Bring On The Poems

It's been weeks! Sickness and new job do not the poet make. I need to reinspire myself. I actually have a contest deadline coming up on Nov. 30th. I'd like to submit one of my poems. Not sure which one yet or maybe I just haven't written the right one yet.

I'm thinking this week we might take a look at seasonal poems. Thanksgiving starts to feel like the inbetween of Fall and Winter to me. So, pick a season, doesn't have to be the one we find ourselves in, and write away! It can be a love poem to your favorite season or a hate poem to your seasonal nemesis.

Sorry, I've been lazy. :)

Poem of the Week: Oct. 19

Fall is really here now and I find myself looking forward to different kinds of fall and winter foods. Like apple pie and pumpkin bread, food that we don't eat the rest of the year. I think I'm going to make myself an apple pie for my upcoming birthday (Nov. 5). It'll be the first one of the season, for me anyway. So, I thought maybe this week we'd try food poems. Write a little something about your favorite fall/winter food.

Happy eating! I mean writing!

Poem of the Week: Oct. 12

I'm a little late posting my weekly prompt. I enjoyed doing Diva's prompt last night rather than post my own. If you have not used her prompt, it's a great one and you should check it out here. I encourage you all to try this exercise.

In other news, I have had some opportunities arrise this week. I don't want to jinx it or anything but I have a job interview tomorrow. *crosses fingers* So, I thought maybe this week we could focus on opportunity. Let's be opportunists. Take advantage of every day and write a fantabuloustic poem.

Diva's Bio Poetry Prompt

I'm responding to Diva's prompt. Check the other PNN responses linked from her post!

Hali
open-hearted, grounded, intellectual, natural
Daughter of the fall leaves and winter’s kiss
Lover of walking city blocks, breathing fresh sea air, learning how to be alive
Who feels compassionate, calm, at home
Who finds happiness in reading books and weaving words
Who needs fresh days that whisper tomorrow is always different
Who gives
Who fears having loved ones taken
Who would like to see religious peace, abolition of weapons, love for all
Who enjoys dancing until exhausted
Who likes to wear autumn draped over shoulders
Resident of Infinity

Poem of the Week: Oct. 5

We are finding ourselves more and more everyday in a time of unprecedented change. People are pushing from all sides on the environment, health insurance, health care, unemployment, human rights, and many more hot button issues. It can be exahusting to feel as though we are going nowhere despite the obvious need to progress in all of these.

This week, let's pick a current event that has made you stop and think, that has grabbed you and said, "Hey, I'm inportant!!! Change!" and we'll write poems about it. You can Twitter your poem (quite fun) or you can just write it out in the comment section, or on your blog and link us to it.

Go forth and change the world with your words!!! YES WE CAN (Do I sound like Obama yet?)

Twitter Poem

Here is the poem I put together from the Twitter poems I wrote last week. The first one is the poem edited and the second is just the Tweets put together in the order they were written.

I'm breathing deep today
making up for years of shallow gasping breath
in hopes of easing knots.
Past misdeeds are reminding me to let go.
They've huddled up, started a coup,
left me wishing I could just work this out.
Now I'm giving in to
heavy yesterdays like pregnant rain clouds-
waiting for release. I've got to drop down,
crawl into new beginnings.
But I’m finding myself here before moving on-
stuck with feet in air, no shoes, unsure where I'm going.
Until dawn finds my feet touching ground
on a path leading out from yesterday.

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I'm breathing deep today
making up for years of shallow gasping breath.
Breathing deep, closing eyes, rolling neck
in hopes of easing knots.
Past misdeeds are reminding me to let go.
They've huddled up, started a coup,
left me wishing I could just work this out.
Now I'm giving in.
Heavy yesterdays like pregnant rain clouds-
waiting for release. I've got to drop down
and crawl into new beginnings.
And I'm finding myself here before moving on.
Stuck with feet in air and no shoes, unsure where I'm going.
When the morning comes I know I'll find
my feet have wandered back to earth
and my path from yesterday has continued into today.

Birth of Fall

When fall trickled in,

puddled in streets,

I tip-toed down first

in hush of cold winds.

Let my nose grow cold

facing the death of summer.

Poem of the Week: Sept. 28

Per Verby's suggestion last week, I'd like to build off of our Twitter poetry prompt. This week I'd like to see us write a Twitter poem a day and then put them together at the end of the week and see what kind of poems we have. So, each day write a poem that is 140 characters or less and then we will combine them at the end of the week. You can choose to really think about the previous days poem when writing the next piece or just let it flow naturally and be surprised when it's all done.

Good luck! I can't wait to read them.

