Writing the Life Poetic

Poetry for the People Student Poem: ANDREA LANI

First Practice
By Andrea Lani

I glance up
from my book
slumped on the
hard corner of
the bleachers
to see bat smack
ball hit floor bounce
into the black
glove we brought
home less than
24 hours ago.
Milo's eyes,
astonished,
meet mine,
my arm reaches
out, thumbs-up.
We leave the
gym into blue
sky day. Him,
ecstatic, me,
terrified my
Saturdays will
be swallowed whole
 
(Originally published in vox poetica on 7/26/09)
 
Andrea Lani lives in Whitefield, Maine with her husband and three sons.  Her work has been published in Brain, Child, The Motherhood Muse, vox poetica and Literary Mama.  She produced the print zine GEMINI and blogs at www.remainsofday.blogspot.com.
 

Reminder: Hope to see you at the Manzanita Writers' Series a week from today!

Next SATURDAY, APRIL 17
A two-part workshop and a reading -- all in one, poetry-packed day

Manzanita Writers' Series
Hoffman Center
594 Laneda Avenue
Manzanita, Oregon

Poetry: From Pen to Page to Published
1:00 pm to 3:30 pm, (all ages)  // cost:  $25; $15 for students
In this two-part workshop, poets of any level will get inspired -- and get writing -- through a variety of prompts and exercises. Following a break, we'll discuss the art of successful submission for publication. Click here to register.

Sage Cohen poetry reading, followed by open mic
7:00 pm to 9:00 pm // cost: $5

Magnificent workshop for Portland women writers: May 2

Writing in Community
5th Annual VoiceCatcher Fundraiser Workshop
with Jenn Lalime & Sara Guest (original collective members)

Sunday, May 2 from 1-4:30pm

North Portland - directions provided after registration.

Women writers of all experience levels are welcome to join us for an afternoon of writing in community. Sara and Jenn will lead the workshop based on the Amherst Writers and Artists Method.   Each participant will generate new writing in a supportive environment through a variety of prompts that inspire the imagination and encourage experimentation with different styles and genres.

Snacks, drinks and great writing prompts provided.

Registration fee: $40-$60 sliding scale

Register at: info@voicecatcher.org

Poetry for the People Student Poem: DARLOMA M. MILNER

GRATITUDE

By Darloma M. Milner

Silver rain rivulets down my
window.
I hold a peach,
its juice streaming down my hand.
A storm streaks across the sky -
white light and fire.
The blue earth, cool and circled,
a rain shower wets the branches,
vibrant petunias and blue moon lobelia.

After the peach I eat soda crackers
and drink cold water.
My black lab toys at my feet.
I look at small sunflowers
taken from my hospital room.
I wash my sick blanket
and bathe in lavender water.
I wear a cotton dress, sun-dried.
Rain leaps on the pond.

Inhaling and exhaling the air,
I see cumulus clouds part.
The sun rises through the window,
I ascend from the edge of shadows,
touched by an ivory bar of light.


BIO: I live in northeast Oregon with my family, dog, three cats and a lovebird. I wake every morning to the beauty surrounding this area. Next to my family, poetry is the "love of my life." This poem reflects the gratitude I felt recovering from a serous illness.

Letter to Rudy

Dear Rudy,

I am writing a book. It is due in a week. I also have a full-time job, a husband and a toddler son, and a father who has been in the hospital across the country for nearly a month with multiple surgeries and complications. I am exhausted and full of bad food; my back hurts and my hair is a mess. It's been a hard time, Rudy.

But when the note came from Sanford just now, I stepped out of time and returned to you, who I haven't seen in more than seven years. I went back to that night I was walking Odie through the dark, sleeping neighborhood in 1997. He was days out of the hospital from a terrifying illness that almost took his life and had cost many thousands of dollars. He was moving slow, and he stopped. Something was squeaking in the bushes. He carried you out in that terrifying mouth of his, tender as a mother.

I carried you home, Rudy, and you were not in good shape -- smaller than my hand and starving. Sanford was out with the car, so I took a taxi to the same emergency vet where Odie had come back to life. And they told me your chances weren't good. Do what you can, I told them, no matter what the cost. They were a little surprised that I would invest in a hopeless case of a new acquaintance after so much hope had already been spent on our beloved dog. 

You lived, Rudy. You were gray and glossy and full of bravado. You made Sanford your king, and he bottle fed you forward into the long and lustrous future of these 13 years. We loved Sanford, you and I. But your needs were simpler, your love less complicated. Eventually, I left and you stayed.

Over the years, there were new cats and men in my life, and you had a new family, too. I've lost three cats since we lived together, and have been raising three more. There has been much to occupy me in this separate life of mine.

But the heart is a magnificent instrument. It leaps the fences of time and story. It knows where it belongs, and with whom. When Sanford's note came, Rudy, that great root of your being was plucked right out of me like a tooth: dead.

