Credible Hulk

Rounding the corner

I see him

and can tell

he wants to talk.

I pull

the earbuds

from my ears—

Hi, buddy.  How ya doing?  Having fun out here?

—Good!  Yes.

Seeing a pumpkin in his yard, I ask,

what are you going to be for Halloween?

—I’m gonna be

the ‘Credible Hulk!

Great choice.  We really don’t

have enough of those, you know.

His smile leaps up

like a grasshopper

and then he bounds away, too.

I replace the earbuds,

keep walking,

and whisper—

Godspeed, little man,

godspeed.

© 2014 Jennifer

A snippet of a conversation I had with a little boy I met as I was on a walk.  Of course he meant The Incredible Hulk, but the way he said it is so much better.  Smiles!

Everything

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

There are things we lost

in the flood

or after it

in the seeping, standing water

up past our hips.

It’s no use;

they’re gone.

Remember when

I told you

I thought

we weren’t strong enough,

maybe we

were too damaged

to make this work?

But you

only remember me saying

I’d stay

and let you try.

And for that

you’d give up everything, again,

because everything

means nothing.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Trap Door

Brooke Shaden Photography

I have a demon for sale

but it will cost you

more than

you are probably

willing to pay.

It has already

bled me drier than a

dead president’s kiss,

and still I owe.

I go

to great lengths

to starve it,

try to keep it at bay—

this drunk dial

sober reality

I try wishing away—

close the trap door,

cut it off

at its legs,

squeeze-close

the cracks

in my armor, again,

from the fray.

Because

when you love

something broken

you break

and you break

and you break.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse Poetics Grace offers us the work of conceptual photographer Brooke Shaden.

Note:  I took some artistic license with the word "trapdoor."  I separated it for dramatic emphasis, in case anyone was hung up on the spelling, ha.  But dictionary.com says it can be "trap door" too, so maybe it's okay anyway.  Thanks for reading!

wood smoke...

wood smoke

a flannel shirt

rests on the woodpile

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For Carpe Diem: Cutting Wood

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

Light, Interrupted

In one season

life can

bury

its own color,

cover

every inch of ground

in death

brewed from

an age-old

malady,

leave the path covered

with skyjacked shadows

of nearly

three thousand

who died from the spread

of the disease—

but as shadows

are

light interrupted,

they are not then, nor now,

light forgotten.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

World Trade Center Memorial 

by Denise Gould, Department of Defense

For dVerse Poetics: Bringing Light to Darkness

magnitude of creation (1)

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

the chickadees

and nuthatches

clap their wings

against their sides

zip, dip

snip

seeds

from the feeder

look

and dip,

snip again

twist

fly       a          w         a          y

and a moment later

are

back again

all day long

inch

by inch 

we get closer, to the window

watch them

watch us

watch them

face to beak

and learn

in some small way

how each

small thing

is never

small

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

This summer I visited the Poetry Foundation in Chicago.  On display were some of Tony Fitzpatrick’s drawings The Secret Birds.  He says his grandmother used to say, “For the price of a piece of bread you can hear God sing.”

Poets United: The Poetry Pantry

On Dead Dragonfly and Giant Mushroom Trail

It’s on our lips,

we’re whispering the change of time

while the ear tips of trees

are burning orange.

Seven and I

pick and eat blackberries,

just a few, though—

as the bulk have not yet turned

from green,

to red,

to purplish-black.

Not far away

charcoal is smoldering

and the scent of

grilling hot dogs

keeps summer alive—

we pause,

as much to watch

a rabbit watching us

and then bounce away,

as to hold on

to the end

and the beginning.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

“Seven” refers to my seven-year-old.  There is a trail near our house we often walk on where he found a beautiful dead dragonfly and where a giant mushroom grows sideways out of the trunk of a fallen tree, therefore, the title.  Happy changing of seasons!

For OLN at dVerse

Cleaning House

In my thrift store psyche

the ghost of you sits

in a ring of dust

on a table not quite antique.

I keep check on it

every now and then,

making sure you haven’t reappeared

midst blue and gold gilded vases,

LP’s with faded jackets,

and hand-me-downs.

New stuff gets added

daily, weekly, monthly. . .

and some things find other homes, too—

like you.

One day I’ll dust,

after the clutter clears,

and then

even your memory

will be gone too.

Until I find another thing

that reminds me of you.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse Meeting the Bar: Patterns of Life 

(Out of) Focus

Broken, I was

in a thousand fifteen places.

Broken, then

in two hundred twenty-eight.

