Sky's Advent (a Fibonacci poem)

Stars

fill

and spill

the black orchid

night streaked silken with shimmering,

all flickering in remembrance of one so small.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse Poetics and the Poetry Pantry

What Flavor are Your Snowflakes?

Remember when

snowflakes

came in our favorite flavors—

running to catch them

on our tongues,

delighted smiles

on our faces?

Mine’s peppermint!

Mmm…Grandma’s peanut brittle!

I got egg nog!

Cinnamon!

Catching them in our hands,

licking the

dark chocolate-orange,

licorice,

sugar plum

flakes

drifting

and catching in hollows

where mittens

dipped

and

lifted

and

savored

in the perfect snow globe

of our imaginations.

Do you think we’re meant to

carry those wishes

with us

as we grow?

And as we grow,

that they should grow too?

Imagine—

clean water

filling hollows,

a fresh well

for life.

But that’s my flavor,

what’s in your snow globe?

For Poetry Jam:  Magic of Childhood.

2.5 billion people in the world do not have access to adequate sanitation.  That’s one in three of the world's population.  Poor water/sanitation/hygiene is the second leading cause of death in children under the age of 5 in the world, sub-Saharan Africa being the top affected region.

Statistics and information:

World Vision

Water.org

Charity: Water

Water Aid

I can’t personally vouch for any of these organizations/charities as far as donations and outcome.  I’m doing research myself for our family to get involved.  Here’s to impacting our world with our dreams.  Happy Holidays!

Bloom & Float

Art by CatrinWelz-Stein

Let’s put our thinking caps on;

we can come up with something—

I’ve always longed for a way to fly.

Somehow I knew

if we picked enough weeds,

cleared enough fallow ground,

we’d bloom and float.

It’s true,

dreams can happen

when another thing dies—

like saying goodbye

is hello to something new

in another tongue.

We just have to remember

to hold on

in the dark

where we’ll finally find—ourselves

above the clouds, among the stars.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

A couple of months ago Claudia at dVerse offered us the opportunity to write to the fascinating and inspiring artwork of Catrin Welz-Stein.  I wrote this piece but had never posted it (it was my son’s birthday and a busy time).  So I’ll be submitting it for OpenLinkNight!

 

Proven

International District, Seattle WA

Photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Afterward

she felt just like

the used condom,

            discarded

amidst the cigarette butts

and partially eaten food.

The refuse

stacked up,

lining the side streets

and back streets

of the insides of her,

piling up

on her chalk outline.

Wasn’t she

what had been done to her?

But the point of no return

to what               

she thought of herself

was the road less traveled,

            a cross in the path—

and the journey upward,

a process

littered

with the things

she has chosen to leave behind;

and that has made all the difference.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

A little bit of a spin off Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken.

dVerse OLN

bliss

a love note/poem from my hubby

via refrigerator magnets

photo © 2013 jennifer wagner

a soft tangerine moon

glows there

where i put my hand over your heart,

feel your breath slow and even

chest rising, falling

            rising, falling

and i can’t catch myself, either—

from drifting off

into the green poem

of us

where you

lift me up to the branches

to catch my footing,

where the

light shines through

its trembling leaves.

i hold them tight,

let the sun play in angled drops

on my face, close my eyes to

feel the favor

of your smile,

and then open them again

to focus

on eden appearing,

in the closing

of the blue distance.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

dVerse OpenLinkNight 

Simply Jesus

your blood blooms still 

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

When there’s not enough hyssop

to cleanse me of all these flaws—

I think I must live with them,

make slow improvements

with the

tick tick tick

of time’s cruel elements.

I know too well this unruly thing

inside me is me,

but there, too,

is the me that hungers for her first love

somewhere buried beneath

bruising, hardening, scarring

it throbs,

however disjointedly.

I am not a girl of

ritual, rules or religion.

I only know that at fifteen

I just wanted

to hold Your hand.

And now,

beyond church

and the things they add to it all,

and bitter politics

and the things they take away from it all,

and morality,

and all these rules I break—

I stand here today

wondering

when did I ever get the idea

You were not enough?

In dark,

in cloud,

in lightless days,

Your blood blooms still.

And I remember

I never needed

anything else anyway.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

1 Corinthians 2:2-5.  And I, brethren, when I came to you, did not come with excellence of speech or of wisdom declaring to you the testimony^[a] of God. ² For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. ³ I was with you in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling. ⁴ And my speech and my preaching were not with persuasive words of human^[b] wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, ⁵ that your faith should not be in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.

it's about more than winning

photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

baseball is about more than just the money

baseball is

a metaphor for life

           

baseball is

to return home

good for what ails us

romantic

an art

           

baseball is

poetry

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For Form for All:  List Poems and the Poetic Heart of Google.  Sam Peralta has us using Googlism to create poetry.  Our instructions were to visit the Googlism site and type in a word of our choosing and craft a list poem from the results.  Fun! 

