My Body is

my body is an extension cord,
my body is a chocolate rabbit.
my body is a purity ring,
my body is a jacket,
my body is a pen,
my body is a whiteboard,
my body is a coffee mug,
my body is a projector screen,
my body is a stool,
my body is a cave.

Where is the body in all of that?

Near-Distance

Three dens nestle among

the roots of the great tree

called the “tree of life”

In the center of the field.

The bark is riddled with

holes of hundreds of in-

sects seeking shelter in

the ancient wood. Bird-

song sounds up above

me as gay robins finches,

swallows, and cardinals

tweet overhead, munching

on the numerous ants that

march up and down the trunk.

The bark of the treeIs cracked in places,

large ridges testament to its old age. Around the tree, dead

                                     branches         riddle the        grass, many         more still

                                   clinging to           the ends          of creaking          tree limbs.

A home for so many others, what will happen when the great tree finally falls to the ground?

Middle-Distance

Water
     bubbles
            and laughs
                 as it flows
         through
     the bend in
              the creek-
                   bed, the sun
                       warming
                        stones worn
                           smooth by
                         years of
                  watery mirth
              flowing over
            them.                        
Bare trees stretch             
their tired, contented arms over the creek, soaking yellow
                  kisses into their dry, cracked skin.
            Green
          water,
          vermillion
            sky,
white clouds,
and a wind that draws the water on to greater
shimmering joys.

Far-Distance

The field is awash 

with green and tan blades of grass,

vestiges of last years crop and hints of the new. 

The sky is dark blue overhead, with clouds puffy and petite 

rolling in. A lone tree stands in the center of the field, brown 

and foliage as though it were an old man, in the middle of budding life, 

slowly putting on his hat to say "Good day to you. Many years 

I have seen, and many more will come, 

but for the moment, you are my

 grandchild. 

Sit with

 me, and 

I will teach 

you the 

patience 

God taught me."

A breeze stirs the grass as the tree 

shakes its wizened branches.

Galway Kinnell poem snippets

I sit a moment

by the fire, in the rain, speak

a few words into its warmth –

stone  saint  smooth  stone – and sing

one of the songs I used to croak

for my daughter, in her nightmares. (Under the Maud Moon)

Wait.
Don't go too early.
You're tired. But everyone's tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again. (Wait)

Cork

Stop up the world

Why don’t you?

Absorb the scent of

Fermented grapes

And stow-away

Dreamers.

And while you’re at it,

Break my wrist

From prying you from

The bottle

As I suck the sweet nectar

That is life, liberty,

And the pursuit of

Public indecency.

Deck of Cards

We gathered round excitedly,
drinking deeply the magic we created.

"Look what I can do!"
"I'll figure [the trick] out as I go along"
"Cut the deck,"
    "I'm trying,"
"You're supposed to pick them off
The table when you cut them-"
   "I know!!"
"I can turn the card invisible!" 
"I did this trick for hours at a time
with the younglings...looks like its
the same time span for college students!"

Who knew 52 scraps of paper
could bring us so much happiness?

Balloons

Red, yellow, blue,
Mustard, ketchup, cheese,
Helium, rubber,
My balloons!

Paper Tardis

Little blue box
Made of paper and ink
That would carry me
Out of time.
Out of space.
Out of being essentially.
The door opens

Double-stud Earring

It impales me,
It impales me,
With chains
and feathers
it runs me through.
A metal spike,
A metal spike,
held in place
with tight backings.
I smile with a
sense of beauty.

Cliche Poem

Open mouth, insert foot, if
Love is blind, and part of God's plan.
The blind lead the blind:
I'm digging a hole,
Head over heels in blindness with you.
Stay in my ballpark. This chair has your name on it.
It's up in the air;
just follow me.

