Sunday, June 22, 2014

tilt the semi-axis (in cinquain)


Glasshouse at Chihuly Garden and Glass – Seattle, WA
Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner




ice cold
lemonade—the
kind to make you pucker
the scent of fresh-mown grass, ahhh it’s
summer


© 2014 Jennifer Wagner


Just for fun for Poets U (Midweek Motif:  The Longest/Shortest Day, Solstice and Poetry Pantry).  Happy Summer!

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Scrapbooks and Fireworks



Summer’s kisses past
are in my dresser—

caresses pressed
between pages
like petals.

A thousand moonlights
are in my closet,

and wished upon stars

s          p          r          i           n         k          l           e

s          p          a          r          k          l           e          s

in a box on the shelf.

But summer nights,
and moonlights,
and stars—
like night lilies,
like fireworks,

are best
in their living,
bursting
moment

like you,

here & now, owning
me

with more than just a memory.



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Thursday, June 5, 2014

a word is just a word is just a world


photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner


who knows
what may come

what may grow
from an open palm,
a seed pearl
missing,

slipped from its shell
into dark fleshy loam

sweetness?  light?
drought?  blight?

who knows
what may come

from paper to lips

both dust
and sugar bowls
                           tip

to the tip,
to the tip,

from word
to poem
the ink
is drunk
or sipped

and a new world jewel
sprouts

honeyed
and/or blue

but
it’s up to the reader
what
it
will
do



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner


This is for dVersePoetics - Seeding, where Shanyn invited us to imagine our words as seeds. 

She makes the point that “Words have power, but like seeds, we don’t often get to see what goes on beneath the surface and can only observe what is growing after it comes out of the soil.”  I am too late for the link, but here is my offering.


Thursday, May 29, 2014

Last Monday of May

image by deegolden


The weird Y at W Bostian Rd reminds me of the little house we rented when we were young and living on love.  When I drive it I think of our oldest son slicing his thumb with a razor blade in that garage trying to cut into a tennis ball to see the “guts.”  That afternoon I was pushing his little brother in one of those kiddie cars in front of the house when he came out to me, blood dripping from his hand, a brave and amused smile on his face.  I took him inside to survey the damage.  I admit I had to sit because the room was spinning.  And it hasn’t stopped.  I suppose it never will.  We’ve added two more sons and each have gotten cut badly enough to have stitches, but I’ll never get used to seeing them bleed. So on this day of memory and honoring I say a prayer for the mothers who have had to endure so much more.


memorial day
a mother’s heart
unstitched



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner


For dVerse:  Meeting the Bar-the haibun, a combination of prose and haiku.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

findingMefindingYou



yellow sun

adventure

sails bright                                                                          d
and                                                                             e

 r                                                         n
i                                   o                                             
b          b


in the wind

seafarers seeking
the greatest, lightest burden of them all,

the spice, cocoa,
paint and dye,
the import/export—
of color, comfort,
connection,
and risk—

soaring like a fuchsia bird
in an infinite, indigo sky

beckoning,
beckoning

us to come along,
unanchored

to gather up our
castaway hearts
and leave our
shipwrecked shores
behind



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

depression, acute



how do i tell her
it may get darker,
the night longer—

what i know
from my hollow
and vacant days?

the night may stretch you
thinner
than you ever thought
you could be stretched

by damp sheets
twisted at your wrists, elbows,
knees, ankles—

and you welcome it.
because getting up

and facing the day
feels like
a vortex of mud
and shrapnel

covered in bits of
your flesh
and blood—

pieces of you
missing
in action.

and now
you are stuck
to inaction.

you don’t know
how
or where you will find
the switchblade
to cut yourself
loose
from its mocking
grin

to begin your life
again.

i don’t mean
it’s hopeless;
i never mean that.

i just know
encouragement
to face the day

cooks longer
on the grill
than

some pre-packaged smile
someone will try to hand
you—

like a flippant curse
to your inability
to rise above
and simply “be happy” now.

as if they have some idea
that depression and happiness
are not even at war
anymore.

you’re caught
in the fallout,
the aftermath.

like a personal chernobyl,
the long-term effects
are still being accounted for.

but i tell her
you can
because
i did—

and move the blade
a little closer.



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Bye-bye Bad Blood



I buried
the bubonic bitterness
in the backyard;
built a bonfire
to burn
the bits
of the behemoth boa
the buzzards
wouldn’t bite.
It’s better off
beheaded
instead of boiling
on my back.



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner


For Imaginary Garden with Read Toads, Words Count with Mama Zen:  a confession in 65 words or less.

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Amanda Marie


We line pebbles
on the path,
one
for each day,
and hope for more.

Our eyes rove
the swish of leaves
in the verdant lushness
of treetops,

the bright snaps
of daisies,

the flitting burst
of butterflies
that land soft on our arms
and legs
and flip-flopped toes,

the swell
of the ocean,
dolphin-dipped
with joy.

We watch
the sky burn pink
when night falls
and the stars begin to dance;

and contemplate
how all this reminds us
of how love’s branches budded
to bring us your smile.

Maybe tonight
Gavin and Cassidy and Sawyer
will dream
of their mother’s eyes,

Derik, her voice at his ear,

and Susan
of her little girl
so brave, so strong.

Something like
God’s lovenotes
dropped
even when
we’re not looking.

And what we thought
were scattered pebbles
lost in this life’s storm

are picked up
and churned with God’s tears
and our own,

placed in His bottle
these new-polished pebbles
are jewels
close to His heart,
treasured and unforgotten,

until we see
your smile bright again
and are
together

Home.



“You keep track of all my sorrows.  You have collected all my tears in your bottle.  You have recorded each one in your book.”  Psalm 56:8 NLT



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner



Behind the poem:  a few days ago my sister asked me if I could write a poem for her sister-in-law’s daughter, Amanda, who had been a given a prognosis of two weeks to live, as a special gift to her family.  She survived leukemia as a young child and had more recently been diagnosed with cancer again.  Yesterday she passed away.  She was 31 and has three children who are 8, 6, and 4 years old.  This poem is for her, for them, the man she shared her life with, her faith-filled mom, and all her family and friends who love her and wait for the day they will be together again.  With love and prayers for comfort and peace. ~ Jen

Saturday, May 10, 2014

no matter how you spell it...

photo © 2014 jennifer wagner


if i could
i would

break off
a piece
of the sun

to give
to you


© 2014 Jennifer Wagner


Happy Mother’s Day to all the mother’s hearts out there!



© 2014 chalk sketch by me and my 6 year old.  He loves his familywe’ll keep working on the spellingsmiles

Friday, May 9, 2014

Are You Not Entertained?



We like
to do nothing.

For a moment
he found himself
looking up from the tracks

at scores of faces watching them.

“Some people were
snapping photos
or taking video with their cell phones,”
he said.

“It was amazing
seeing all these people

doing nothing,” he said.

“It was
an eye-opener.”

And we answer:

we like
to do nothing

but
snap photos
for Facebook and Instagram,
stand and observe—comment

on the misfortunes
of others
and how
the world
is so wrong.

But never
get our hands dirty

while she tumbles
head first
from the platform

we’re all
preaching from.



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner



Italicized words are from the news article by Murray Weiss in DNAinfo New York:  Humble Hero Saves Teen Who Fell Onto Subway Tracks.

Title is a quote from the film Gladiator.