July Poetry, the final day – Wait

There are some poems, no matter how many times you read them you just can’t get the hook of them.  This is one of them, I have alternately described it as depressing and hopeful.  I think it’s possible that this piece is nothing but a mirror playing back the emotions of the reader.  If that is true then Galway Kinnell is not just an artist but a magician, enjoy ~ ZD Blue

Edinburgh Castle Saint by ZD Blue

 

Wait
By Galway Kinnell

Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.

July Poetry, Day 30 – Peter McWilliams

Today we have one of my absolute favorite poets, Peter McWilliams, what I most love about his work is how incredibly much he can make you feel in very few words, enjoy ~ ZD Blue

Photo by ZD Blue

 

(Peter McWilliams)

You like it that I write
Poems
about you.
Your ego takes some
Perverse pleasure
in them.
You will cause
enough pain to fill
a book, and then
send autographed
copies to your
friends.

 

July Poetry, Day 29 – And the President didn’t call

Tonight my most recent piece, I hope you like it ~ ZD Blue

 

photo by ZD Blue

And the President didn’t call                                                                                                       7/23/12

 ZD Blue

When I was a young girl
my daddy was away
momma said he was fighting for freedom
a man in a uniform knocked on the door
and momma cried all day
before she told me,
that daddy had died
and the president didn’t call
 

I was waiting for her at school
when the policeman came
put me in the squad car
and took me home
daddy was crying
my mother would never
pick me up again
and the president didn’t call
 

My six year old daughter
never did anything wrong
never hurt anyone
she just had the bad luck
of living in the wrong part
of the wrong town
when the gangs opened fire
collateral damage the paper said
and the president didn’t call
 

I never left her side
except to do what I had to
sleep, pay the bills, call the doctor
we couldn’t afford hospice
but no one, not anyone
should have to suffer like this
or die alone
so I never left her side
that’s how I know
the president didn’t call
 

I guess it was because
her death didn’t make the news
maybe because she wasn’t famous
or because she died alone
maybe,
although I hate to even think it
maybe,
it was because it wasn’t an election year

July Poetry, Day 28 – Rumi

A piece from Rumi tonight, enjoy ~ ZD Blue

photo by ZD Blue

The Freshness
From Soul of Rumi
Rumi translated by Coleman Barks

When it’s cold and raining,
you are more beautiful.
 

And the snow brings me
even closer to your lips.

The inner secret, that which was never born,
you are that freshness, and I am with you now.
 

I can’t explain the goings,
or the comings. You enter suddenly,
 

and I am nowhere again.
Inside the majesty.

July Poetry, Day 27 – Rich Quatrone

A little bit of political outlaw poetry tonight, April is the foolish month ~ Rich Quatrone

 

Occupy Galway photo by ZD Blue

 

April is the foolish month

By Rich Quatrone

http://outlawpoetry.com/2012/06/06/rich-quatrone-cheap-tricks-four-other-poems/

how do we occupy our hearts
when our hearts are so damaged and hurt

i used to tell students who complained
of broken hearts your heart should be

broken every day by life; it’s a broken
life you have to be wary of.

so occupy wall street, main street, fleet street,
drum beat, no heat, no food, no rent.

occupy get bent, he went, you lent and
bucky dent, occupy the present.

how do we occupy a broken heart
when hearts are broken by life itself

how do we occupy washington when
the place we live is bought and sold

how do we occupy the old who have
nothing to lend and see the end?

July Poetry, Day 26 – Am I to be tested by fire?

Tonight, perhaps my favorite piece of the month, there is so much power in Mary Havran’s words, enjoy.

photo by ZD Blue

Am I to be tested by fire?

By Mary Havran

Am I to be tested by fire?
Tempered, as steel, to forge the keener blade
Can I possibly survive?
Emerge from the flame
Purified
Purged

Is such searing necessary?
Must all that I am (or thought I was)
Be melted to the core
And poured out
Liquefied
Molten

Am I to be totally recast?
Refashioned at the anvil by heavy handed blows
So unyielding that I require
This violent a process
Hammered
Pounded

I would choose a milder makeover
The gentler touch
Of potter to the clay
The subtle training
Of gardener to the vine

Is the smithy to be my only master?
If this is the form of refashioning I truly require
Then I shall try to endure
Hopefully
Gratefully

Shall I be made more worthy?
I ask only that the process leave me bettered
By whatever bellows and blows
Keener blade
Finer mettle
Stronger
Truer
Brighter
Tested by the Fire

July Poetry, Day 25 – Sara Teasdale

Tonight a lovely piece by Sara Teasdale, enjoy.

 

 

I am not yours
By Sarah Teasdale
 

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love — put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

July Poetry, Day 24 – Derek Walcott

Love after Love
By Derek Walcott

 

 

Photo by Rich Krissel

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

July Poetry, Day 23 – Emily Dickinson

Tonight we go a little bit classical and old school, a love poem from Emily Dickinson and a photograph of Burning Man at dawn.

July Poetry, Day 22 – Fools Daydream

Tonight a piece from my friend Jax, a fabulous person and a wonderful writer enjoy ~ ZD Blue

Photo by Don Louv

 

“Fool’s Daydream”

Hope dies,
 the hardest of all.
 Wailing,
 and screaming,
 down…
 down…
 down…
 you FALL.
 The light,
 that sustained you,
 the Way in the Dark,
 Gone.
 Extinguished.
 Leaving you lost,
 and spinning to pieces,
 covered in blood.
 Fragments,
 shrapnel,
 of what once was Heart.
 But now?
 Now?
 Just a gaping hole,
 Never.
 Not whole.
 No more.
 No…