Poem of the Week: Sept. 21

Twitter is huge. There is no denying it's popularity. It's even become a popular platform for poetry. So, let's try some tweetery...or just some poetry in 140 charachters or less. Since they are so little, write as many as you can this week and share them here and on twitter.

Here is my first go at twitter poetry:

Fall creeps through window with last rays of sunshine. My toes are beginning to cool but my heart warms faster to city sound and texture.

Oh and my twitter name is @halibythesea.

Poem of the Week: Sept. 14

The weather in Seattle has been absolutely beautiful the few weeks that I have been here. I guess that's not always the case. But if it was beautiful all the time we wouldn't apprecaite it in the same way. And sometimes the bad weather brings out the best in our creative side. Sometimes there is nothing better than a thunderstorm.

So, this week I'd like to see us use weather imagery in our poems.

Poetry is Alive within Us

I was perusing the Seattle Times this morning and I round this article, "Poetry helps lead retired teacher out of darkness following stroke." I think any of us who truly love poetry (reading or writing it) can feel the truth in this article. There are many times when poetry has made me feel more alive emotionally and physically. When you read a truly good poem, it lifts you and you feel it deep within. Sometimes you cannot even explain the feeling. And when I write poetry there is a release.

I'm glad that others recognize the power of the poetic word.

Poem of the Week?

So, I've been slack on posting these for two months now. Actually, I've been slack on writing poems for two months now. I was a little upset after being rejected and had to take a hiatis. But here I am in Seattle and thinking I don't have an excuse to continue my unexcused absence from poetry. So, if you will forgive me, I'd like start these up again.

My thoughts this week are on new beginnings. Having just moved and having taken a break from writing recently, I think it's an appropriate topic to focus on this week. Let's, however, avoid babies because they are such a typical representation of new beginnings.

I hope I've lured you back into writing with me. I'll post a poem later in the week. It's on my to do list. :)

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This isn't exactly a happy poem and it only loosely applies to the above topic. But, when I sat down to write this is what I was thinking.

I’ve started to recognize
homeless men
in the alley, on the corner,
shining shoes. Before they were
piles of clothing without faces,
now they have personalities—
muttering, “I’m hungry, I’m hungry, I’m hungry.”
Walking zombie like, hand stretched out
as I slide past, eyes down because I never have change.
Truth is, even if I did, I wouldn’t give.
I’ve seen you in the doorway across the alley
needle out.

Expected Disappointment

A few months ago I submitted two poems to a contest with Meridian from the University of Virginia. This morning I got the email announcing the winners who will be published in a book. It's called 50 Best New Poets (Insert year here). I didn't get picked.

I guess I kind of assumed I would not be selected but I was still pretty disappointed. You know there is always that tiny little chance that you will be until you aren't.

So now I have to pick myself back up and find new places to submit. Or maybe I need to work on revising my poetry. Although, they didn't give notes so I don't know what's wrong with it. Perhaps it's just not their style. I hope that's it and it's not that I'm actually a bad poet.

I like to think that I'm a pretty good poet...

The Moment of Pause

My feet are up, again.
Have been all day
like I’m pregnant on bed rest—
expectantly overdue
as is the breeze around here.
Still air, still feet,
still drumming fingers against thigh.
Can I take the first step,
set sole to floor?
Or will I remain here in
the moment of pause?

Poem of the Week: July 6

Today, I want to share one of my favorite poets with you. As many of you already know I graduated from Virginia Tech. I am fortunate enough to have been in the English department with some truly great faculty. Bob Hicok, is a creative writing professor there and a published poet. I was fortunate to take his class.Here is one of his poems that was recently published in the Meridian. You can find it here along with other excerpts of that particular issue. I've also reproduced it below.

In the mirror of a day before leaving

Kicking leaves at twilight. Yellow and broad
as my face. Kicking my face
toward the birth of night. For as far
as there are trees, I see going on
with this work the rest of my life.
A dry scrape blood makes
if it’s mine. Only snapping my neck
would bring my ear to my heart. To rest there
a while, translating warmth to verb,
walking right up to God
in that posture, asking, did I misunderstand you
properly, with love? Coming home
with a leaf in every pocket,
a leaf wrapped around each eye. Waking up soon
in Milan, going down to the street
with the shadow in my mouth.
Closing my eyes, being here
there, and later, there here, and eventually,
nowhere everywhere. Ever wonder
how kindling tastes? Kiss me. Find out.

This week let's incorporate a question into our poems.

Poem of the Week: June 29

I'm a little late in posting a prompt here. I forgot what day it was. :) There is a lot of change and struggle going on in people's personal lives or so it seems to me. And when I'm undergoing change and struggle I find it helpful to write about it a little bit. So, let's try writing a poem about our struggles. They don't have to be huge obstacles or anything. It could even be about struggling to open that jar of spaghetti sauce.