Fulfilled

Breathe in, count to three, walk
out to the stage, take
your places. The concert is about to
begin. Look up, smile, the conductor
is ready to cue the orchestra.
Breathe in, count the measures, open
your mouth to sing. You know
the notes, each one a heartstring
thrumming in your chest
before ringing in your ears.
Exhilerating, performing for
those you know. A special joy,
a set-apart privelage. Just

Breathe in, count to three, walk
out to the corridor, take
your place in line. The audience is
on their feet. Smile, it's only
the first half. Enjoy this. You've
waited and longed. The bagpiper
waits, ready to reenter,
playing triumphantly
as you take centerstage
adn bring the walls
to stand at greater attention,
for true passion takes the stage,
own your orchestra.

Breathe in, count to three, here
you are alive.

Epigrams

We only know that which is unknowable

All it takes to be insane is too much curiosity

If the phone doesn't ring, it's me.

Life is like american express, don't leave home without it.

Sometimes the only thing to do is grab a roll of duct tape and hold on tight.

A Sonnet for Vickey

Speak to me dear friend of mine, and we will

Drink deeply of this communion we share:

Our friendship forged over accidental

Coffee dates and movie nights. When was the

First time that we shared those intimate sides

Of our hearts that others don’t get to see?

When the professor spoke of “Streetcar Named

Desire” and you and I shared a smile.

But graduation is in two months. This

feast we two prepared will go uneaten.

So hold on to me dear friend of mine.

I will not forget the words you told me:

“Love, a word so strong, love a word that makes

me wear a thong.” I will miss you dear friend.

What?
the sun is shining
the birds are singing
the people are laughing
the wind is blowing
 and
it's February in Houghton.

Narrative Poem based on Hannah G's paragraph

It starts out with black hair

and the whims of a spontaneous mind. 

Black hair is the hair of

enchanters

and mysteries.

It is the raven-dark locks

to which poets lend their

pen and ink. 

Spur-of-the-moment decision

of the girl who

has yet to learn to be a woman,

what it means to be mature and convey

the wisdom and knowledge of an age

far ahead of one’s own. 

The deed was done,

the girl of black tresses

with near-white skin

Modern Snow White,

Brush sweeps

first

against the pool of red

and then swipes across her lips,

to complete the redness required.

She walks out the door, into the

open

and unknown,

shying her eyes away

from the onlookers. 

Surely,

she thought,

they must be as shocked as I.

Narrative paragraph turned into poem 

Based on my paragraph

If sunsets dawned

And

The ground crunched overhead

            It would make more sense to me.

If time

            Crawled

                        Slowly

                                    Backwards

Then I could happier rest on this cement.

Instead the world moves

On

As it has before

            And here I sit at a loss for words.

My words

            Poured

                        Steadily

                                    Forth

Until I ran into country named but unknown.

Love,

It is morning glory

That

Grows and will not die

            Nor is it sated but by

A glimpse of the object

                        Of its colors.

A weed

            Planted

                        Secretly

                                    Within

Unwanted, yet precious as the one for whom it blooms

When was it

That

You slipped the seedlings

            Into my cup?

You have

            Stood

                        awkwardly

                                    uncomprehending

Why? Heart of my heart you have renamed yourself to me

I offer these my blossoms

which

you yourself have watered.

            Why will you not take them? Strange

That you

            Are

                        Genuinely

                                    Loved

Of me: an unexpected effect of your green thumb.

Come then

And

Uproot this plant you have

            So tenderly nursed to life. Choke

This weed

            Grown

                        Unwisely

                                    Here

Or see me as I am: A helpless flowerpot.

                       

(word count: 185)


Based on DS's paragraph

In second grade I had a friend named Yuri S,

Wearing stripes of green and yellow.

All of my memories of him take place

In ELF park. He was so creative.

He turned the woodchips from lava to

Shark-infested waters. If your foot

Touched briefly as you traversed

The playground, you had a chance

Of survival.

I had a friend named Yuri S

For only one year.

How could we remember each other?