And for Clint, my 13 year old crazy-for-baseball, grand-slam-hitting kid.  You amaze me and make me so proud!  (Photo:  Desert Fall Classic Tournament 2013— opposing teams taking a knee together).  

Sea Elf Blooms the Desert

Chihuly’s Fiori di Como 

 cartoonified photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Sea elf

took his

raspberry lantern

and journeyed to the desert lands

to look for

new places to play,

new tunes to be hummed,

and friends to be made.

He crafted

his hut

next to

a whispering tree

and blew

his glass bugle

in a mad-fantastic

symphony

…of starlight

and twilight

and the moon (to make them swoon)…

and if you don’t believe me

you should see

the cobalt blue

of never-give-up

sky anemones.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Above is a cartoonified photo I took of Dale Chihuly’s Fiori di Como at the Bellagio in Las Vegas.  Chihuly’s work is amazing and even more inspiring to me is his story of losing an eye in an accident and a few years later injuring his shoulder but continuing on with his glass blowing dream.  Click the highlighted links to see/read more if you’re interested.  Amazing, inspiring, beautiful stuff.

For Claudia’s Poetics-taking a ride on the color wheel at dVerse, which I am too late for so I'll be linking to OpenLinkNight, which I’m a bit late to as well, but hey the doors are still open!

Snow like Eiderdown

When death comes

you find yourself trying to catch up to it,

to face facts,

like pulling on a winter coat

when the cold has already

bitten you clean through

and all that’s left is

dark acceptance.

You’ve had the denial,

the anger,

the bargaining,

the depression.

Now, you’re hunkering down

with no more Why God on your tongue.

You’ve realized what a colossal waste of time

that has proven to be,

as some questions

simply remain unanswered—

Heaven

silent

to your suffering.

But you pray, anyway.

Breathe in – sharp pain.

Breathe out – cry.

Breathe in – dull pain.

Breathe out –

a season of counted breaths

you decided to take in spite of the ache.

One broken foot in front of the other,

wincing as you wait.

For what?  You don’t know, but—

…snow…

…begins

to…

…fall

gently…

           

somehow bringing

a small peace, a light comfort

in the way of things.

You watch children

catch flakes on their tongues,

listen to giggles

and excited chatter

as they toss snowballs,

and soon realize

Heaven

isn’t silent anymore.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For the Poetry Jam prompt:  What Brings You Comfort?  Snow is comforting to me…watching it fall…the way it settles, covers everything, and of course watching kids play in it. 

I’ve been in Las Vegas for my son’s baseball tournament so it’s great to be back and see what I’ve missed.  Looking forward to making rounds and catching up with what you all have written!

Moonflower & Moth

Luna Moth, Wikimedia Commons

In a wildflower garden

there lived a cocooned creature

who hatched, grew tall,

and produced feet, 6 in all.

And wings,

oh such wings.

But who can fly

when you've only been taught to crawl?

The butterflies were beautiful,

floating from marigolds to phlox,

but she was no butterfly—

she’d heard them talk.

So she waited,

said creature,

for the last quarter moon,

and then whispered to it, “what must I do?”

The moon answered

with glitter and white

when on the moonflower

it shone its light—

she knew then she was made

just right;

some things are meant

to temper the night.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

At dVerse Poetics we are writing poems for kids.  I went with message and the natural world.  Moonflowers pop open at night and are pollinated by moths. 

long hot summer night

hush now,

wild thing

have you ever been to electric lady land?

gypsy eyes, bold as love

machine gun fire burning desire—

hear my train a-comin’, lover man

let me move you

  

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Jimi Hendrix @ The Rock, photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

I recently visited a restaurant that had this likeness of Jimi Hendrix painted on the wall near our table (and titles to many of his songs on the seating).  Jimi is a Seattle icon, though I won’t say role model, ha…however, he was a brilliantly talented guitarist.  I crafted this poem (and title) from titles of songs he wrote, recorded or performed.

Songs:

Bold As Love

Burning Desire

Fire

Gypsy Eyes

Have You Ever Been (To Electric Ladyland)

Hear My Train A-Comin’

Hush Now

Let Me Move You

Long Hot Summer Night

Lover Man

Machine Gun

Wild Thing

Amaranthine

photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Just outside this circle of light

the mood of sky is darkening

as sprinkles of rain are turning to floods.

I feel I won’t drown this time,

awash in ash, as deep autumn burns out,

thrusting the baton to barrenness.

Stained on the caverns of my heart

are four amaranthine trees.

Their branches and leaves are arms and handprints,

shoring up each chamber.

Their colors are lanterns,

bright and glowing.

This heart has been made rich and fertile;

this ship has beacons, reasons,

to remain buoyed and sustained.

By them I am helped to weave my way,

even when the dark bleeds thick

upon my mind, poisonous and looting.

I have found in their eyes

warm respite from the seeping cold of lifeless hollows

and cradle the hope that is anchored

in the breath and vitality

that each of their smiles light

to bring me home.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For my four sons and all they have had to understand in my struggle with depression.  Ever yours ~ Mom.