Poem of the Week: June 22

Let's try some found poetry this week. Find something that really strikes you, whether it's a news article title, a line from a blog, something in a comment someone left, etc. Grab that little piece that strikes you and use it to start your poem. Please remember to credit where you got your found piece from. And if you use something from someone's blog or comment, message them and tell them where your poem is!

Happy finding!

My found poem is below. I pulled the quote from Ghandi from Laurie Boris's blog.

I heard a whisper on the wind
“Life includes pain; suffering is optional.”*
I raised my head and felt for a moment the peace
of understanding. Pain of premature death
and wars fought for wrong reasons settled
in my chest—I allowed them to sit there.
I allowed pain and my suffering paused
a skipped heartbeat.
I looked at it there in stillness, breath held in
and let go.

*quote from Ghandi

For Daddy

My poem of the week. I love you, Daddy.

You say you haven’t been good enough
that you’ve let us down somehow.
We argue that you have been steadfast
with hands to lift us from scraped knees.
and when we danced, the three of us
hers and my head on your strong shoulders
you lifted us again. This time picking up adults
and dusting off our hearts.

Poem of the Week: June 15

I'm travelling again this week. I'm sorry if I am not great at responding to comment feeds or if I'm late on reading your wonderful articles. I look forward to it when I get back to the homestead. However, I did want to go ahead and post a poetry prompt. This Saturday I am going to my cousin's wedding. And I'm spending the week in the presence of all kinds of family members. So, let's write love poems.

Prompt: Write a love poem without using traditional love words. So, don't use the word love, kiss, hug, etc. Past that use your own judgement.

(I'll do my best to have one posted by Sunday night. I'm flying home late on Sunday.)

Daddy's Human Too

Here is my poem of the week. It's weird how a prompt can bring back memories and feelings. I was just sitting here thinking of my discoveries and trying to feel a poem in one of them. And this is what popped out. I'm always surprised!

Daddy's Human Too

The day I found out my father

was human, I was nine.

He kneeled at the coffin

his father resting inside in

suit, tie, and makeup.

Which doesn't seem very restful to me.

If I'm going to lay down for eternity,

put me in pajamas and don't bother with the lipstick.

The day I realized Daddy

was mortal, he cried.

Poem of the Week: June 8

Can you believe we are starting the second week of June? I've really been enjoying sharing poems with all of you this way. I love seeing the different styles and the impromptu and the meticulously worked poems. Please keep sharing!

Prompt: This week I'd like to try something a little different. I'm going to ask that we write poems that start with the words: "The day I found..." The subject can be anything those words lead you to.

Happy writing!

Middle Ground

I feel like the air before the thunder storm—
                Hot, heavy, still, charged.
Like I took two steps and should have taken four
Now I’m here just waiting for the rain
to release me from middle ground.
Instead it’s hanging above my head
Laughing as I struggle in thick air
for breath, for space.

Poem of the Week: June 1

So, we just transitioned from May to June. And I'm still going through some transitions here in Williamsburg. (I have no where to put my clothing. It's all still in bags...) See where I'm going here? Let's write poems about transitions this week.

Prompt: A transition poem, moving from one thing to another physically, emotionally, metophorically. Go! :)

Here is mine: Middle Ground

She Wears Hijab Now

Here is my poem of the week. I am planning on submitting this and one other poem to a contest for publication. The deadline is June 1. I've been trying to revise and work it through a few times so that it's the best it can be. Wish me luck!

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She wears hijab now
when leaving the house
or receiving guests. She hides
her dark black mane
beneath green and blue, beneath
flowers and silver threads—
testament to her femininity
to outside view
muffled beneath yards of the Qur’an.

She flickers behind thin curtains, an outline
I once could color in.
My hands itch to yank at threads,
to separate one by one, until
black shows through,
to part curtains and find
the day I knew I wanted
to be like her and when we changed:
the day she met the storm
in galoshes and an umbrella and
I followed barefoot.

Instead I pull out crayons.
I question her on history,
scripture, translation to daily life—
beginning her portrait.

Poem of the Week: May 18/25

Because I was moving this week, I have been slack on putting up a prompt. So, I'll make this a prompt for this week and next. I am thinking of entering a poetry contest and I chose a poem I wrote a few years ago about my sister. I am in the process of revising it and since the deadline for the contest is June 1st I really need to get a move on. Also, having just moved in with the not-yet-in-laws I have family on the mind. So, this week let's write family poems. Define "family" as you please. It could be friends that are more like family, actual family like my sister, or extended family, etc.

Write away! I'll get mine posted soon (hopefully).

And here it is: She Wears Hijab Now.

