Poems & poem-like things – Page 914

December 22, 2013January 4, 2014 by Luisa A. Igloria

Above the roar of the creek, a flock of goldfinches whistling:

This entry is part 2 of 23 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2013-14

What is it in the blood that quickens
again to the pulse of song, these bodies

hurling their small, inconsequential voices
against the larger expanse as though they

could color the wood back to green, as though
the sorrows of grey branches could be dressed

in other raiment? We went to bed on the longest
night of the year, exhausted by the accounting

for what we missed of opportunity and what
we meant the stars to guide us toward.

And now, at first light, we fold back the linens,
touch the place where the tears laddered down

our cheeks as we slept; we take up the thread
and sew our bones back into their flesh.

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

December 21, 2013January 6, 2014 by Luisa A. Igloria

Solstice

This entry is part 1 of 23 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2013-14

Yesterday frost, today warm rain, imperceptible
changes in the air— Underfoot and overhead,
creatures caught in the theatre of absurd
weather. And in the night, I too tossed
off the coverlet, dreaming of summer. You
grazed my nape, breath splitting into colors
I had forgotten lay there.

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

December 21, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Elf

All day at home with my workmen, that I may get all done before Christmas. This day I hear that the Princess Royal has the small pox.

All day at my work,
all Christmas day
in the mall.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 20 December 1660.

December 21, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Gossip

At noon I went and dined with my Lady at Whitehall, and so back again to the office, and after that home to my workmen. This night Mr. Gauden sent me a great chine of beef and half a dozen of tongues.

A din
at the office after work:
a great chin,
half a dozen tongues.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 19 December 1660.

December 20, 2013 by Luisa A. Igloria

A Raising

Shavings and particle board, varnish and stains—
of such flimsy materials we build floorboards to run
vertical to the sea’s unceasing rollers.

December 19, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Street-corner Santas

All day at home, without stirring at all, looking after my workmen.

All
day
a ho ho,
ring king men.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 18 December 1660.

December 19, 2013December 19, 2013 by Luisa A. Igloria

Wintering

This entry is part 28 of 28 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Autumn 2013

Snow must be falling in darkness,
frost filling every crevice and vein.

Rain must be washing the curve of the coast,
sleet making cutouts of houses in town.

Someone will drink from a cup too hot to hold
before settling into night’s thick pelt.

Someone will press a forehead against a window
to see what aspect of weather has mantled a field.

Whose roof last glinted in sunlight? Whose boat
last pushed off from the pier in a glittering wake?

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

December 18, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

The starving artist studies his model

All day looking after my workmen, only in the afternoon to the office where both Sir Williams were come from Woolwich, and tell us that, contrary to their expectations, the Assurance is got up, without much damage to her body, only to the goods that she hath within her, which argues her to be a strong, good ship.
This day my parlour is gilded, which do please me well.

All day looking
at her body, a good ship;
his, a gilded well.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 17 December 1660.

December 18, 2013 by Luisa A. Igloria

Approaching Solstice

All things arise, they abide, change, and fall away. ~ seon joon

Little moon in the sky, little year
that draws bit by bit to a close—

You were not wholly unkind,
you were not without feeling.

You were the hope we needed to embrace,
the story we needed to tell and be told.

Little griefs that came like a sudden
onslaught of rain, you too were necessary.

You were the light that knighted
the gutter’s edge, the static

from a radio coming to life. Little piper
in the grass at dawn, you were most missed

when the hour was silent. You were
the lover that grazed among the lips

of hidden flowers, the flutter of feathers
against the negative strip of windows.

In response to thus: a psalm for winter.

December 17, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Rendezvous

In the morning to church, and then dined at home. In the afternoon I to White Hall, where I was surprised with the news of a plot against the King’s person and my Lord Monk’s; and that since last night there are about forty taken up on suspicion; and, amongst others, it was my lot to meet with Simon Beale, the Trumpeter, who took me and Tom Doling into the Guard in Scotland Yard, and showed us Major-General Overton, where I heard him deny that he is guilty of any such things; but that whereas it is said that he is found to have brought many arms to town, he says it is only to sell them, as he will prove by oath.
From thence with Tom Doling and Boston and D. Vines (whom we met by the way) to Price’s, and there we drank, and in discourse I learnt a pretty trick to try whether a woman be a maid or no, by a string going round her head to meet at the end of her nose, which if she be not will come a great way beyond.
Thence to my Lady’s and staid with her an hour or two talking of the Duke of York and his lady, the Chancellor’s daughter, between whom, she tells me, that all is agreed and he will marry her. But I know not how true yet.
It rained hard, and my Lady would have had me have the coach, but I would not, but to my father’s, where I met my wife, and there supped, and after supper by link home and to bed.

Meet me in thin arms,
say it is only to sell me a trick
or a ring in the nose.
I know how true
rain would be.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 16 December 1660.