My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Friday, July 6, 2012

2 Can I Have This Dance?: Live In A Smile

Song TitleI Feel Home
Artist:  O.A.R. (of a revolution)
Album:  Any Time Now
Genre:  Rock

Notes:  For my first "Can I Have This Dance?" posts, I admit I was a bit hard pressed to find a song to provide inspiration; I think I was just looking to hard.  A couple of songs popped with lines that spoke to me in one way or another, but I felt like the first post had to be more than just based around a line in a song. 

I chose CIHTD? as a theme because of the way music speaks to me--the way it reaches into me, unraveling me and soothing my raging emotions.  I don't really have a favorite artist or band.  I don't really have a favorite song.  Although song-wise, I do songs of the moment--those that stay with me for months at a time and slowly fade until other comes along to take its place.  I don't really have a specific genre of music, though I must admit country seems to out weigh other genres on my iPod.  But that is not to say I don't have quite a span of genres:  alternative, punk, blues, christian, folk, jazz (especially big band), latin, pop, rock, etc.

All of that is beside the point and completely off topic.  Last night as I lay in bed trying to (not) sleep, I started thinking again about my song choice.  And I realized it made the most sense to start a group (reminder I have no favorite) that--no matter how I am feeling or how far gone I may be--has a way of seeping into my veins and coursing through me.  A song that makes me feel home.  That was it, that thought right there, "makes me feel home;"  I knew exactly what song to find my inspiration in.

So without further ado ('cause there was way too much already)....

Live In A Smile

he has no home--like the woman
stretched out on the park bench
layered in too many clothes
with a newspaper blanket to keep warm

so he wraps himself in the warm smiles
of childhood friends who unwittingly
provided sanctuary from the roof
crashing in bruising his skin; from the
walls burning around leaving welts;
from the house not a home.

she has no home--like the muttering man
tucked away in his cardboard box
upgraded from the too small to stretch out in
water logged roof barely keeping him dry.

so she shelters herself in the warm embraces
of childhood friend who but briefly
provided stability with each new roof
hovering over her ready to move on; with each
set of walls crumbling around her;
from the houses not a home.

They have no place to call home--
no dwelling to return to,
arms open ready to catch them
should they fall.

Beaten and Bruised;
Tossed Aside and Misplaced.
They have
                 no physical
(not yet.)
But they have the materials--
beams shaped from the warm smiles
insulation fashioned from the warm embraces
of childhood friends, who armed them
with the knowledge of what home
can be.  And they'll build it,
so one day their children
will have a place to come back to--
a place
             to feel home.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

2 Last Call: Direction Impaired

Direction Impaired

Never lost -- only misplaced

I remember the lesson well,
the words spoken
upon encountering
a poorly posted detour.
It's all about retracing your steps
finding your way back--
locating that last identifiable marker
before all went south.

Never lost -- only misplaced

I can't begin to count
the number of times
those words
have echoed in my head.
It's all about remaining calm;
taking the next U-Turn--
making a K-Turn,
so you can reverse the traveled path.

Never lost -- only misplaced

But what...
                 what if you take too long
to realize you're misplaced?
                 what if you can't recall
every twist and turn?
                what if in retracing your steps
you end up in an endless cycle
passing the same landmark
over and over and over again?

Never lost -- only misplaced

and asking for directions
not an option;
there is no GPS for life.
So how do I find my way back?

Never lost -- only misplaced

Perhaps finding my way back
    the wrong direction;
perhaps my logic
perhaps I need to stop trying
to find where I went off course,
but rather focus on where
I wish to be.

Never lost -- only misplaced

those words
                    keep echoing
in my head.

It took awhile for this pom seed to take root; I didn't use the original lines I thought I might, but we should just be happy it found its footing otherwise I would have had to write about paper towels.

Pom Seed:  Just Misplaced

Having decided to hop back up on the stage, this is my offerings for the dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight.  If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

1 Time Capsule: Haiku

Title:  Haiku
Date:  between 11/15/93 and 06/14/94 (probably in or about April)
Setting:  Senior year of high school--written as part of a poetry unit in English class.
Form:  haiku (technically speaking it merely follows the 5-7-5 syllabic three line criteria for a haiku, which means haiku is a tad incorrect)

In the thick moonlight,
   a mourning dove sings its song,
      while death takes its toll.
I know the title was not very creative.  I should probably take the time to reevaluate and perhaps find a more appropriate title, but....  

When I first started exploring poetry as an outlet, I wasn't very good about dating things.  Luckily, I was good at maintaining chronological order.  The poem directly following this--which I also wrote as part of English class--is called Earthday (again not very creative on the title front for this acrostic poem).  Given that Earth Day is in April, I can say with some certainty that this was written in or about that month.

One of the reasons I chose this poem as my first Time Capsule entry was because of my English class.  As part of a culminating activity, each member of the class was asked to write one of their poems on a blank sheet of white paper.  We then all sat around in a circle, passed the poems around, and comment on them.  As I mentioned in my last post, I have never really been big on the whole sharing thing.  I actually had two poems sent around.  In inevitably I will probably share the other one as well.  

Artifact I:  Original poem written on yellow paper during class.

Artifact II:  The results of sending my poem around the circle of classmates.