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sen's blog
 
poems I've written, poems I haven't written but love, rare thoughts, and writing about writing.
Keywords | Title View | Refer to a Friend |
What can I share?
Posted:Apr 6, 2021 6:45 am
Last Updated:Apr 15, 2021 7:34 pm
6763 Views

What can I share?
written March 29th, 2021

I talk to people
who have done so much
and traveled so far

I wonder what do I have
to share with the world
that is unique and worth sharing?

I can share the view
outside my window
of old trees growing wild

I can share the sound
of my pen scratching
across the paper

I can share the blue sky
now always shining
in this poem

I can share a welcoming silence
that wraps itself around you
healing protecting and comforting

I can share coolness in the heat of summer
warmth from my flannel quilt in winter
and a moment of home when you feel bereft

I can share the depth of my heart
the world seen through my eyes
the words that only I can write.
7 Comments
We smile and nod
Posted:Apr 6, 2021 6:25 am
Last Updated:Apr 8, 2021 7:12 am
6380 Views

We smile and nod
written March 30th, 2021

I bring you the book
the one I have read
every day of my life

you translate it into Aramaic
then back into English
and say it is very nice.
_____

I cook for you
the food that sustains me
and offer to share it with you

you discard the food
and eat the bowl
you seem to enjoy it?
_____

I take you out
for a walk in the yard
that is my life

you stare the whole time
at the grave I am trying
to walk away from.
______

I offer to you
in my cupped hands
the flame that is my love

you put the fire out
and say thank goodness
that crisis has been averted.
______

We sit beside each other
and smile and nod
trying to decide
if this is enough.
3 Comments
Pretty words - pretty poems
Posted:Apr 3, 2021 6:59 am
Last Updated:Apr 6, 2021 2:31 pm
6396 Views

Pretty words - pretty poems
written April 3rd, 2021

I read looking for the pretty
words - pretty poems - the
bright sparkling counterpoint to
the dark that so often resides
in me.

The bold descriptions
of every color under the sun
the pretty words - pretty
poems - the light I long for
in me.

Some days the search
leaves me frozen and mute
as I try find the pretty
words - pretty poems
in me.
3 Comments
Glorious
Posted:Mar 29, 2021 7:08 am
Last Updated:Jan 5, 2022 6:34 am
6350 Views

Glorious
written January 26th, 2021

Come here dearest
shy happy one
smile and light up my day
for you are glorious
a light in this dark world

Come here dearest
waiting eager to please one
sit here with me
for you are glorious
company in a lonely world

Come here dearest
laughing embodied lusty one
teach me how to love this body
for you are glorious
fireworks in the night sky

Come here dearest
scared hurt hiding one
you are safe in my arms
find comfort with me
for you are glorious
show me the world through new eyes

Come here dearest
organized empathetic care-taker one
rest for a moment in other's arms
for you are glorious
always with a brave face in this fierce world

Come here dearest
for you are glorious.
3 Comments
Fishing for poems
Posted:Mar 26, 2021 6:14 am
Last Updated:Mar 29, 2021 5:07 pm
6071 Views

Fishing for poems
written March 22nd 2021

I have a friend
says he likes fish
while his
likes catching fish.

My friend's approach
always produces satisfaction
as he is happy just with fishing pole in hand,

while the other
leads ecstasy or heartbreak
depending on if a satisfactory fish is caught.

I hope I can cultivate
a love of sitting here
my pen moving across the page
and when I have worn myself out
let me this enough
and my day a success.
3 Comments
No more poems
Posted:Mar 26, 2021 6:11 am
Last Updated:Apr 2, 2021 4:16 pm
6018 Views

No more poems
written March 22nd 2021

This is it, I am quite sure
today is the day
are no more poems

Inspiration is gone
not even a mirage of
left in the desert of my mind

I will forever
read other people's poems
and will be no spark in me

No answering yes Yes YES!
What a lovely word, idea, image
that makes me want write

In the past inspiration was often my friend
lighting up my days and nights
but now no more mine

This is it, I am quite sure
today is the day
are no more poems

But ! One just darted by
excuse me while I chase after
this one last poem.
5 Comments
Trees!
Posted:Mar 23, 2021 4:07 am
Last Updated:Aug 8, 2021 5:17 pm
6468 Views

A man travels
from Mindanao to Kyushu and says his inner geography
is enlarged by each new place.
Is it?
Might he not grow more by staring for twenty-four hours
at a single pine needle?

