Here We Go Again, Again, from Ruth

Okay, since I didn't get comments on last weeks entry, I'm doing two this week.  Both ones I plan to be in the five I'm going to submit to Lyrical Iowa soon, so I need comments soon.  One of them appeared in an earlier form here last year.  As usual, the things in italics are either choices or possibilities to leave out or change.

Eighth and Main

You park five blocks away since it's a pleasant day

to walk--well, it's a little hot, but your bank

account is low and the parking lot expensive,

and you certainly could use the exercise.

You're plodding along the sidewalk on Eighth,

then /when you turn the corner onto Main.

For a moment you feel that old optimism,

the possibility of a bright future, infuse your being.

Is it the way the green fingers of ginkgo reach

through the infinite blue sky to clasp the golden sphere

of the sun, cradle it, ready to hand you its pure

radiance, its alchemical cure, its wealth?

But your knees ache and you remember

your cache of good health has been spent, coin by coin,

until you grasp for what's left with both hands.

Happiness stamps away, enraged that you don't embrace it,

or Enraged that you don't embrace it, happiness stamps away

and leaves you to walk alone with one foot planted

on Main and the other raised over the abyss.

 ......................................................................................

Salad Day

Fresh tortillas spread with creamy green avocado,

the seductive/voluptuous/zaftig/curvy/lustful/lusty/lush Aztec fruit--and fragile young

leaf shoots, succulent verdolaga, crowned

with rounds of fleshy red tomato.

The first bite revels on our tongues like

the smooth juice of youth. It floats down

our throats to our hearts, which split

open like ripe love apples.

Eat slowly. Before we know, it's gone.

The crumbs and smudges

are like the few years

we have left.

Wipe away the shreds

with a white rag,

a shroud.

A Baker's Dozen

A Baker's Dozen ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Acceptance Realizing that it is okay to be who you are, not what you and others expect you to be. Acceptance Life will be difficult at times and all you can do is your best. Acceptance We live in the present, not the past or the future. Acceptance Today is our reality and we should live it to the fullest. Acceptance Our past is just that, our past. It is over and nothing we do can change it. Acceptance There is no guarantee there will be a tomorrow. Plan wisely for tomorrow but not at the expense of today. Acceptance Life is a journey and there may be several detours along the way. Acceptance We have a right to be happy and just because someone else is unhappy does not mean we need to be unhappy. Acceptance It is okay to accept help and even ask for it when needed. Acceptance Telling the truth is the easiest way to live. It eliminates trying to remember what you said. Acceptance Helping others can be very therapeutic if they want and need help. Acceptance We will never give up ourselves to please others. Acceptance Change is inevitable and we need to be flexible. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Here We Go Again, from Ruth

Hi, Ruth here.  As I said I would do, I've posted two different versions of the same darn thing--the first one based on a friend's comments, the second on Anna's (and others'.)  I was going to wait longer and work a little more on these before posting, but I see more than a week has gone by.  I explained in a comment to Debbie why I'm working on this so much... I tried to italicize the differences between the two versions.

Getting Close

The end of August is tinder dry. Your steps raise clouds

of golden dust that follow you to the house, hiding

your shadow. On the porch, faded towels

are laid out, and kid's sandals are matched in pairs

of half-hearts, good luck charms for our marriage.

Inside, I watch from the window.  The oak table

is scattered with lined paper and yellow pencils.

I clear them for summer's final supper, fish and fries.

Children vanish to grieve the start of school, 

though sparks of excitement crackle in the air.

High pitched voices dissolve, and in the silence,

the day has melted to dusk. We carry glasses

of wine out to the pale, thinning grass

to breathe in the blue haze of Russian sage,

and we are alone, together.

The moon relects pearls in our blushing wine.

Insect wings stitch seams of shelter

in the remnants of light. The force

of evening pulls us toward each other.         

Your blood stirs, my breath catches.

Remnants of Summer

The end of August is tinder dry. His steps raise clouds

of golden dust that follow him to the house, hiding

his shadow. On the porch, sun-faded towels

are laid out, and kid's sandals are matched in pairs

of half-hearts, good luck charms for our marriage.

Inside, I watch from the window.  The oak table

is scattered with lined paper and yellow pencils.

I clear them for summer's final garden harvest.

Children run to their rooms to grieve the start of school, 

though sparks of excitement crackle in the air.

High pitched voices dissolve, and in the silence,

the day has melted to dusk. We carry glasses

of wine out to the thinning pale grass,

to breathe in the blue haze of Russian sage,

and we are alone, together.

The moon drops pearls in our blushing wine.

Insect wings stitch seams in the descending

silk of night. The force of the evening

pulls us toward each other.         

Your blood stirs, my breath catches.

