Jul 20, 2020
you gaze at the sky still. . . . #poetry #poem #pdxpoetry #poemdrafts #typewriterpoetry #typewriter (at Portland, Oregon) https://www.instagram.com/p/CC2bBx6BvCp/?igshid=wx9a4at5gvll
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you gaze at the sky still. . . . #poetry #poem #pdxpoetry #poemdrafts #typewriterpoetry #typewriter (at Portland, Oregon) https://www.instagram.com/p/CC2bBx6BvCp/?igshid=wx9a4at5gvll
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Postcard poems. Going to Berkeley and Oregon.
Almost Rain, Almost Poem
It rained but it didn’t rain here somewhere the air is wet I notice it in my nostrils like a sea turtle pokes her nostrils about the surface of the water to breathe and party I poke my nose above the surface of the air to swim
PAD 9/18/14
(too metaphoric for a haiku)
(with debt to the Sea Turtle Conservancy's photo)
Anniversary haiku draft.
Double duty. This is my weekly prompt for my year long Poem-A-Day, and it’s yesterday’s poem for the September 2014 PAD challenge. It’s also just a little turtle haiku, but turtles can be tough when they are challenged.
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I’ve been working on this poem for a couple of weeks now. There are earlier drafts of it in several earlier photos.(9/6 and 9/10) Together they are an interesting representation of my process.
Waiting until the end of the day to write a poem (in the midst of a poem-a-day challenge) isn't a great idea. Also, when you're trying too hard to write a poem for an event (like I am right now) the results are sometimes ghastly. But since this is a documentary, here are the results of last nights efforts -- after a glass of wine. Lots of rhyme, some good images, and a lot of work still to do.
Fury (v1)
Fury  (for 11/14/13 prompt)
The fury of Yolanda in her blue train splits over the land
*****
Fury is a being of multiple natures, restless in the ocean bed restless under the cloudy light restless in the bruised body of a mountain a cacophony of the elements Fury, a child of dread
Impatient, with 13-foot wings impatient, imprecise impatient to begin the story
Careens with her palms up carrying along the turtles and palm trees, the coconut death march, bursting out of brown corpses into steam
   *   *   *   *  Â
Fury breaks her own pencils before the story is written to the end
Pick up your paints and guitar in fury’s spent echo step forward to sing.