Poem 30

I'm not entirely satisfied with this poem. I tried to go for a certain repetition in the first few stanzas, but then the poem needed to go somewhere else. I'll probably change it later this week if a good idea pops into my head.

This is probably the only poem I've written about my mom.

For My Mother

With a used Grand Prix
and the gas to drive 300 miles,
I left a town sopping with your name.

A house content
to settle into the earth
and the trees fringing its walls
eager to grow and shade the windows:
this too I forgot.

With a whole set of clothes
and the last shoes you bought me,
my lips still buzzed with your name.

A street satisfied
with its length and curves
to form potholes in winter
and cracks in its driveways-
there are others like it.

I know my feet will wipe on other mats
and I’ll walk up flights of stairs
to sit and ask questions
about school days.
I’ll eat at tables with Sunday-school
centerpieces made from gourds.
I’ll find dirty prints on my windows,
as if I put them there with small,
borrowed fingers.

I learned your frown and scold,
your laugh and comfort.
Your hands are not the only ones,
but who else has hands
with so many of my scars?

Poem coming soon

I'll publish a poem tomorrow evening, but until then you can read some of the writing my students have done. They did much of the layout for this literary journal as well. I polished it a bit, but their work is what I hope shines here.

Tolt Middle School's Revisions magazine

Poem 29

My friend Rachel has asked when I would write a haiku. Since I usually disregard formal poems, I tend to resist even this approachable form. Today I have for you five non-haiku and one "real" one. Rachel, there is your haiku. I may take other requests for forms, but I do not guarantee any kind of proficiency.
For those of you who don't know, Shari's is a chain of 24-hour diner-style restaurants where a person can get breakfast, lunch, or dinner, at a reasonable price. It's somewhere between fast food and an Applebee's or Chilli's. Breakfast is my favorite.

Five Non-Haiku and a Haiku About Breakfast at Shari’s

i.
Green apron tied below
her pregnancy:
she is my server today.

ii.
A man sipping coffee
puts it down but gets none
when the waitress comes

iii.
The woman in tan
knee-highs and sandals -
a seat to watch the cars.

iv.
The strong hands of the
dishwasher, his Downs syndrome.
He sweats and stacks plates.

v.
Bacon, ham, and sausage:
three kinds of meat.
He drinks one glass of water.

vi.
The hardboiled egg -
I chip away at it now,
fingers like a beak.

Poem 28

Hi, folks. As promised, I have written a poem. Because I'm tempted at this juncture to write romantic poems due to meeting and enjoying the company of a nice lady, I thought I'd rustle up something from the archives and revise it. It's one I can't say when I started, but it used to end with, "Come and see; a way is prepared. / A lamp shines upon the way." I think I wanted it to sound biblical for some reason. Anyway, I got rid of that and tried to go back to the stars thing at the end.
This is probably one of those poems that should really be two different shorter ones. Oh well. Have a good week.

Noticing the Sky over Seattle

The stars all packed up and moved to the plains.
They must have found new homes
between the branches of elms
and in pastures of sky over wheat.
The high-rise and traffic light had moved in
and lowered property values of space
over the cities where we squirm
into condos and onto busses.

As one woman waits at the clinic,
remembering sunsets
at the end of a hay-bucking day,
a child learns how cold the morning feels
to her cheek against a car window
on the way to day care.

At the edge of cities
where we don’t notice them much,
old two-lanes wait like steam engines,
like the last train to another year, yesterday.
Their asphalt cracking,
They get dragged along
with the clap-board barns and old men
into the future,
when stars crowd the sky full to bursting.

No poem this week

Hey folks,

I'm swamped with yearbook and track and field business right now, both of which are soon to be over. Thanks for checking, as usual, and I swear I will have more than no poems next time.