Events, Musings, Poems

The Cruelest Month: Coming Attractions

wildindigoApril is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

–T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

What to think of April? Is it the cruelest month? The “idiot, babbling and strewing flowers” as Millay called it? The time when the “shours soote” bathe “every veyne in swich licour”  (the sweet showers bathe every plant vein in such liquid), as Chaucer spoke of? Well, it’s all of this and more with cummings’ goat-footed balloon-man whistling far and wee through the “puddle-wonderful” world. Continue reading “The Cruelest Month: Coming Attractions”

Poems

Holding Your Hand

KensHandsWe parked the truck and stepped out
Onto the road that used to be a highway
Of my childhood, winding through Mayes County
To the Grand River bluffs, where my mother
Said hobos made cave camps and where a train
Ran a solitary line amidst the blackjack
And sawbriar. I am holding your hand. Continue reading “Holding Your Hand”

Poems

27 Years

NelsonMandela5Nelson Mandela, leader of the movement to end South African apartheid, is released from prison after 27 years on February 11, 1990.

When I was 27, I was pregnant with my son,
And in the third trimester, I went to England,
Experiencing Stratford on Avon, where he heard
His first Shakespeare play—Much Ado About Nothing—
And toured Roman baths and experienced the result Continue reading “27 Years”

Events, Musings

Don’t Fear the Poem

fearDon’t fear the poem.
Baby take my hand.
We’ll be able to fly.
Don’t fear the poem.
La la la la la la la . . .

Apologies to Blue Oyster Cult. When I tell people I am a poet,

A. They run screaming far to uninhabited lands.

B. They want to share their own poems with me.

C. They make a hand gesture to ward off evil.

D. They stare blankly and then change the subject. Continue reading “Don’t Fear the Poem”