—Arthur Sze, "Parallax", Gift of Tongues

Trees!
written March 22nd, 2021

I know the answer
to the question posed above
is of course the single pine needle
but I am tired of this pine needle
day after day, year after year
this same pine needle.

I am sure if my heart opened enough
this pine needle would teach me the answer
to the question I can't think of
that would make everything ok
but I want to see other trees!

I want to see trees I never imagined
armies of them marching over hills
and also the lone banyan tree in the desert in India.

I want to see the first tree after crossing the ocean
and the last tree before the tundra.

I want to see the Tree of the Year!
every one that is still alive!
and mourn the ones that don't exist anymore.

I want to see the 5000 year old bristlecone pines in California
and visit the seedling I planted in grade school in our backyard.

I want to see the tree of life Yggdrasill
and Anne Frank's chestnut tree in Amsterdam.

I want to see every tree
growing along every fence-line
on every field men have ever plowed.

Only then, maybe, will I be satisfied to return to
this same pine needle.
6 Comments
The winds blow and gust
Posted:Mar 22, 2021 7:25 am
Last Updated:Mar 23, 2021 4:17 am
5907 Views

the wind feels the smallest birds
It's got.

—Primus St. John, "Biological Light", Gift of Tongues

The winds blow and gust
written March th, 2021

Today the winds blow and gust
bending but not breaking the boughs of the pine
sending the last of the fall leaves swirling
along labyrinth paths only the wind can see.
We who can take shelter
in constructs we have sweated and sacrificed for
built to withstand the winds that blow
so proud of ourselves,
while the smallest bird
without a straw to it's name
lets go and rides the wind
letting fate take it where it will.
3 Comments
Excerpt from Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird about writing
Posted:Mar 21, 2021 4:07 pm
Last Updated:Jul 6, 2021 3:03 pm
6261 Views

From the book Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott
Excerpt from the section titled: "How Do You Know When You're Done?"

There’s an image I’ve heard people in recovery use—that getting all of one’s addictions under control is a little like putting an octopus to bed. I think this perfectly describes the process of solving various problems in your final draft. You get a bunch of the octopus’s arms neatly tucked under the covers—that is, you’ve come up with a plot, resolved the conflict between the main characters, gotten the tone down pat—but arms are still flailing around. Maybe the dialogue in the first half and the second half don’t match, or there is that one character who still seems one-dimensional. But you finally get those arms under the sheets, too, and are about to turn off the lights when another long sucking arm breaks free. This will probably happen while you are sitting at your desk, kneading your face, feeling burned out and rubberized. Then, even though all the sucking disks on that one tentacle are puckering open and closed, and the slit-shaped pupils of the octopus are looking derisively at you, as if it might suck you to death just because it’s bored, and even though you know that your manuscript is not perfect and you’d hoped for so much more, but if you also know that there is simply no more steam in the pressure cooker and that it’s the very best you can do for now—well? I think this means that you are done.
1 comment
Why I love science fiction
Posted:Mar 21, 2021 6:07 am
Last Updated:Jun 19, 2021 6:59 am
5644 Views

I was thinking about this last night. What is it about science fiction that attracts so much? Why does the genre work so well for ?

science = real
fiction = imagined futures and worlds

The first science fiction that made fall hard, was the original Battlestar Galactica tv show, with Lorne Greene, Richard Hatch, etc. I was , and it came on the same night I had orchestra practice. We did have a vcr, but it killed me have go orchestra when my favorite show was on. There was also Star Trek and Buck Rogers on at that stage in my life, but it was Battlestar Galactica that pulled in.

I think maybe, it was that I couldn't imagine my real world being any different. There just didn't seem be options. As I look back, there really weren't options, or I don't know what they would have been. I wasn't going run away, the thought of a foster family terrified .

But a future world, in another time and place, there I could imagine things being different. There could be safety, comfort, the compassionate loving father figure, the brothers and , the friends struggling together. Maybe even a first crush lol.

So in a life without many options, science fiction became a world where things could be different. Things that I couldn't imagine in my world, might be possible somewhere in the future in another universe. Lorne Greene and Richard Hatch have both passed away, but I always wanted to thank them for becoming my family through an imaginary tv show.

I don't mean to be depressing, but this was my life. If you want to make a broken human being, give them a childhood without options, or where the love and care are mixed up with and you have to take the whole package, or nothing.

