Lovers' Boats (Naked, Unashamed)

Fairyland – Sunita Khedekar

beez buzz

zap

            zapp

fizzle

fuzzle

guzzle

            nuzzle

the pleasant

swish

rattle

rustle

of cotton candy pink

feather and wing

and clothes

fling

-ing

and skin dip-

ping

into the splash, giggling

a sarcoline

memory quilting

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

At dVerse Poetics Grace has invited us to write to the delightfully vibrant artwork of Sunita Khedekar.  She also encouraged us to use color words with the help of The Phrontistery.  The piece I chose to write to reminded me of a cabin we’ve stayed at a few times with a private outdoor hot tub in a beautiful natural setting…trees, creek…just picturesque.  We always chuckle at a sign they have posted there that reads, “We don’t skinny dip, we chunky dunk.”  Anyway, however you are…make a splash. ;)

Treescape

What Lies Beneath – Vandy Massey

Let all the dry and brittle

fall away,

you’ll green again.

I’ll climb you in summer,

hidden,

speaking poetry

to my own ears,

remembering the taste

of my own name,

letting all the dry and brittle

fall away,

to green again.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For Sunday’s Featured Artist:  Vandy Massey at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

Jael

Now, Mama Deborah was a prophet;

she knew what would happen.

She’d said a woman

was going to get the job done.

Sisera had been

dreaming of spoils—silver,

and purple garment plunder,

a woman on each shoulder—

his mother, so proud.

Until his mighty 900

were swept away

in the torrent of Kishon,

and he alone, on foot, found Jael.

And let’s just say

the stars were not aligned

in his favor.

You’d like some water?

I can do better,

here’s some milk.

Get cozy,

here’s a blanket,

that’s right,

take a load off.

There now,

rest your head—

they may not have made swords

fitted for feminine hands,

but trust me, a woman

knows how to get creative

when she must—

you may feel

a little sting;

this peg, this hammer

are no

small things.

And it happened, just

like Mama said.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Notes:  Deborah was a prophetess and judge (and poet…smiles) in ancient Israel.  Sisera was a notorious commander of the army of the Canaanites who had oppressed the Israelites for many years.  Jael was the woman who defeated him by driving a tent peg through his temple with a hammer, pinning his head to the ground. 

To read both prose and poetic accounts of the story of these heroines go here:  Judges 4, 5.

For last week’s Poets United Midweek Motif:  Honoring Woman/Women’s Achievements.

Witness

i write to know myself,

see myself,

bare myself—myself, bare—

to scratch my existence,

my witness made manifest,

on the conflicting world’s wall,

jen was here—

1971-20??

that is all.

and maybe my scratch

offers a differing/similar

view?

changes

a thing or two?

time will tell.

and that

is

all.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse—Meeting the Bar:  Poetic Movements and Manifestos.  Gay Reiser Cannon has us writing manifesto poems.  Come take a look and join in! 

Lion Around

The Sleeping Gypsy, 1897, by Henri Rousseau,

image via The Mag

If you’re going to have

a pet lion

you’d better carry a stick.

He may get bored of your

pink hair, sitar strumming

and cheap wine.

After all

that fun gypsy-ing

one does, eventually,

have to eat.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Ok, I’m just having a bit of poetic fun with this wonderful painting by Rousseau provided by the excellent poet and hostess Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales.  Check out the work of other writers there--I’m sure they came up with something less cringeworthy and cliché than I did in writing to this image.  :-)  I think it’s my mood. 

And I used to have pink hair on one side.  I kinda miss it.

clouded leopard

image:  wikimedia commons

at the zoo

for me

there is only

the clouded leopard

pacing

its fishbowl cage.

her sad eyes,

her muscles, taut—

excruciating

to be on display.

now, this isn’t popular

or proper.

come on, baby.

let us see you,

exploit you,

measure you.

we’ll feed you, promise.

you don’t want to be gregarious?

on facebook?

you must have your head

and spots examined.

there’s a reason

she climbs,

the best at it of her kind—

she’s designed to be

reclusive.

by day

she wants to rest

among the trees

and hunt at night,

elusive.

hidden

she keeps her pelt and cubs

and her sanity.

break the glass

and let her out, let her out—

she’s me.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Linking with other poets at Poets United:  The Poetry Pantry this weekend.

whispers

if only

they all were nuzzles

on the neck,

sweet nothings

at the lobe and ridge—

that none

were the black tar kind/unkind

to speaker

and hearer both—

like virus

from the vector’s mouth

if only

the cure could spread

as fast as the disease.

up to you and me?

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

for dVerse OLN

Dreams and Poems and Relativity

Poet's Sleep, 1989, by Chang Houg Ahn, image via The Mag 208

Asleep

in time’s elbow,

drifting toward

Escher’s labyrinth

the joint bends

toward

the dark,

toward

the light,

I follow

hoping

neither burn me,

knowing

they already have.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For Magpie Tales

*reference to M.C. Escher, Impossible Constructions

Catching Foxes

Hedge the rows

where the birdnote grows,

lark a tune

‘neath the fiddlehead moon,

                             

tip the wine glass,

burn the firegrass,

bellow and croak

at the midnight stroke,

thatch the stormroof,

squall and rainproofed—

and all the other

rhymes and metaphors

it takes to build and protect

something worth something.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

*title taken from Song of Solomon 2:15

sharing with dVerse at OLN

Cute

i don’t want to be cute!