Here, he said on our last bus-ride,

Take this half of a paperclip.

That way we’ll always remember

And always be friends.

This? This was supposed to remind me of

Short dark hair, big teeth, and an imagination

As wild as the handshake we gave

Each other in parting.

I lost the paperclip before long,

Desperately searching my memories to make

Sure he hadn’t disappeared with it.

I looked into my mind, searching, and

In second grade I had a friend named Yuri S,

Wearing stripes of green and yellow.

(word count: 162)

  

Through sunlight still shining,
came harbingers of rain,
the smell early warning
to the forthcoming stain.

A small wiff of cloud,
Brooding grayer than ought
soon gathers a shroud
the day it has bought

Hope is now shaking
the winds fiercely blow
What once was unmoving
bends to its ancient foe.

Begun is the madness,
claiming purpose brazen.
To draw silver from dross,
the excuse it has chosen.

Thunderbolts strike
the quivering trees,
Bringing all creatures alike
to battle-worn knees.


                but


My arms they are strong
my feet on firm land
Though you suffered so long
I hold you where you stand.

I am still with you
I never shall leave
I protect and I carry you
You need only believe.

Take me by the hand,
see me
Lift me from the dark,
hear me
Watch me as I fall
feel me

An ache, a pressure
an unhappy heat,
Unexplained measure,
a matter to treat.
A curable thing,
or so they might say,
Just get up and sing,
Or get down and pray.
But what they don't see
no answer will do.
Earth shifts beneath me

and no path seems true.
Even rhyming and
rhythm no longer
seem right.
There exists no safe
harbor or shelter
in sight.
Oh happy lifetimes
how do you endure?
With naught but green limes
and love that's unsure.

Grace

A silent murmer, sweeter this
than all life's splendor, or betraying kiss.
Am I so much the better soul
though your life by death I stole
the very purity I sought
which by cruel death, your breath had bought.

I scouraged you, I slapped you
it was me who twisted thorns into
Your head, the nails into your hands and feet
the spear in your side, to steal your heartbeat.
it was I, I pronounced you dead
and rejoiced as I spat on your head.

It was I, who knew only hate
that you died for, hell to sate
of the bloodlust for me
that you did die and set me free.

What strange punishment is this,
but no consequence amiss.
It should've been me,
How could it be
that the perfection of man
Came to do what none can
And saved a wretched soul like me
who commits more sins nigh constantly
yet for it all you paid the price,
and by Your payment, I suffice.

They've applied it once more,
The flint to my eyes
to old wounds still sore
It should be no surprise

A fight to survive
To blame solely my own
Keeping others alive
From this blackening stone

A storm begun brewing,
A cold tempest familiar
My feet are now bracing
Greeting old friend similar

I've weathered it indeed
I'll weather once more
Though it pay no heed
To my old wounds so sore

A brown teddy bear,
his fur worn into clumps,
blue and yellow plaid bowtie
crooked.



Step One,  make snowball
Step Two, hit friend in head
Step Three, make clean getaway

Purple tank top and black shorts
in twenty-degree weather.
must be laundry day.


The snow falls in
little round balls,
resembling Dippin Dot icecream.
God must like vanilla.



he took an ordinary paper napkin
and made it into a rose.
How in the world?


"Say something meaningful
in fifteen words,"
Guess I can do that.
Once upon a time

A box of crayons,
they smell of plastic
and cardboard,
resting next to my textbook.


A cup of hot tea,
with honey of course,
and a poem to be written.
Done.

Late one Night
"The cube is
raw power,
It could destroy
you both."
My friend broke the Rubik's
cube instead.


Clairvoyance
Surge of panic as your foot falls
through
empty space

skipping a stair by accident.

Grandma

Wrinkled smile, tired hands,
Fragrant with perfume and
chicken soup:
Her word the final say


Irony

A little white flower
tiny virgin bud
propped
against A Streetcar Named Desire