G is for Green

As some of you may know, I have a series of color poems. Maybe someday there will be enough to stand as a collection of their own. You can read "Yellow's Blessing" and "The Warmth of Orange" in the anthology Lifelines. "Seeping Gray," "Whetted Steel," and "Black's Embrace" will be in my upcoming poetry book Chiaroscuro. And to celebrate the letter "G" today, here is my Green poem.

Unfurling so many ways (Photo credit: sbisson)

Green Unfurls

the smell of fresh-cut grass
stretching yoga poses
a breath of fresh air after smog
surprise at the touch of a frog, smooth not slimy
green apple shampoo massaged into my scalp
the taste of a kiwi
mint ice-cream
Bob Ross and his happy trees
smack, run, cheer, baseball
the snap of green beans
ruins, hidden in moss and vines
willow leaves, dripping, waving

F is for Fairies and Fudge

Vegan Chocolate Fudge. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Fairy Fudge

the fairies left a gift for me

outside my bedroom door

a single square of darkest fudge

you won't find in a store

pixie dust like little stars

glinting from its core

it carries whiffs of oak

soaked in a downpour

I take a bite, close my eyes

relish tastes galore

cocoa rivers carry me

to exotic shore

magic bursts through my veins

my feet lift off the floor

wings curl from my shoulders

leaving muscles sore

I shrink down to inches high

needing clothes no more

wrapped only in morning light

out the door I soar

by Mary W. Jensen

E is for Ekelöf

Gunnar Ekelöf (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Gunnar Ekelöf was a Swedish poet and writer who lived from 1907 to 1968. He won many awards for his poetry. He has been described as Sweden's first surrealist poet.

I discovered Gunnar's poetry while browsing a library book sale. Selected Poems of Gunnar Ekelöf, translated by Muriel Rukeyser and Leif Sjoberg. It stood out, being the only poetry book on the shelf. Curious, I picked it up and opened to a random page. I don't remember what page that was, but the poetry resonated with me. I read a few more poems, then bought the book.

When One Has Come as Far as I

by Gunnar Ekelöf

When one has come as far as I in meaninglessness

every word becomes once more interesting

Finds in the mould

which someone has turned with an archaeologist's spade:

The little word you

perhaps a glass pearl

that once hung at the throat of someone

The big word I

Perhaps a flint shard

with which someone in toothlessness scraped his tough flesh

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Today's poetry prompts from both NaPoWriMo and 30 Day PoetryChallenge both have to do with using an existing poem. So I've picked some of Ekelöf's translated poems to work with.

I don't think Ekelöf would mind:

Augustine says, "Tag och läs! and take for good what you read." I mean with "Tag och skriv!" Read, and make it your own, give it your own expression. --Gunnar Ekelöf

Since these are longer poems, I'll just share one today. This one is a blackout poem. "Find a poem written by someone else. Make it new by crossing out or deleting select words."

I am using the poem Euphoria, translated by L. Nathan &J. Larson. (Another E word!)

Euphoria

You sit in the garden alone with your notebook, a sandwich,

                                            flask, and pipe.

It is night but so calm that the candle burns without flickering,

spreads its glow over the table of rough planks

and gleams in bottle and glass.

You take a sip, a bite, and fill and light your pipe.

You write a line or two and give yourself pause and ponder

the thin streak of evening red slowly passing to the red of morning,

the sea of wild chervil, green-white foaming in the darkness

                                            of summer night,

not one moth around the candle but choirs of gnats in the oak,

leaves so still against the sky … And the aspen rustles in the

                                            stillness:

All nature strong with love and death around you.

As if were the last evening before a long, long journey:

You have the ticket in your pocket and finally everything is packed.

And you can sit and sense the nearness of the distant land,

sense how all is in all, both its end and its beginning,

sense that here and now is both your departure and return

sense how death and life are as strong as wine inside you!

Yes, to be one with the night, one with myself, with the candle’s flame

which looks me in the eye still, unfathomable and still,

one with the aspen that trembles and whispers,

one with the crowds of flowers leaning out of darkness to listen

to something I had on my tongue to say but never got said,

something I don’t want to reveal even if I could.