Poem of the Week

Prompt: Write a poem about a location. Mine is below: "You're Quiet in the Summer."

You're Quiet in the Summer

You’re quiet in the summer,
a bit like Maine in a small country
town kind of way. Your inner city
empties out: students pour from dorms
and leave a hot day
with no breeze. I’d like to just sit
in you then, take in the heavy air
pressing my body into the ground.
Feel the sweat of nothing bead on my brow
and listen to the deep breathing as your
sigh becomes the regular tempo of
grass growing.

Poem of the Week

I'm going to try something new here. I'm going to suggest a poem prompt for the week. I'll post my poem when I'm done with it and hope that you will all post yours here as a comment or leave a link to your poem on your site. Happy writing!

Prompt: Write a poem reflecting a physical activity.

Hauling Sail

Hand over hand
hauling yards of rope
with the weight of my body—
pulling down with shoulders, back,
dropping from knees. Line threading
through hands and pulleys, coiling
on deck, burning skin faster than the sun,
firing muscles unused for centuries.
Raising mizzen, main, and foresail
to catch the wind—environmental transportation.

Maybe I'll Miss You

I used one of the Poem A Day prompts today. The prompt was to write a farewell poem. So, here it is.

Maybe I’ll miss you when I’m no longer here.
 
Your streets have gotten crowded with teeny boppers in tiny skirts pretending they have a handle on life. More likely I’ve just traded all mine in for something that reaches my knees and decided, my age aside, life will always be a step ahead. Your bars are overrun with first time drinkers sliding under the table and tripping in their heels. I’d like a bar that’s a little more mellow: dim lights, no smoking, and the murmur of chatter from adjacent tables. A bar that doesn’t have that line of newly 21s standing at the girls bathroom ready with alcohol induced hurl or cry. So, I’m looking for the road out of here.

Poem A Day

So, April is National Poetry month. Somehow I missed the memo. Anyway, there is this Poem A Day Challenge. It's a blog on Writer's Digest. Each day of the month they post a topic to use as your daily prompt. You are then supposed to post your poem for that day. But I thought it would be a good place to go for prompts when I'm feeling like a little writer's block is setting in. I thought I'd share it with anyone else who is interested in poetry and sometimes needs a little push to write.

Mirrored

Clouds converge above.
I am reflected–
heavy, gray, and full to bursting.
Rain or tears seeping out at seams
bringing down to ground
knees on gravel
head thrown back and clouds pressing
to show me my face.

From Death

From death
he boasted of his ability
to chain us
make us all see him
in our nightmares,
waking moments in the dark.

Panic stricken-I dream
of murders and being hunted.
I see his face and during the day
try to forget his name–
(Here’s a secret), I won’t even say it.

Instead I think of you
as I walk down sun filled streets
covered in chills
because I realize I will never dance
with you again.

Raking Blueberries

Bare backs bent toward
an August sun—
half way to prostration.

Bodies browned each day,
as their sweat dripped down to
earth.

Rows, rows, rows
berries
backs and sweeping arms
gathering little blue fruits
into buckets: sweep, sweep, sweep.

I raked once.
Daddy humored me,
letting me scoop with my small hands—
as his nourished, encouraged growth.

When Words Left

When words left me
I knew I was barely holding on.
Words caught in throat,
and fell from eyes—incomprehensible tears.

Fingers wandered on the wrong keys,
typing nonsense.
Always a stroke off.

And I spent a year looking
lost while I searched for language.

[Because I couldn’t tell
how he hurt me when he gunned you.]

I felt mind
                 slipping
                              down—
if I swallowed I would be on another side.
Not in limbo
between sanity and not.

Forgiveness

In church, on Sundays
they murmur in pews
“Bear with each other and forgive
whatever grievances you may have.”
Give forgiveness to be freed—to receive.

Recited words with bouncing thoughts
between ‘forgive’ and ‘grievances,’
while our collective conscience
knows ‘forgive’ is the underdog.

I grieve and have grievances:
            You, with your gun and blood on your hands
            Asking us to forgive
            But you didn’t forgive the world;
            you punished it—massacred it.
So, I don’t forgive you.

I ask the good church-going folk:
        If they were your friends,
        would you forgive?

Maybe it took another you
to make me say this out loud.
Another you with her head in his hand
and her blood on his clothing
asking us to forgive—
when you don’t deserve to even ask.

I Feel Mountains

I feel mountains pressing
in. Creeping—cat like—closer every time I
look out the window. Their great shoulders
bearing down and cloudy cloaks rushing around
to smother.

Pressure in my head—
pulsing and pushing the blood
through constricted veins. It’s
atmosphere.

This atmosphere of fake snow and
tearing wind. Wind that slowly has pulled
skin from me.