Broken, now am I

in ten plus seventeen.

And more—but why do I only see

the broken parts of me?

 

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

The Poetry Pantry

Never Stop/Taking Me Home

On the train from Chicago

we are all colors, flavors—

caramel, dark, light.

A young couple, clad

all in red and white, waits near us;

soccer fans

heading back from

Liverpool FC v. Olympiacos.

I had noticed them earlier

on the way in—

laughing at photos on his phone,

their tan legs, intertwined.

And across from us now

an even younger couple,

dark chocolate skin, laughing, electric—

their delight in each other

making me feel like grinning silly,

floating too.

Young love

makes a strong point:  never stop flirting

with the one you want to keep.

She grabs his hand, massages,

notices a scar.

I catch a snippet of what

he says, there’s a story behind that.

Let me tell you…

And I drift away

to the conductor nearing our seats,

hear you say, I lost our other ticket…

blew onto the tracks…

Don’t worry about it, he says—

waving your money away

with his face-consuming grin.

And we are on

to East Chicago,

where the roots of you grew—

leaning my head

on your shoulder

that for 16 years

I’ve trusted

to take me home.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

photo © 2014 Ian Wagner

recipes for hemlock

Excited to have a poem of mine in the first anthology by Boston Poetry Magazine.  Editor Mike Jewett did an excellent job putting this together.  Click image to get your copy and check out some poetry from the dVerse community as well as the talented voices of some others included in this anthology.

Firehouse

Our waitress

takes us down

to tour the cellar

added after

they bought the place.

They set it up

for private parties now

at Valentine’s Day.

President Bush (she doesn’t clarify which)

celebrated his birthday here once—she says

—and in

the close space

I contemplate

the smallness

of powerful men.

Up

we walk—

up, up

the staircase

to patrons

clinking glasses

and slicing

into crab encrusted steak.

We imagine

the horses

out back, back in the day,

as lovers

now sit

in the courtyard

sipping cabernet.

Higher,

we roam

the upper level in quiet,

look out onto the street,

the mist

of history

hanging

in the air.

Your voice

a half-whisper of awe,

it must

have been so cool

working out

of a station like this.

We descend

to the door,

to the sidewalk

and rain

greets us, pattering about

like a welcome home.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Enjoyed our trip to the Chicago area, where my husband was born, to visit family and to celebrate our anniversary and birthdays.

 

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

 Chicago Firehouse Restaurant  

(click link if you want to know more about this historic building)

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

 

Slice (Cinquain)

Malnati’s 
photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

deep dish

vine ripened plum tomatoes

fresh mozzarella and flaky, buttery crust

fork, knife…Malnati’s is a Chicago-style smile in

a slice

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Poème, 16

The Ad Says:  Spirited. Adventurous. Intuitive.

Don’t change, you say,

inspired by the song of love triumphant

and the scent I wore when you first loved me.

You say you like it,
whatever it is,

when I curse myself

for being too much of this

or not enough of that.

And I guess that does about sum it up.

Even when I don’t,

you love me

as I am.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

In a few days my husband and I will celebrate our 16^th Anniversary.  Poème is the fragrance I wore back when we first met and is also the title of a work by Amédée-Ernest Chausson which was originally subtitled The Song of Love Triumphant .

Poetry Jam:  Trash or Treasure

Rant/Dance/Bleed/Fly…at the Poets Pub

Like a sweaty mosh pit?

Well no,

that’s not it,

exactly.

Like a rave?

With neon rainbows and ecstasy?

Nope, not that either.

Something a lot more classy—

or less,

depending on what’s on their minds.

Oh I get it,

like classic

rock ‘n’ roll.

Hmm…that’s good, too—

but no, it’s more than that,

more like

a symphony

of nations, tribes and tongues—

listening

to each other,

tasting

what they have to offer,

learning

there are many ways to rant/dance/bleed/fly.

Yes, yes

that’s more like it.

But

you can still

bring your Bic lighter

and bang your head

in the glow

if you want to.

Because whatever your preference,

they’re playing your song.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Bring your crumpled paper, your scribbled on napkins, your laptops, your tablets for the dVerse Poets Pub 3^rd Anniversary Celebration!  Brian and Claudia and the whole staff open the doors and invite any poet, anywhere to share their voice and to listen in.  I’m sure I join others in saying that I owe them a debt of gratitude for all the work and love they put into keeping the Pub going.  And to all the poets who gather there, you have enriched, enlightened, inspired—thank you for sharing your words.  Meet you there!