My Friend

The Author Dear Friend, I have something to share with you. I have an illness. If I had diabetes or cancer, would you think less of me? I hope you read this with an open mind and heart. I have a mental illness. Did you know? Does it show? I am the very same person I was before I revealed this to you. Most of us are afraid to tell. We are afraid our relationships will go to hell. There is a definite stigma associated with mental illness that is not found with physical illnesses. Do you look at me differently now that you know? Are you afraid of what I might do? Does being my friend frighten you? With that being said, there are a few myths I would like to dispel. Mental illnesses are not character flaws. Those with mental illness have changes in the structure and function of the brain. Mental illnesses are not untreatable. Today, with medication and/or therapy, most people with mental illness are able to lead relatively normal lives. Most of us are not homeless, although a large percentage of the homeless do have a mental illness. Most of us are not and never will be violent. Most of us are not addicts. We don't ask to be treated differently than anyone else. Most of us are not criminals. Criticizing us will not cause us to harm ourselves. You do not have to walk on eggshells around us. We are no more different from you than if we had diabetes or cancer. I hope we can still be friends. I am the same person you were friends with last week or last year. I have not changed. I have just decided to be honest with you. Your Friend, Debbie P.S. I have had Major Depressive Disorder for nearly twenty years. There are very effective treatments today. By sharing this, I hope to help you learn more about and accept those with mental illness. DEJ

I Am Walking East by Melissa Haynes

As the sun rises, illuminating golden fields
Absorbing the sun and my surroundings
Quiet thoughts are at peace
Fluttering of wings is the only sound
The gentle breeze refreshes my body
Images of nature's art
Tantalize my senses


A red leaf catches the wind 
The wind invites it along
A sudden burst of energy goes through me
Sun reflects a pale mauve sky
Such a still beauty

Ruth Here

Not to beat a dead horse--you've seen this before because I workshopped it in October and I didn't get one piece of advice.  But they did say it was good.  I shared it with my poetry group Wednesday and then I got advice.  So I'm trying to clean this up to submit to "Lyrical Iowa" in February.  I'm posting a version that has a lot of things in parenthesis, italicized, words or phrases I may cut.  (Or in one case, alternatives about food for dinner.)   I'd like your opinion about cutting these and other changes I might make.  One suggestion I got is I should start the romantic encounter between husband and wife earlier in the poem--but I kind of like it this way.  Advice?

Remnants of Summer

The end of August is tinder dry. Your steps raise clouds

of golden dust that follow you to the house, hiding

your shadow. On the porch, sun-faded towels

are laid out, and kid's sandals are matched in pairs

of half-hearts, good luck charms for our marriage.

Inside, I watch from the window.  The oak table

is scattered with lined paper and yellow pencils.

I clear them for summer's final supper, fish and rice. (beef and bread, mash, chicken, grain, roots)

Children vanish to grieve the start of school, 

though sparks of excitement crackle in the air.

High pitched voices dissolve, and in the silence,

the day has melted to dusk. We carry glasses

of wine (out) to the thinning pale grass,

(to greet the last full moon before harvest,)

to breathe in the blue haze of Russian sage,

and we are alone, together.

The moon drops (lustrous) pearls in our blushing wine.

Insect wings stitch seams (of shelter)

in the descending fabric of fall. The force

of the evening pulls us toward each other.         

Your blood stirs, my breath catches.

Another version:

The end of August is tinder dry. His steps raise clouds

of golden dust that follow him to the house, hiding

his shadow. On the porch, sun-faded towels

are laid out, and kid's sandals are matched in pairs

of half-hearts, good luck charms for our marriage.

Inside, I watch from the window.  The oak table

is scattered with lined paper and yellow pencils.

I clear them for summer's final garden harvest.

Children vanish to grieve the start of school, 

though sparks of excitement crackle in the air.

High pitched voices dissolve, and in the silence,

the day has melted to dusk. We carry glasses

of wine out to the thinning pale grass,

to breathe in the blue haze of Russian sage,

and we are alone, together.

The moon casts (drops, reflects) pearls in our blushing wine.

Insect wings stitch seams of shelter

in the descending fabric of night. The force

of the evening pulls us toward each other.         

Your blood stirs, my breath catches.
 ......................................................................................................
 I changed "you" to "him."  I took out the specific kind of food; I'm not sure about that.  And made some other word changes...
 

New Year, New Start to the Nami Blog

Hi NAMI bloggers,
First, a happy new year! I hope the year is treating you well so far. I have just spoken with Rachael and she will be bowing out of the blog this semester. I am still here for you and my goal is to continue checking the blog each week for new entries. Please keep it to one entry per week. Also, I want your feedback on how the blog is going? Is it useful to you? Is there something I can do to be more helpful? I'm going to keep the blog up throughout the school year, and as always I ask for your patients as some times of year are more busy than others). I will probably take the summer off from the blog in May, as I will probably be doing field work in environmental science that will keep me away from regular internet access. In May we can decide if you want to pick it up again next school year. I've enjoyed reading your work! Please keep it coming!

Here is a poem of mine for you, with my deepest thanks for you sharing all of your work. I wrote it about the floods in Ames last August.

Language Levels Rising

Anna Keener

A flood of words

Came rushing through

My town today

After a night of

Clouds breaking,

A down-pouring of letters

This morning, I remember

They forecasted snow

No one knew it could happen

This bad

Language levels rising

Words at our doors

Swirls of nouns tangled in blasted trees

Conjunctions to dampen the spirit

Verbs now skulk like foam

Against sandbags

Articles settle like silt

Coating our basements

Boots stamp meaningless sentences

Across kitchen floors

We are overwhelmed,

Unsure how to begin to clean

Plucking up a Yearning here, a Flighty there

Is. Gorgeous. Behave. All in the dumpster.

Adjectives to scrub away before

They mold

This is the great flood

Infamous, demanding recovery

A sorting out of lost from gained

I am too busy now

To think of

The work to come

I spend the day in a dingy, fingers numb

With a butterfly net and red bucket

Raking them in

-Anna