i hate being adorable!

when you want to

have muscles

and body hair

and drive a car

this is,

to a boy of six

with three older brothers—

a curse.

the curse of cuteness.

ok,

what do you

want to be?

with no hesitation,

all gumption and flash,

the reply: 

scary!

i laugh, and quickly try to stifle it—

because he really means it

and

because

i do

get what he’s saying—

he wants to be taken seriously

around here,

a mustachioed man/ninja/t-rex

to be reckoned with,

even if i do still help him

to put on his belt

and slick down the cowlick

on the back of his head.

i nod,

as somber and intent

as if i am making

a most grave and

solemn vow.

but

just between you and me—

he’s still so cute

it’s scary.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

shared at poets united poetry pantry

it may not be wildstyle graffiti but…

photo © 2014 jennifer wagner

maybe it’s both

criminal

and an art

the way you scribbled

and scratched

past my walls

with your heart

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For Poets United Midweek Motif:  Heart.

Photo:  My hubby tried his hand at some love proclamation graffiti—inside our house -ha.  We’re painting the interior walls this week.

*Wildstyle graffiti is a complicated and intricate form of graffiti.

P.S. J hearts I too.  Happy Valentine’s Day!

Haiku Chocolate

lunchtime, snow falls

as we leave the restaurant,

i put my arm through yours

and catch a flake on my tongue

the rich scent of smoking salmon

is carried on the cold, salt air,

as if it were on the ashes

of long-ago village fires

dotting the shore behind us

just a few blocks up from the landing,

and a stroll through the courtyard

past northwest carvings of

lighthouses, natives—

to the red cup café and the perfect cup—

and on to mukilteo chocolate co. for dessert

you pull the door open, and i say

“what do you think i should i get?”

you smile—suggestive,

“you can get whatever you want”

over the counter the owner

overhears, teases— “that’s dangerous

to tell a woman in a chocolate shop”

a seated man hears, too “…or smart”

he’s right, we all laugh—together,

strangers in a shared moment

“well, i have to get the haiku”

dark chocolate, ginger,

hint of wasabi, candied ginger on top—

“i just made triple wasabi,

it’s in the back, i can get you some…”

“no thanks, i’ll go easy and try this first”

we select some amazing flavors,

sip coffee, look out at the view of the sound,

savoring them, and each other

and all the little things that become

the best kind of poetry

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Claudia at dVerse has us writing sketchbook poetry.  As she puts it, “poetry that captures a scene — poetry that is immediate and in the moment.”  With my husband’s schedule and the kids off at school we get to take dates midweek, midday sometimes.  It snowed briefly as we left one of our favorite places on Tuesday and it seemed the perfect moment to capture on paper.  And yes, Haiku Chocolate Truffle is delicious!

Sexploitica

I cue moonlight,

light tealights,

trail petals

to my heart,

but you,

pornblind and hooked,

don’t even know

where to start.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Pornography addiction, especially via the internet, is a relationship killer.  If you or someone you know is struggling, there is help.  Lots of resources out there, Celebrate Recovery and Pure Desire among them.

XII: The Beaufort Wind Force Scale

oh, you know it’s real.  my neighbor’s window. 

photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Twelve basic hues

in the color wheel.

Twelve steps

in recovery.

Twelve inches

in a foot.

Twelve people

on the moon.

Twelve baskets

of fragments.

Twelve days

of Christmas.

Twelve tribes.

Twelve disciples.

Twelve months.

A dozen.

And it’s also

the maximum

wind speed

of a hurricane,

again!

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Seahawks and the power of the 12th man win Super Bowl XLVIII!  Check it out:  12th Night: Number Featured in Win.

Estuary

Conifers and

salmon,

seagrass and

shellfish—

where fresh

meets salt,

where the tide

meets the river

in a cocktail

of creation;

a symphony,

if you will,

of the Conductor’s hand

who sets the tempo

and shapes the Sound

I live in.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For Poetry Jam:  Where You’re At.  Peggy has asked us to write about where we live.  I live in Puget Sound, a beautiful estuary region in Washington State.

Fourteen

Like a classic car,

or old school stuff

that never goes out of style,

like when people say, in admiration,

“they just don’t make ‘em like that anymore”

you

make me grin

and say to myself,

yes, they do.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

An instant classic.   

I know, I know, spoken like a Mom.  But what can I say?  I adore the kid.  He celebrated his 14th birthday this weekend.  

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Osprey

Osprey

Image found in the Public Domain

Osprey is hungry—

had the niner,

tattooed and tough,

but that meal wasn’t enough.

So, says he,

it’s off to New York,

feels like I could eat a horse.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Ok, so I am having a bit of fun.  The Seahawks beat the 49ers for the NFC Championship and are going to Superbowl XLVIII to face the Broncos!  The seahawk is another name for the bird of prey the osprey.

Old Otalgia

Compassion’s earache

sits on the tattered couch

worn thin by visitors

who came to get

and seldom returned to give.

Compassion’s earache

sips Pepto-Bismol

straight from the bottle,

waiting for someone

to take her out

for a real drink,

or at least make

her some chamomile,

pop in a DVD,

and rub her feet

once in a while.

Compassion’s earache

has thick-skinned,

broad shoulders

even when we are

too blind to see them droop,

too thin-skinned to care,

and too deaf to hear her

when she calls for us to listen too.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

I’m back from a little blog-sabbatical and it’s OpenLinkNight at dVerse!