And that it murmurs inside me of purest happiness!

And the flame rises … It is as though the flowers crowded

                                            nearer,

nearer and nearer the light in a rainbow of shimmering points.

The aspen trembles and plays, the evening red passes

and all that was inexpressible and distant is inexpressible and near

I sing of the only thing that reconciles,

only of what is practical, for all alike.

D is for Dusty Tome

Do Not Disturb

Dare not to enter

Or even peak in

Nightmares wait for

Open minds

To confound

Dusty book lies

Innocent, a guise of

Spells and mystery…

Tempting to open,

Unwitting

Read the words--
Book of the Dead

C is for Chiaroscuro

Chiaroscuro (kee-ar-uh-SKYOOR-o): The contrast and balance between light and dark.

Chiaroscuro is the title of my upcoming poetry book being published by SynergEbooks. Today I’m going to share how the collection came to be.

Back in 2008, I took a course at the Muse Online Writers Conference called “How to Turn Your Poetry Into a Saleable Chapbook.” I had a lot of poems under my belt and wanted to create a cohesive collection.

I looked over all of my poems, and sorted them into themes. I found a lot of them were on the darker side: death, pain, abuse. Of course, a lot of those were from my teenage days. You know how teenage angst can get. But I still use poetry to deal with the darkness.

With encouragement, I went ahead with the dark theme. Chose my title, Chiaroscuro. My initial tag line was: Exploring the darkness, bringing the monsters of death and abuse into the light.

What was initially a 25 poem chapbook, later expanded to a book length collection so I could enter it into a local writing competition. I didn’t win, but I did get valued feedback from my peers, and wrote what is now the introduction.

Within us resides a tapestry of darkness and light. It is woven into our hopes, fears, dreams, and secrets. To understand the tapestry leads to knowing ourselves. Follow these threads of dark and light. You may be surprised at what lies hidden, lost, or wandering.

Last year during April Poetry Month I wrote some promising poems that fit the theme, so I polished those to fill out the content some more.

And now it’s on its way to becoming a digital book. Here’s a glimpse inside:

Anniversary

The door lifts to the bleak garage--
flashbacks barrage,
emotions show,
eyes overflow.

One year has passed since he's been gone;
my heart's withdrawn.
His red race car
sits like a scar.

My finger traces through the dust
as thick as lust;
I draw a heart
and then depart.

B is for Boy

About a Boy

Born in March
Reader of Fantasy
You make me so proud
Creative and bright
Extra big hugs

A is for... Adventure to Agony

I actually wrote two poems today. The double prompt from Poetic Asides is a beginning and an ending poem. So I wrote one for each.

BMW R1200GS Adventure motorcycle (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Gypsy

I open the door

breathe in fresh spring air

of a new day--

My day

to take as I please.

I secure a pack to the bike,

six string on my back

no school, no job

just me and the open road.

A trip to nowhere and anywhere

to find myself.

Stop on a whim--

barter for a bed or

play for my supper,

new faces and places

shape my music.

Each day a new adventure.

No More Running

Broken Fence (Photo credit: Chrispl57)

Feral growls chase me

I duck through broken fence,

only to find more dead ahead

pouring from the house.

I turn back, but the way is blocked;

dirty torn fingernails reach through fence

tear into my flesh--

I stagger back
with my own feral scream.

Find shelter in an empty shed,

hands pressed to my gut

I sink to the floor

back bracing the door.

Tears and blood pour from me,

Infection ripping

through my veins,

the pain a constant jab…

Is this it? The end?

No more stargazing

or chocolate

or kisses.

Alone.

In agony.

With bloody fingers I clasp

the key hanging from my neck

until the teeth

dig into my skin.

The key to your heart…

I drift away,

remember our wedding day

promises of love eternal.

Horror snarls

as the door cracks

reminds me that death did us part.

I sob,

pain of body and heart

too much to bear.

Envious of the mindless moans,

the painless existence of

the once dead,

I open the door.

Welcome the horde.