Ancestor Worship
The ghosts crowd around,
like shadows at 4 o’clock,
fragile as butterfly wings,
persistent as memory.
These shades are invisible,
seen only by me
in the span of your brow,
in the tenor of your temper.
Ancestors won’t leave me alone.
They thunder through my family,
Vikings on a rampage,
pillaging as they go.
Should I sharpen my axe
and join their company?
(1st Poetic Muselings Summer Poetry Challenge)
Defensive Driving Class
But the post jumps out
at me.
Surprise!
Headlight knocked out.
No real excuse.
Except that at 80
you do whatever the fuck
you want.
She’s earned it.
Earned it in spades.
Bonus: a discount
on the car insurance.
(1st Poetic Muselings Summer Poetry Challenge)
In class today,
Jeff said the essence of Tai Chi
is in the moves we make
at the start
Warm up spine,
hips, knees, ankles.
Engage finger tips
to explore the air
Bring moves
from core to skin
and back again
and again and again
Fill the space
between vertebrae
shoulder joints, tip of head
and soles of feet
Open, stretch, synchronize
nerves, mind, and heart.
Ah! Form gives meaning,
but embrace and savor foreplay!
Another contribution to the Poetic Muselings Poetry Challenge!
I recently survived an intensive sewing /clothing construction workshop, which got all synapses bouncing frantically in my head. Here are the first poems in the Sewing Series:
To reach the hidden,
and create the obvious,
I must feel what’s true
I must learn to love
vanilla, forgo Cherry Garcia
for a while
feel the fullness of the lone
acoustical note
reverberate into echo of echo
go back to the first
line dance step
that took so long to learn
back to basics
unadorned, Shaker-quality,
where the answer is found
crawl, then toddle through
imbalance, see, hear, smell
what surrounds me
when I understand
the woven thread
I’ll be ready for the wider world
Strip away the complex first,
sew straight lines and curves,
inch (or centimeter) along
To sleeves and swirls
Michele M. Graf7-17-14
My first contributions to our Poetic Muselings Poetry Challenge. Anne — this counts as two poems, right?
festival colors… (Photo credit: jmtimages)
As Anne mentioned in a previous post, we are having an internal contest. The Museling who writes and posts the most poems between July 15, 2014 and September 1, 2014 wins a writing book of their choice from Amazon.com. Expect the blog to be a crazy place, as posts will be unscheduled. We are posting whenever the inspiration strikes.
One of our main inspirations was returning to the joy of writing. We’re hoping this will lift the pressure of structured posts, and get our poetry springs flowing again.
You can join in on the fun! Here’s how you can help us keep the flow:
What do you do to keep the writing wells from drying up?
We hope to see you around during this poetry fest. Back to poeming, everyone!
Ash and pine and elm and oak,
under sky like blowing smoke,
up a hill and under ground,
winding through a maze, is found
keys to mysteries unfold,
tales still needing to be told.
Find the answers in the logs
hidden in the swampy bogs.
Muselings Poetry Challenge number 2:
this one is for the fantasy novel I’ve started working on
More rhymes.
Only Traces
To find your dreams
within the pages of a magazine
would seem impossible
if not obscene.
Cut out words and pictures, they say
that represent your future
come what may, anything
to keep the fear at bay.
To peruse the air-brushed faces
and wish for far off places,
I languish here still, looking for illumination,
finding only traces.
(1st Poetic Muselings Summer Poetry Challenge
The Poetic Muselings (Michele Graf, Margaret Fieland, Mary Jensen and Anne Westlund) are having a poetry contest to see which one of us can write and post the most poems between July 15th, 2014 and September 1st, 2014. The author who writes and posts the most new poems on the Poetic Muselings Group Blog will win a writing book of their choice from Amazon.com.
There will be opportunities for reader participation. So watch this space!)
The Poetic Muselings (Michele Graf, Margaret Fieland, Mary Jensen and Anne Westlund) are having a poetry contest to see which one of us can write and post the most poems between July 15th, 2014 and September 1st, 2014. The author who writes and posts the most new poems on the Poetic Muselings Group Blog will win a writing book of their choice from Amazon.com.
Rules:
1. To be counted, poems must be written between July 5-September 1, 2014. Older poems posted must be marked “Old Poem” or “Previously Written Poem.” Older poems will not be counted.
2. While new poems can be posted on the individual poet’s blogs, to be counted they must be posted on the Poetic Muselings blog.
3. The winner will be announced on Friday, September 5th, 2014.
There will be opportunities for reader participation. So watch this space!
Here’s my first poem for the challenge:
Long Division
I didn’t used to like math
until I crossed Peggy’s path
now I get excited
whenever I’m divided.
~~~
and almost time to read what I’ve supposed
to have been writing,
poet that I am . . .
and
Because It’s Tuesday . . .
and no great insight bled from pen to parchment,
demanding ink
— nothing new to share —
and
Because It’s Tuesday . . .
and my doctor just said I must learn
to be selfish and fill the well
— or I’ll be the late Care-Giver of everyone else —
and
Because It’s Tuesday . . .
and the emptiness isn’t paying
the dividends it did for so many years
— that account is now bankrupt —
and
Because It’s Tuesday . . .
and I must nourish my body as well
as my soul’s soul, I went radical
— cleaned house and started a shopping list —
… instead of writing the poem I need to share —
* Yes, I know it is (late) Wednesday on the West Coast, not Tuesday, but . . . that’s how it really happened . . . before . . . and I just got back from a cross-country trip . . . and . . . and . . . and . . .
I love writing in rhyme, and I have a large number of poems lying around that rhyme. I’m especially fond of this one, which I’ve worked over a number of times.
I clatter down dim staircase
to seek shelter from the rain,
duck beneath a turnstile
as I’m kind of short of change.
Platform’s crowded with commuters
who all mutter and complain.
Lights first dim and flicker,
fade to black as rumbles sound,
faint at first, volume increasing.
Bodies crowded all around
push me one way, then another.
Cries and caterwauls abound.
Folks scurry for an exit.
but I forget which way is out.
I bumble, blind, in darkness
while folks wander round about.
There’s a thunk from on the train track.
Guys beside me scream and shout.
I hear a high-pitched whistle
then the echoing refrain
from the screech and scream of metal
as it protests from its pain,
squeals and squeaks of brakes engaging
while they work to stop the train.
The slap of footsteps echo.
A man’s jumped down to the track.
Listen to his grunts and groaning
as he pulls the jumper back,
heaves him on the platform.
My head’s spinning; things go black.
Someone hauls me upright,
electricity flicks on,
train doors close; it leaves the station.
Now the crowds of folks are gone.
I scamper up the stairway
to the street where I belong.
annewestlund
feywriter
lin52
Margaret Fieland
Margaret
Michele
Poetic Muselings 
Written by annewestlund
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