I hold your absence the way I held your brand new, uncertain body: with respect for all that I don't understand, these entrances and exits of souls. I hold you with gratitude, Rudy, for loving Sanford all those years when I could not forgive him. It has taken us a long time to return to gentleness. Thank you, Rudy, for showing us the way.

Poetry for the People Student Poem: LAURA COCCIA

A Mosaic Coming To Life

By Laura Cococcia

***

Red loves purple because it’s not blue or green. Too often, red feels the burden of having to be paired with blue to celebrate patriotism and green to celebrate consumerism. Red likes that purple can be a bit different, living on its own, with few obligations.

Indigo loves my friend Olivia, who, in turn, loves indigo just as much. They can often be found together sporting the latest denim outfit or painting landscapes.

Anxiety wears flat-soled sandals. It wishes it wore fast running sneakers.

Jealousy eats granola for breakfast, by choice. While eating in martyrdom, jealousy wishes it had eggs, pancakes and sausage and loathes anyone who does.

Most people know that fear rents space at the top of the Empire State Building. What few people know is that fear actually owns a large, well-decorated 5 bedroom house in suburban Connecticut and often pays visits to the wives in the neighborhood who wondered how they ever got there.

Blue borrows a wedding dress since it would like to experience, just once, the beauty of the day when women all over the world are looking for blue to share. Blue, of course, promptly returns the dress to its owner.

Pink sings boldly, loudly and slightly off pitch – but just belts it out.

Truth tastes like watermelon, coming into our lives very infrequently, but enjoyed by so many. Refreshing. If truth were always in season, perhaps it would taste a bit more like peanut butter.

**

Laura Cococcia is the editor of The Journal of Cultural Conversation. A self-designed cultural anthropologist, she is a voracious reader, world traveler, hiking fanatic, excited activist and good friend. She works in global marketing with a fabulous crowd of creative folks and is a freelance writer for various publications.

Poetry for the People Student Poem: REGINA GREEN

In All Fairness
By Regina Green

“I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.”
— Sylvia Plath

i wonder where my memory's gone
i've forgotten
and isn't that funny

there is nothing before the age
of you
as if that were a millennium ago
a foot dragging
a hand over mouth

the manner in which
you placed yourself near that tree
feeding its long roots
past you and into the
stream

i could have stayed there
always
watching
you

historically that's when i started writing
or to be more precise
feeling

i am thick with love for you
like a winter sap
a form pressed into ancient annals
the sun god bows
before
you

and so i come to find
my dead eye
and place it gently
next to you
the pain of losing it
is nothing
should you
just as gently
pluck one of yours

in all fairness
i have to ask this of you

* * * * *

Regina Green is happily published in some very fine on-line literary magazines. For the month of April, you can find her as the featured poet at Contemporary American Voices. She was also fortunate to be a participant in Sage Cohen’s most recent Poetry for the People Class Level 1.

Poetry for the People Student Poem: MACARTHUR ANTIGUA

Dandelion

By Mac Antigua

 

A white card.

Hardy sixteen point ivory card stock

When held, its firm edges dig into the heart of a handshake

 

My name centered in bold, formal, formidable arial

hovers above the title of Director of National Recruitment & Expansion

and sits subservient to the logo of

            a Native American hand in vibrant red and orange,

            with rays that emanate from it’s palm to represent the three generations that

            proceed us, and the three generations that arrive after us

 

A score is stacked rigidly on my desk, while hundreds more rest in a nearby cabinet,

smelling of crisp, corporate citrus. 

Others hide in suit jacket pockets, wallets, and glove compartments.  Like agents incognito,

            sleeper cells waiting for activation.

 

This is my status. Symbol.

Akin to a Chase Bank 30-year mortgage,

or my cobalt blue 2009 Subaru Outback. 

An affirmation that it was worth getting that postgraduate degree. 

The mark of noble surrender amongst my former coterie of nonprofit

mercenaries

 

 

This is not just a business card.  This is the currency of chilly conference plenaries, my

communion offering at cold call meetings.

The dandelion seed head that will take root in on other desks, in other suit jacket pockets or other

            glove compartments.  Hopeful that it will germinate into prosperous reconnections.

 

 

Theo helps Snow Pea blow her nose

Poetry for the People Student Poem: ERIKA DREIFUS

Late Winter in the City
By Erika Dreifus

I hold the child's mittened hand
as we leave the diner. We pass
the drugstore, the dry cleaners',
countless dogs on leashes
and the humans who walk them.
We breathe in cold air and watch it
reemerge, warmed and visible.
Thank God for the sun, pale as it is.
The child's gaze fixes on a tree
capping the corner, and she asks,
"When are the leaves coming back?"


Erika Dreifus began working on this poem in Sage Cohen's Poetry for the People (Level One) course. Based in New York City, Erika blogs about writing and publishing at http://practicing-writing.blogspot.com. Her story collection, Quiet Americans, will be published in early 2011 by Last Light Studio Books.