t know if I’ve overcome that, but at the moment, I’m doing alright.

3. What advice would you give the 13 year old you?

Nobody knows what they’re doing for sure.

4. If you could be any color, what would you be and why?

If everybody else can change their colors too, then I’d be silver. But not too bright so that I reflect the sun into the corneas of people that are checking themselves out in my skin, but so that I blend with my surroundings.

5. If you had to give your life a title, what would it be?

“Life, Just”

6. What is one aspect of yourself that you would like to change?

Being reliant on running/exercise to feel accomplished. There are worse things, I guess.

7. What is your favorite genre of music? What genre of music do you hate?

Hm, favorite is a tough decision, I don’t believe in favorites so much as temporary preferences to what we’re exposed to. Anyway, I’d have to say rock. And I really don’t like commercial music, like jingles.

8. What is one quality you look for in a significant other?

Understanding

9. If there had to be one universal truth, what would it be?

Everything will happen the way it’s going to happen.

10. Who or what is your favorite poet/poem and why?

This poem stood out among the heavier poems in the Norton Anthology because of its clear mindedness.

The Gift
To pull the metal splinter from my palm
my father recited a story in a low voice.
I watched his lovely face and not the blade.
Before the story ended, he’d removed
the iron sliver I thought I’d die from.
I can’t remember the tale,
but hear his voice still, a well
of dark water, a prayer.
And I recall his hands,
two measures of tenderness
he laid against my face,
the flames of discipline
he raised above my head.
Had you entered that afternoon
you would have thought you saw a man
planting something in a boy’s palm,
a silver tear, a tiny flame.
Had you followed that boy
you would have arrived here,
where I bend over my wife’s right hand.
Look how I shave her thumbnail down
so carefully she feels no pain.
Watch as I lift the splinter out.
I was seven when my father
took my hand like this,
and I did not hold that shard
between my fingers and think,
Metal that will bury me,
christen it Little Assassin,
Ore Going Deep for My Heart.
And I did not lift up my wound and cry,
Death visited here!
I did what a child does
when he’s given something to keep.
I kissed my father.
Now I nominate these guys:
Liebster in German means something along the lines of nicest, cutest, kindest, beloved, valued… here we go!
yeahwriteblog (friendly and funny and a writer making her way through the tough questions and the things we shouldn’t miss)
rebirth (because I absolutely admire his writing and ability to completely capture the reader in his journey)
resarf poetry (always witty and original)
Hijabi Online (She knows herself and is always able to blog positive messages. Always!)
Last Night I Washed My Rottweiler (keeping things interesting, I’m not going to lie, I feel the need to look at his poetry like riddles. Great!)
Petrichor (writes like a classic. He should be)
Embracing Forever (fiction to make you ponder, how is this one person?)
Karma Linguist (brutally real)

Oh yeah, we’ve got rules:

If you have been nominated for The Liebster Award, and you choose to accept it, write a blog post about the Liebster award in which you:

1. Thank the person who nominated you, and post a link to their blog on your blog.

2. Display the award on your blog.

3. Answer the questions provided by the person who nominated you.

4. Nominate 5-11 blogs that you feel deserve the award, who have less than 1000 followers. You can always ask the blog owner this since not all blogs display a widget that let readers know this information.

5. Create a new list of questions for the bloggers to answer.

6. List these rules in your post. Once you have written and published it, you then have to:

7. Inform the people/blogs that you nominated them for The Liebster Award, and provide a link for them to your post so that they can learn about it.

I choose to  nominate the following incredible bloggers. Each blog was nominated for different reasons, but each hold great content nonetheless. Visit their blogs to learn more.

 

Questions for the nominees!

  1. What is a memorable thing you learned from your parents or someone?
  2. Best thing to eat covered in chocolate (or your sauce of choice-you get to choose)?  and please do let me know why!
  3. Why do you write?
  4. The best thing you’ve written-did you think it was great before other people read it?
  5. Some of your favorite muses or things you like to include all the time when you write.
  6. If it were acceptable to say whatever you felt to people, what would you say?
  7. Truth or Dare? Any particular reason?
  8. Do you have a role model? Who? And why?
  9. Something you’re not afraid to stand for.
  10. How do you become happy? And props for making it this far!

 

 

People.

On the days when she is standing in the sun,
my aunt will try to give me her halo.
I’ve learned to receive it gratefully:

Sooner or later you’ll regenerate a new one.
Sometimes, this little helmet of light
is white and sleek and new.
It has no flowers.

Naked. That doesn’t matter.
Your friends will accept it without a doubt,
without knowing you’ve slipped them a crown.
Just let them smile.

Only when my aunt is smiling
she forgets what she thinks she owes
and thinks about her halo-gift.
This is right,

You can’t keep one halo
for too long.

freedom

Mirror marks shine on branches
sturdier than my arms,
the water culls a bit of silver
with the morning sun
held to itself in the sky,
It’s all they need
a breathable fragility even the clouds
know, smiling wordlessly thin .

The grass forgave my angular bones
because, they know
today was the best day,
even the birds cleared my shape.
He said age is backfiring
he said as we grow old we worry
freedom does not come with time.

Too bad
I think
you already have it.
because
today is the best day.

Growing up in the ocean state

Summer days were waxing moons
and waning sunsets
wandering the water’s edge
in a blackened promised city
wearing heeled boots and soft wallets;

We spent mornings in day dust cafés
Or diners sinking into the sediment,
then gathered our fill of stars
with pink lemonade and holed socks;

Anything to keep our heads underage:
bakeries, bedrooms, monogrammed towels,
the sound of our own footsteps
jogging close to our backs.

The dark water shifts it’s gaze
in gravity of the one-eyed sky,
But this time it’s blank
instead of a kaleidoscope:

Each time a wave reached for us
a hand would only go out so far
and end straining the sparkling sand.

These were the colors of our eyes,
not pearly white or blue or brown,
But something seen from a lifeguard’s perch
in search of an absolute moon.

Undefined

What do you hold in your hands?
if nothing,
it is a surface for whispers
like the clean wind of winter:

solitude colored with ice and air
or a field of view so quiet
it clots the tainted thought
in miniature pristine patters;

open your hands to the sun:
if you hold nothing,
think of the past, the impressions
still creased in your palm,

here the ground has sunken
where life has taken its time.
where rain dwells and inspires,
something pushes through the brown:

living in hopes of the sun
to stand in the warmth of golden rays,
the heat coincides with its insides.
what do you hold in your hands?

the better of time asks who
and the human asks how
but in your palm, your insides,
tinkers the Undefined

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