Red-winged Blackbird's Funeral

Red-winged Blackbird, Wikimedia Commons

The sky played a trick,

impeding my flight—

dealing my doom.

The worm did not cry,

escaping to the depths

of a joyous homecoming.

Faces in the sky

of my sunset

held their breaths for me,

but brains

do not re-enter skulls;

and trash bags become funerary.

At least

I do not die alone

and without mourners.

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For Peggy’s prompt at Poetry Jam where the prompt is to write from the perspective of an animal.  This incident happened a couple of weeks ago.  A red-winged blackbird flew into our picture window so forcefully it could not recover.  The worm in its beak fell out and crawled away.  The bird, though so fatally wounded, struggled heartily. My boys were mostly fascinated by the scene and the science of it all.  But as the only female in a household of boys and men, it tore my heart a bit. 

Vamp

a murderous

winter passion

held its icy grip

on juicy melons,

mellow-rich

the blood

of raspberries

stained her fingertips

and mouth, lost

in strawberry sublime

found every drop

of juice

every seed

divine

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

  

My smoothie obsession/therapy continues...

Emily (Hope Kicks)

hope

kicks

you

when you need it

if you must

cry

scream (it’s unfair)

swear (every word you can think of)

snot running,

mascara flowing

down your chin

allow it

for one hour

or one day

eat chocolate

eat the cake

the whole damn thing

pity party

like there’s no tomorrow

if that’s what it takes

and then

you get up       

Get      

Up

big girl

get off the floor

it won’t let you stay there

hope

kicks

you

when you need it

reminds you

it is the thing

with feathers

and wings that sing

your truth to you

when you’ve forgotten

how to fly        

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Inspired by my all time favorite poem by Emily Dickinson, “Hope” is the thing with feathers.

Slough

i wish to

shed this skin

of pain

of discontent

like a clinging, wrinkled

dress

crumpled

rolled around in

and pulled—

s  c  r  a  p  e  d

o  f  f

w

  i

g

  g

l

  e

d

out of

twisted

at my ankles

and dropped

like my

eyelids—

to drool into

the hair

of your chest

the pads

of your fingers

in that place

in the groove

of my back

hearing

no voices

and feeling

only

the breath

of your hungry mouth

satisfied

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

I'll be linking to dVerse with the amazing poets who gather there for OpenLinkNight.  

Mud Blossom

she washed herself

clean

in the dirty river—

sinking down

into

muddy banks,

covering herself

and the tar that lives

and thrives

raging

within her skin

emptied

the tree of herself—

leaves and

petals

flowing

buried

in layers

where dead things

find purpose

and nourish

the ground

lush with

undiscovered gold

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

The Beginning of a Poem

your life

began

as a song to me

your tender heart

beat

and when

your smile

was all i had

to get out

of bed

it was enough

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

for Andrew

dVerse OpenLinkNight 

Jukebox (Boombox), Baby

Joan Jett on cassette

softball summers

of field-dirt-crusted scabs

on my knees

and thighs

sliding into second

my dad said I never did it quite right

because there should be more on my thighs

if I were

a cherry Tootsie Roll Pop

with a ‘tude

sneaking gin and Jack Daniels

and smokes

dreaming of VW Super Beetles with glitter in the paint

or a ‘64 convertible Mustang, cherry red too, of course—

and The Outsiders

fast-forward

in audible

relief, mom and dad,

glad

I didn’t turn out wielding

a six-string and blowing sugar pops

but still I do

Love Rock ‘n Roll

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

At dVerse Poets Pub master prompter and poet Stuart McPherson has us writing about 'Growing Up'. 

Harbinger

Harbinger

by Andrew Romero

Haste the day the harbinger comes

With songs of loyalty and triumph

The sounds of life exude pain

The silence of existence is eternal

Death saddles his horse

At the living’s lamentation

He rides unto the cradle

Listening for Ataturk

Upon release he kneels

In respect for the deceased

At this he takes them within his bosom

Thrashing they vie for life

His icy embrace calms their tenacious fire

The horseman rides on

To father time, with emptied hourglass

Onwards he rides unto oblivion


Copyright 2012 Andrew Romero 

My son Andrew recently turned 18 and will graduate from high school this year.  Sigh...expect to see some nostalgic mama writes from me.  He writes poetry and wrote this piece a few months ago.  Also, he predicted, on the day of the Super Bowl last year, that the Seahawks would play in the Super Bowl this year.  Poet and possibly prophet?  Proud mama, no doubt.

January Smoothie

dark tart cherries

frozen

winter bliss

winter melancholy

the color of

iced blueberries

pomegranate arils

winter’s

escape pods

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

for haiku my heart

Old Man, Winter, and I

old man winter and i

standing on mountain grass and rocks

a slicing breeze

pulls the cork

and empties me

character failures spill out

on a screen of snow

i watch them play

with my mind

enter Remorse

followed by Blessed Forgetfulness

because the sun is up, bright

among sparse clouds

burning mercy, a silver lining,

into memories

that never forget me

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Linking up to another great day of poetry at dVerse.

Proximal

she hears it

thud

within her heart

darkening that softly whispered thing

he’d wept at her feet

squeezing his chest

begging her

to come back

where he could have her, love her

but, snow white

and glistening,

she congeals in

the rush of blood—

cheeks heated, flushed

and damp

spent where he

could never bring her back,

hold her into it long enough

to let it sink

into her skin,

her fluids,

her flesh and bones

holding her, hard

and pushing love into

that bruised place

she cries

every time he touches

forged with passion

sought with tears

a groove never deep enough

to reach the watercourse

and dangles

not siphoned,

a conduit,

clamped

as she turns away

too close

to feel it anymore

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Posting to The Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Sitka Pirates

a seashore moon

casting long sitka spruce shadows

            ghost pirate ship sails

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

  

haiku my heart