Wednesday, January 30, 2013

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. 

Monday, January 28, 2013

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...

Thursday, January 24, 2013

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.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

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.  

Friday, January 18, 2013

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

Monday, January 14, 2013

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 

Saturday, January 12, 2013

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'

Friday, January 11, 2013

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.

Thursday, January 10, 2013

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


Monday, January 7, 2013

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.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

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

Friday, January 4, 2013

Sitka Pirates


a seashore moon
casting long sitka spruce shadows
            ghost pirate ship sails



Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner