Soar

Yes, little one,

there are mountains.

And storms.

And rain.

But, oh, the

berries,

nectar,

sky.

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

For Poets United Midweek Motif

The Wedding Gift

The chime is engraved

with a lighthouse,

a harbor,

a ship on the sea.

It hangs from the eaves

above our deck

and has, for nearly

seventeen years,

sprinkled its tune

at every house

we've called home.

It fell

            once,

in a major storm,

was never broken, but

lay serenely

at our feet

waiting--

ready to give light, melody.

And though

I tire of wind,

of storms,

it's taught me to listen,

             hope,

                       trust light

and

play on.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse Poetics

Things I Should Know By Now

Expect

rain.

Expect

something spilled

precisely

after mopping.

Expect

seven-year-old

to not have

brushed teeth,

even with several reminders.

Expect

twelve-year-old

to throw garbage bags

“at” outdoor garbage bin

instead of “in” it.

Expect

fourteen-year-old

to fret about being late

worse than

the White Rabbit.

Expect

dirty plates,

empty pizza box

where nineteen-year-old

“chillaxes.”

Expect

rain

again.

Expect

to be loved

despite words

I should not have said

regarding the above.

Expect

all

to repeat.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Artistry

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

artist point

how a mistake can still be

so beautiful

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Above is a photo I took this summer at Artist Point in Yellowstone National Park.  The location got its name because it was widely believed that Thomas Moran created a sketch there which he used to create his famous 1872 painting, The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone.  In 1890 photographer F. Jay Hanes published a park guidebook with the name and the title stuck.  The location Moran actually used is now called Moran Point. 

I was trying to convey the essence of that history in the poem, as well as another message which I think has a connection to artistry of any type: poetry, photography, painting, mothering…smiles…etc. that, even if it may not be perfect, it can still be pretty beautiful.

For Carpe Diem Arti-Visual

In Memory

photo © 2014 jennifer wagner

what is found

when we are

broken down

to remnants, to debris?

mementos,

photos,

things we treasured,

things we valued?

as i read the names

of the lost and missing

my tongue

tasting

each   L

each   I

each   F

each   E

           

i gulp

tears

and time

91 years

71 years

69, 67, 66, 65, 64, 63, 61, 60 years

59, 58, 55, 53, 52 years

49, 47, 45, 41 years

36, 35, 31 years

23, 21 years

19 years

14 years

13 years

6 years

5 years

4 years

2 years

4 months

how quickly, each,

in a moment’s breath,

like the morning fog,

gone—

to be summed up

not by things

but by those who cared,

who knew what made them

more than mist.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

As of today there are 30 people confirmed dead and 17 still missing in the landslide in Oso.  I tried to get all the ages of victims down here (some victims were the same age, of course); my apologies for any I have missed.

                                                                                                                              

The team my husband is on will hand the baton to the next set of searchers and will likely be able to come home tomorrow for much needed rest.  We haven’t seen him since he left to be a part of the search but we have been able to talk.  He has some heartbreaking and amazing stories.

James4:14

Oso Landslide

Remembering Those Lost

Poetry Jam: Time

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!