Old Tan Oldsmobile

I could practically smell the cigarettes

Though the windows were rolled up

In the aging tan-colored Oldsmobile

It is the first thing I noticed, strangely

A sun-shriveled old face

Peered above the steering wheel

Crowned by a large straw hat

We were united he and I

Two travelers, strangers

Our only common ground the numbing freeway

I began to wonder about his life

And wonder if he wondered about mine

I imagined him an artist

A widower, missing his children

Who again forgot to send a card

I could see him on the old dock

On the summer lake at dusk

Sitting cross-legged, casting his line

Thinking of the malignancy

That took them all from him

That steady current in his own veins

I craved to know his stories

A little girl version of Manolin

And suddenly he was The Old Man and the Sea

As I made my exit

My eyes lingered on the aged auto, aged hat, aged man

Continuing together to amble the road

I silently wished him farewell

And for his final battle, one

Not so bitter-sweet as Santiago’s

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner 
Added to The Poetry Pantry

Spring Canzonet

The peonies danced perfectly;

with each windshake

perfumed heads

sprinkled sweet dew to the soil.

For a moment she longed to be them;

to listen,

to draw the lyric breath,

and contribute her song.

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner 
Shared in imaginary garden

Eight

     

     spitting watermelon seeds

          proudly

     through the new hole in his teeth

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Eleven at Tulalip

Me, the flightless bird

Soaring in your wildblue

Filled

With mysteries

 

Bathing in moonlight as

The fingers of night

Brushed

Through ribbons of me

 

Sweet, your mouth,

My tears on your lips,

Tasted

So much so I wished to never end them

 

Me, the flightless bird

Now securely

Perched

In the cove on the mountain I didn’t think I could climb

 

 

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Seattle Spring

all day long

  violets in the rain

  bleed hello

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Contagious

my sick sister

her contagious

laugh

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Grazie, Sue Bell

bluesy jazz singer

amid the bar chatter

i drink the notes

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

You Always Pick the Worst Apples

You always pick the worst apples, 

she chided him, all bruised!

They are still sweet in some spots—

sweeter even than others without them, he said.

And then she wondered if that’s why he’d picked her.

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Rediscovered

misplaced jewels—

that little restaurant we found,

and why we loved each other

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Little Cowgirl

little cowgirl

on grandpa’s horse

ten             feet            tall

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Becoming Clay

Becoming Clay

                          

Stacked upon the shelf,

my emotions, spent and raw.

Dark are they now,

and bland—

I cannot feel anymore.

Whispers of my soul

lay broken in a mess I cannot fix myself.

If I were to blow a final deep, aching breath

the shards would fly away like dust.

A single tear slides down my cheek,

like a match across my heart,

reminding me to feel—

reminding me of what I cannot lose.

It falls to the ground

reaching the dust of my brokenness.

And in the silence,

hands caked with the mud of humanity

reach for me,

His grip unafraid of the cold reality of what I am.

A low, loving murmur breaks the dead air,

a voice confident and sure,

"Now I have something to work with."

Copyright 2005 Jennifer Wagner

Corvus Observation

the black crow

endlessly wandering

finds home

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Storms

Circumstance

White sails calmly sifting through a cerulean sea

A storm is coming, though powder blue skies are mum

Edging out the tranquil scene, comes a darkness

Passengers sleepy, lulled by the gentle breeze and even gentler wave

A storm is coming, its breath caught while attempting to speak

And the warming sun coaxes dreamers into respite

Unsteady hold or certainty begins the test

A storm is coming, preparers beware

Holding the light may be all you can do

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner 
Shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry

American Style Haiku

 

                dinner table

               hum and din

                —song of heroes

  Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Masterpiece

The Orchid

I walked alone

On a dark stretch of imperfection

The road was pointless

Stumbling marked my hesitation

                                              

I found courage, tried to run

But darkness cloaked the air

And twisted vines mocked my despair

                                                           

Dropping to my knees                                 

I wished for strength to fight the night

And clear the wood, to reach the light

The prayer I spoke

Was little more than just a breath

But there it was,

An answer on my quest

It stood alone, the orchid,

Fragile beauty wrapped in might

And seemed to glow from inner light

I gasped and smiled

As through the darkened mist it shone

Its unique purpose before unknown

The bloom was there, placed perfectly,

And because of this bloom

I remembered me

Its beauty, both intricate and fair,

Reminded me of what I usually fail to see

That we are magnificently created things

I continued on that day

To purpose which had seemed so far away

But the path was not as gray

The orchid lit my way

 Copyright 2006 Jennifer Wagner

Bullying is a newsworthy subject these days.  We’ve all seen it; some of us have even participated in it.  My son recently began to be the recipient of some ugly bullying behavior at school.  Undeniably, it is one of the most heart-breaking things to watch your kid go through.  To have that once-tiny, bundle-of-cute you would die for come home sobbing after you have sent him out into the world of his peers is well, hell.  Or something like it.  Differences aren’t often tolerated, and the messages that life can serve (you’re too fat, not smart, not athletic, not good at anything, or just plain not good enough) warp us until we believe them.  But they are not correct.  We are valuable.  We have purpose.  I had written this poem a few years ago when I was wrestling with my own thoughts on this issue, and it came to mind as I have been traversing some rough waters with my son.  Have you ever taken a good long look at an orchid?  It’s a masterpiece of artistry isn’t it?  But it doesn’t look like a daisy and it doesn’t smell like a rose and it doesn’t grow like a sunflower.  It is different.  It is its own unique work of art.  And so is he.  And so are you.

<a href="http://www.public-domain-image.com/flora-plants-public-domain-images-pictures/flowers-public-domain-images-pictures/orchid-flower-pictures/white-and-red-orchid.jpg.html" title="White and red orchid">White and red orchid</a> on <a href="http://www.public-domain-image.com" title="Public Domain Images">Public Domain Images</a>

Wistfully Whimsical

Childhood

My hand in the river

of ice cold water

charges me even as the sun

weaves its warm and dreamy spell.

Cool pebbles bounce in the stream

and I am taken with them,

down, down, down,

and back up again.

Two smiles play on my lips—

contentment and mischief;

and I am sure that, today,

I don’t need more than this.

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner