April 2, 2009
Myths of Resurrection
ache behind my eyes
could be might be probably is
last night’s wine
pollen on the wind
sleep’s eluding me yet again
self medicating with coffee
barely edging in on the pain
world gone technicolor
intensifies the throbbing
purple flowers dripping off
bare vines in the yard
Japanese maple twigs green-tipped just last week
now unfolding leaflets in scarlet and plum
pale fern-like plumes on the cypress
almost making me
believe
myths of resurrection the
two coinciding in our hemisphere
what must Easter be like if it is autumn in
your part of the world?
no evidence of rebirth all around
summer’s fade more akin to Persephone’s return to Hades
yet the throbbing will remind you
even if external evidence cannot
each day you’re reborn in your bed
pulling out of that little death of slumber
so loath to leave that warmth
face the brightness
a quiet death would be just okay
February 28, 2009
In a Bed of Dark Zinnias
Waking in the middle of the night,
I sneak outside to the huge yard.
Small town on the bayou,
no cars at night,
no street lights.
Only the faint glow from the Handy Stop
where the black kids hang out and where
I was never allowed to go.
Standing in Pau-pau’s garden,
I am sleepless,
wandering in my gown,
black soil soft and fragrant beneath my feet.
The moon, luscious
behind the oak trees,
huge near the gulf.
Those trees crowd together at night,
branches tangled like the legs of spiders.
Lying between the rows of flowers,
I can hear blood rushing,
a great river through sinew and bone,
a mantra sung before sleep.
Finding that slippery place
between waking and dreams
in that bed of dark zinnias,
the trees crowd around
their arms reaching out
holding the faces of the dead,
my father’s mother,
a young woman in her picture on the mantle,
and her mother
who was never young to me.
January 25, 2009
Just a little poetic silliness inspired by my Siamese cat Whisper.
Cat Distraction No. 1: The Plastic Sack
Oh crumply goodness
Oh crumply goodness
It haunts me
It taunts me
It makes me play with it
It’s lost under the couch
Oh crumply goodness
January 18, 2009
honey bees tease
yellow trumpets on the
Carolina Jessamine
sipping my coffee I
consider the birdhouse
among the vines
sparrows busily flitting in and out
lining the nest inside, tending eggs
after refilling my cup I
step back to the window to
see the gray tail of a
garden snake disappearing
into the sparrow house
this friend who eats insects
now an enemy
deceptive in his apparent benefit
like the om I sang
mantra before sleep
once so soothing
now a chant of fear and anger
twisted now -oma, -oma,
non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma
adenocarcinoma
glioblastoma
-oma, -oma,
seemingly soothing syllable
hiding a death sentence
gentle like those platitudes
no mourner wants to hear and
only spoken by those who have never
walked in mourner’s shoes
how many must walk this path
how many must I follow on this path
what am I to learn on this path
this cruel teacher
this -oma
striking again and again
again the snake
the sparrows frantic
helpless to remove
this intruder in their home
om
-oma
om
-oma
–from April 2008
About My Poems Page - January 18, 2009
In addition to my regular posts, I may occasionally include some of my poems. I’ve had a few published over the years. Unfortunately, I’m hopelessly lazy about sending out submissions, so most of my poems just sit around in notebooks and on various forms of electronic storage. I like the idea of putting some of them out into the world.
Erin,
I haven’t had the pleasure of reading any of your poems in a long time. I sat and cried over the one about the dark zinnas not only is it beautiful, but it took me back to those nights and days on the bayou and happy times and sad times. The “Myths of Resurrection” puts me to thinking that resurrection comes about anywhere, anytime, any place. We, as Christians, celebrate the Resurrection of Christ at Easter as you know. However, resurrection does come in the new spring flowers, a newborn child, one’s on beliefs, a repaired friendship, and in one’s own heart and mind each day – at least for me. Over the last four years if I had not had faith in the resurrection of every new day, I could not have made it. Thank you for sharing your poetry with whomever reads it. They will receive a blessing from each one. I know I will. Love, Mom
I love your poetry! All of them speak to my soul. I am one on ‘the other side of the world’ where we are at the very edge of spring and will be going into summer for which I’ve longed the last few months. Usually our winters are mild but this last one has been quite severe (by our standards, lol). Take care.