Monthly Archives: June 2011

Poem: Parables in Pomegranates

You speak of ancient journeys, wisdoms born
in the liminal places between dark and light.
They are the ones I know,
told from a different heart and a different time
by a storyteller whose words leave me awash in red.
I drink these parables in as a lifeline,
tidal waves of blood and fruit staining my lips.
I offer legend steeped in Mystery,
poured into small clay cups,
fragrant steam curling around your face,
ready to tell the fortune you can make for yourself.
Come into my halls, sit awhile, and be at peace.
We do not travel the same roads, you and I,
although many street corners are the same,
and the same ferryman receives the tithe,
making stops in many places.
My destination is mine, and yours is yours.
At the crossroads of our paths will I be,
ever shall you know I am there.
Seek me there if elsewhere you find me not.
for my counsel and solace leave for you the gates thrown wide.
I find my self loving the marvel that is you,
as one bright and shining thing to another,
and I know my place in the stars.

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Filk: Mal’s Opportuneers

Ttto “Barrett’s Privateers”, by Stan Rogers

It’s a year before twenty five eighteen,
(And we’ve gotta get to Whitefall now!)
A bundle of marked bars of protein
We’ve salvaged and loaded on Serenity
Let’s go, dong-ma?
I was told we’d lose our pay and the Alliance might
impound our ship, or so I fear!
Now I have spoken, and we’re gonna get clear
And fast, for we’re opportuneers!

(I was trying to work out something with crocheteers, but it morphed.)

(This spawned off an email on the filk list I’m on.)

Poem: Goodbye

My house, mi casa.
Never a stranger, but now empty of most things familiar.
She has known me since I was a baby,
pale verdance enfolding me,
warm golden floor which sang me creaking lullabies
holding me still into solid sleep.

My kin are gone from her,
nest long since empty,
lonely, hollow, and hallowed
halls remain, ineffable.
She echos with harmonies,
heartaches, and happinesses,
first steps, first words,
tears, joy, mischief,
now gone into solitude.
She remembers rage, respect, reticence,
refuses to relinquish these which are hers to keep
and ours to leave to the corners.
These things are old, faded, and precious,
and she hoards them against mold and silence.

Here lies my home, on a hill.
I will always love her,
she who was also a mother to me,
being the foundations of my raising
and the shelter of my youth.
She is barren of summers and bereft of small footsteps.
My girlish dreams fade into ghosts,
shades that linger,
brushing fingers through hair and
against faces of all who live there next.

She still hums to herself,
wondering if her voice will sooth another child someday,
and hopes that she will be heard when she says
“I could like you.
If you stay,
I could even love you.”

Poetry By Others: The Road Goes Ever On and On, by Bilbo Baggins, as transcribed by J. R. R. Tolkien, and Two Haiku of the Morning, by me

The Road Goes Ever On

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

— J R R Tolkien

 

Also, two haiku by me from this morning, with accompanying Twitter hashtag commentary.

Grey rainy morning / disappointing fluff bagel / west coast round bread fail.
#haikubeforebreakfastbutduringcoffee #wtfwestcoast

My office, quiet / silence whispers as soft silk / caressing my ears.
#haikuafterbreakfastandaftercoffee #goodthings #myworkisawesome

Poem: Grandpa Tom

Thank you for my grandmothers.
Thank you for my father,
aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Thank you for pretending to lose at Crazy 8s,
and being kind to a little girl who adored you.
I wish I’d known you better as an adult.

When you fell, too many, too many times,
I spoke with you. You said,
“I’m afraid I’m not very lucid right now”
which was a very lucid thing to say, indeed.

I am sorry you saw only shame in our ancestors.
I wish our name was what it should have been.
Did you know they still use “Spaniard” on the census?

Your life was long.
You saw money, war, women, children, and divorce.
I am told you were cruel, but you never were stern with me.

I hope Betty found you,
and that you found her.
Please tell her hello,
and that I love her, too.

If you see my grandmother, you should apologize.

You shouldn’t have gotten upset,
they were just little girls, too;
small red-headed boys do resemble orangutans, a bit.

Your words and whales
clubs and pitchers
tables and cards
sunshine and boats
and sweetest black plums
will always line my heart with love from you.

The dry brown land speaks not your name to me,
but your place, which is peace,
peace,
peace.

Poem: The Firing, Liberally Commented

It is the beginning of April, 100 score and 9.
“Come with us.”
Pulling me from my work, confusion and apathy warring.
Door closes.
“We’re letting you go.”
Forget to breathe.
Is this a joke?
“Sorry?”
“We’re letting you go.
You haven’t met our [impossible] standards, [even though we said you were].”
Details are explained, though my health has never really been their concern.
“I know it doesn’t mean much, coming from me, but I’m sorry.”
Venomous, desperate, the wounded manticore strikes:
“You’re right, [asshat], it means
NOTHING
coming from you. This is shitty.”
I know you feel guilt,
somewhere in the slime.
You’ll find no solace here.
Move along.
I gather my things,
wrap them up in what dignity I have left,
and call for help from my sister.
They rid themselves of
strangeness,
diversity,
value.
Still performing illegal acts,
still as ethical as Bluebeard.
I am better off where I am,
down the road,
where my work and person are
valued,
wanted,
and appreciated.


I have not been inspired of late, so Poem-A-Day is something I will try again later. In the mean time, other things that crop up will be posted.

Poem: CF (A Very, VERY Old Poem)

I want to know
I want to understand
Why is blue a color
And why does evil exist
Why do bad things happen
To good people?
Why do we lose our hearts?
Why do some live long
And prosper…
While others must battle
Their own bodies.
It’s not fair.
It’s not just.
It’s not right…
I know there’s a plan…
But why does it have to be this way?

http://www.thebreathingroom.org/py/py_sj01_cfxxxx

Poem: Never Grow Up! Never Give In! (June ’11 Poem-a-day, Day 8)

Ladies, gentlemen,
othercreatures,
sisters, shipmates, satyrs,
tricksters, tyrants, treasure hunters,

grant me your attention as I
invite you all aboard the Jolly
Roger! Under new management, our
leader Red-handed Jill has
stepped aside so that another

pioneering pirate lass could be born.
Impressed with her shipsister,
Red-handed Jill promoted Green-Eyed Sue to
Admiral, and now we sail under her command.
The seas of Neverland have never,
ever been been the same since.

ALL are welcome here, from paisleyed
circus tumblers to harlequin
acrobat acolytes (of
dieties known, unknown or otherwise).
Even parents and grownups, who
may have forgotten how to fly,
yes, as long as they are willing to learn.

Lost Girls Pirate Academy, now on Facebook for all to find, join, and love.

Filk: Goin’ To Contata

Ttto “Hakuna Matata”, from Disney’s THE LION KING, music by Elton John, lyrics by Tim Rice, filk lyrics by me.

I’m goin’ to Contata,
what a wonderful place!
I’m goin’ to Contata,
seein’ many a smilin’ face!

It means more filking
For at least a few days!
It’s a workplace free activity!
I’m goin’ to Contata!

Poem: Untitled Triolet (June ’11 Poem-a-day, Day 7)

Originally posted as a contest entry to win a copy of Seanan McGuire’s A Local Habitation.

Unearthly wiles, a deathly spell
Displace the knight and find the Daye
A magic haven, fairy hell
Unearthly wiles, a deathly spell
To seek the knowe, to know it well
The shadowed hills may hold a way
Unearthly wiles, a deathly spell
Displace the knight, and find the Daye

[BONUS POEMLET]
Google loves me, this I know,
For my searching tells me so.
When I’ve lost a poem I
Find it in two second’s time.