Today I have options. I still struggle, but I have people in my life who love me. Science fiction is still fun and makes me thin I never know where I'll be going, what the inhabitants of the world will be like, or how they will communicate. I will always enjoy travelling other times and worlds, and will always be grateful for the comfort it offered me as a .
2 Comments
I want poems
Posted:Mar 16, 2021 5:40 am
Last Updated:Mar 20, 2021 8:09 am
5928 Views

I want poems
written March 15th, 2021

I want poems with roots that reach down underground
and are best friends with the earthworms

I want poems that reach up through the sky
covered in dewdrops that glisten from the light of distant stars

I want poems that are so dark
you walk by them and don't realize they are there until you brush up against them

I want poems that tickle and tease
leaving gales of laughter drifting on the breeze in their wake

I want poems that say fuck you
when you ask what meter they should be read in.
These are not that sort of poems and my poems are not for you.

I want poems that are too sad, too angry, too revealing
because other's expectations stifle and are not who we really are

I want poems that touch you
yes you, the one reading this right now

I want poems that are awkward and unfinished
wearing mismatched socks and tripping over their own feet
because it is not easy to be imperfect or even downright homely

I want poems that are the that sits at the back of class
wanting to disappear into the ground
but raises his hand to be called on anyway

I want poems that know the question, that find the answer
that finally figure out all that is in me

I want poems that are friends and lovers and strangers
whether they are 1 poem or many,
but oh how I long for someone that is many poems

I want as many poems as I can fit
into this life and this world we inhabit
for a period of only
a finite number of poems.
4 Comments
How oceans came to be
Posted:Mar 15, 2021 6:47 am
Last Updated:Mar 17, 2021 3:49 pm
5394 Views

How oceans came to be
written March 15th, 2021

Tears fall
from eyes
wetting cheeks
running in rivulets
down bodies
drenching the earth
until it can hold no more
so the waters rise
becoming a salt water ocean
created from tears
that fell
from eyes.
5 Comments
Writing "The waitress"
Posted:Mar 12, 2021 7:40 am
Last Updated:Mar 15, 2021 2:24 pm
5874 Views

I am always curious about how other people write. So here is how one poem developed for me.

I try write each day. I sit down and sometimes 's a line or a thought that I know I want write about. Sometimes I page through my unfinished poems notebook and choose one work on. Other times I read from a favorite poetry anthology until something sparks a poem.

This day we had gone for a drive pick up lunch, and I was back at home. I read some from the poetry anthology, and I loved this line by Jane Miller, from her poem "Poetry", in the anthology Gift of Tongues:
"We are being made into words even as we speak." and I write this:

I return to my room
cool dark and deep
words having
swirled around me
all day
tempting
me to reach out
to grab a few
to put together
into this poem
that is today.

I like it, but it doesn't really say anything about my day. I love the phrase, "this poem that is today." So what happened today? How can I incorporate something more specific from my day today into the poem?

I love writing about nature. Lots of neighborhood trees in my poems. I also often write about things in my head, or about things that are central to I am. Self poems.

I try include physical descriptions in my writing, so it's not just unattached thoughts floating around like they do in my head. Rarely, I write about people. could be made into words from today?

I remember a waitress from where we got lunch. I have lots of thoughts. (We were wearing masks, but you can still tell when people are smiling.)

I return
to my room
cool dark and deep
words
having swirled around
like the waitress' full skirt.
I smile at her
and hope her life
will be one of
many smiles
I hope that
she will bend her world
to suit her
instead of being bent
by the traditions and proprieties
I see filling
the space around her
those things I grasp and find words in
to make this poem
that is today.

I copy the poem, making slight changes, moving sections so they make more sense to me, scribbling alternate words off to the side. I enjoy writing by hand. I enjoy copying the poem. Sometimes I make changes, sometimes not. The copying is soothing to me.

I read the poem out loud and think about line breaks. I try to imagine a stranger reading it. Would they know what I was talking about? I don't want to offend anyone's religious traditions, but that is part of this specific poem. She isn't just any waitress, she's a is clearly part of a very specific tradition.

I don't know if the finished poem is "better" than that above, but it's where I end up and feel wanting share with the world. I don't think it has much do with that original quote from Jane Miller, so I will save that for another day.

The waitress
started March 3rd, 2021

I smile at the waitress
and she smiles back
so young and unformed
being everything
that everyone around her expects.

Words swirl through the air
like her skirt does
as she turns
lace covering her hair
speaking of conventions and traditions
that so pretty
when you don't have live them.

I hope that her life
will be filled with
many heart-felt smiles
and that she will
bend her world suit her
instead of being bent or broken
by all I see crowding
the space around her.

I return home
sort through
all these dense heavy thoughts
find the words
make this poem
that is today.
2 Comments

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