Sunday, July 13, 2014

17 Trillion Is Just a Number



Burst the lock,
release the chain,

we ask for different
but get the same—

save (sell) our souls
in forward exchange.

Our customary currency:
owe the Reserve, owe the Chinese,

bail out you, bail out me,
come one, come all, handouts are “free”!
 
We’ll see who’ll hold the master key
come the year 20-16

and be the next
to blame the wreck

on the last jalopy
presidency.



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner


For Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.  Michael (Grapeling) has provided a list of 10 words for us in which to craft a poem.  I used 5 of the 10 he offered.

and the Poetry Pantry

US Debt Clock:  17 Trillion and Counting

Sunday, July 6, 2014

To a Poet, For a Poem



I listen to the darkness,
the beautiful kind
when the lights are off,
and I close my eyes
and see the last light
burned into my mind.

I sit, in my poetry nook,
in the corner of the room,
in a chair, arms leaning, at rest,
my feet propped.

I listen, listen,
ceiling fan low,
box fan high, pointed toward me
to carry the sound
of the silver crackle
of the millionth star
no less wonderful
than the first.

And it might be yours, the only light
in this dark room tonight.



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner


For all you beautiful, amazing poets out there.  Thank you.


Wednesday, July 2, 2014

ordinary summer nights


photo © 2014 jennifer wagner


we’ve been
thirsting for this all year—

summer,
when we cut the edges off
with soft flecks
of twilight
that stream
the warm air,
bespeckled with

sprinkler water

            d

     r

o

     p

p

     i

n

     g

to the carefree kiss
of bare toes
that splash and dash

with smiles—
for s’mores,
for watermelon,
for staying up late

but mostly
for each other,

to share
the extra-
ordinary
sparkle with




© 2014 Jennifer Wagner



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.