Tag Archive | verse

Villanelle For “The Black Dog” (version 2)

weepingbuddha

 

You’ll go through each motion, one by one,

As dark night gives way to blacker day.

You begin with “I’ll live,” as you’ve always done.

 

Pull the cord, raise the blinds, turn away from the sun.

Step into the shower.  Coat the  pain in wet spray.

You must go through each motion, one by one.

 

Clothing. Face. Don’t cry or mascara will run.

Room’s a damn mess. Make the bed anyway.

Mutter “I’ll live. I’ve always done.”

 

Don’t break the routine or the black dog might run

Up your back, clamp his teeth, rip the mask clean away.

So just go through each motion, one by one.

 

It’s not like you’re out buying pills or a gun.

Safety comes from not wanting to cause a display.

Keep on with “I’ll live.” As you’ve always done.

 

 You’ve been here before, seen how the thing’s done,

Studied the lines, know the acts of the play:

You’ll go through each motion, one by one

And repeat, “I’ll live.” As you’ve always done.

Not All Days Are Today

Each goes to our own corners,

This welcome May-warm April Sunday.

My husband claims the bed,

Supine, hands crossed over belly,

Feet crossed at ankles,

A double helix at rest.

The old, skinny cat

A circle in his heated bed.

No day too warm for his frail bones,

Head resting on a catnip mouse almost

As old and skinny as himself.

I take to the couch,

Stretched into a stick

Under the window beneath the sumac,

Listening to a house sparrow whistle

Without lips.

The day shapes itself into and around us,

Resting with us into the afternoon.

Villanelle For The Black Dog (First Draft)

weepingbuddha

 

You will go through each motion, one by one,

As gentle night gives up to brutal day.

And repeat, “I’ll live.” As you’ve always done.

 

Pull the cord of the blinds, turn your back to the sun,

Step into the shower, dissolve in the spray.

You will go through each motion, one by one.

 

“Get over yourself; go have some fun.

Can’t be depressed with a smile!” silly optimists say.

Just repeat, “I’ll live.” As you’ve always done.

 

It’s not like you’re out buying pills or a gun.

You’ve never been one to make a display.

You still go through each motion, one by one.

 

You’ve been here before, and at least you’ve begun,

Studied the lines, know the acts of the play:

Just repeat, “I’ll live.” As you’ve always done.

 

Yes, you’ll go through each motion, one by one

And repeat, “I’ll live.” As you’ve always done.

NaPoWriMo: Too late, too late; no time, no time!!

Sunday. Isn’t that supposed to be a day of rest? Apparently not for a Jewish-Taoist because I was running most of the day. For good purpose. My late afternoon QiGong class was attended by lovely people who needed the unwinding at the end of the day: a woman who works with dementia patients; another who is caregiver to a dying husband. So, I return fulfilled but with no time to write. At least not a full poem. So instead, I give you a fragment, a beginning of a poem that I hope to continue later.

Awake, shutter slats become a counting game;

A shadowbox of light now frames

Silhouettes of clutter on a dresser top:

Isis statue, cufflink, single sock.

 

That’s all folks. Rough draft of a partial poem. Second line is not what I wrote in my head last night while awake so I’ll have to try to dredge the better line back out.

As a sop bonus, the beginning of “The Ballad of Me and Mike”

It was quiet in the coffeeshop when the man came in the door:

Unimpressive figure with his eyes fixed on the floor.

Mike and I were transfixed by a Vogue ad Laboutine.

“If he could just be shot,”  Mike frowned, “I think it would be grand.”

“I doubt such luck for fashion.” Said I, turning to page four.

 

NaPoWriMo Day 5: Backpedaling

After sa317px-George_Romney_-_Anger,_Envy,_and_Fear_-_Google_Art_Projectying I didn’t think I’d 8979o–excuse me; cat on keyboard–use many of the daily prompts, I’m going back to one from an earlier day: writing a spell or incantation.  People always have said I’m a bit witchy–I think that was the word they used–so surely this is appropriate.  Onto my spell.

 

 

An Enchantment Against Fear

Bring me seven rabid bats,

Ashes from old ladies’ hats.

Add one car with missing brakes

And venom from two Mambo snakes.

Season with a poison toad

And pinch of darkened country road.

Make paste of all I fear the most;

Slather it with jam on toast.

Eat while reading ex’s letter.

If toast is burned–even better.