Sea Elf Blooms the Desert

Chihuly’s Fiori di Como 

 cartoonified photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Sea elf

took his

raspberry lantern

and journeyed to the desert lands

to look for

new places to play,

new tunes to be hummed,

and friends to be made.

He crafted

his hut

next to

a whispering tree

and blew

his glass bugle

in a mad-fantastic

symphony

…of starlight

and twilight

and the moon (to make them swoon)…

and if you don’t believe me

you should see

the cobalt blue

of never-give-up

sky anemones.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Above is a cartoonified photo I took of Dale Chihuly’s Fiori di Como at the Bellagio in Las Vegas.  Chihuly’s work is amazing and even more inspiring to me is his story of losing an eye in an accident and a few years later injuring his shoulder but continuing on with his glass blowing dream.  Click the highlighted links to see/read more if you’re interested.  Amazing, inspiring, beautiful stuff.

For Claudia’s Poetics-taking a ride on the color wheel at dVerse, which I am too late for so I'll be linking to OpenLinkNight, which I’m a bit late to as well, but hey the doors are still open!

Snow like Eiderdown

When death comes

you find yourself trying to catch up to it,

to face facts,

like pulling on a winter coat

when the cold has already

bitten you clean through

and all that’s left is

dark acceptance.

You’ve had the denial,

the anger,

the bargaining,

the depression.

Now, you’re hunkering down

with no more Why God on your tongue.

You’ve realized what a colossal waste of time

that has proven to be,

as some questions

simply remain unanswered—

Heaven

silent

to your suffering.

But you pray, anyway.

Breathe in – sharp pain.

Breathe out – cry.

Breathe in – dull pain.

Breathe out –

a season of counted breaths

you decided to take in spite of the ache.

One broken foot in front of the other,

wincing as you wait.

For what?  You don’t know, but—

…snow…

…begins

to…

…fall

gently…

           

somehow bringing

a small peace, a light comfort

in the way of things.

You watch children

catch flakes on their tongues,

listen to giggles

and excited chatter

as they toss snowballs,

and soon realize

Heaven

isn’t silent anymore.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For the Poetry Jam prompt:  What Brings You Comfort?  Snow is comforting to me…watching it fall…the way it settles, covers everything, and of course watching kids play in it. 

I’ve been in Las Vegas for my son’s baseball tournament so it’s great to be back and see what I’ve missed.  Looking forward to making rounds and catching up with what you all have written!

Moonflower & Moth

Luna Moth, Wikimedia Commons

In a wildflower garden

there lived a cocooned creature

who hatched, grew tall,

and produced feet, 6 in all.

And wings,

oh such wings.

But who can fly

when you've only been taught to crawl?

The butterflies were beautiful,

floating from marigolds to phlox,

but she was no butterfly—

she’d heard them talk.

So she waited,

said creature,

for the last quarter moon,

and then whispered to it, “what must I do?”

The moon answered

with glitter and white

when on the moonflower

it shone its light—

she knew then she was made

just right;

some things are meant

to temper the night.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

At dVerse Poetics we are writing poems for kids.  I went with message and the natural world.  Moonflowers pop open at night and are pollinated by moths. 

long hot summer night

hush now,

wild thing

have you ever been to electric lady land?

gypsy eyes, bold as love

machine gun fire burning desire—

hear my train a-comin’, lover man

let me move you

  

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Jimi Hendrix @ The Rock, photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

I recently visited a restaurant that had this likeness of Jimi Hendrix painted on the wall near our table (and titles to many of his songs on the seating).  Jimi is a Seattle icon, though I won’t say role model, ha…however, he was a brilliantly talented guitarist.  I crafted this poem (and title) from titles of songs he wrote, recorded or performed.

Songs:

Bold As Love

Burning Desire

Fire

Gypsy Eyes

Have You Ever Been (To Electric Ladyland)

Hear My Train A-Comin’

Hush Now

Let Me Move You

Long Hot Summer Night

Lover Man

Machine Gun

Wild Thing

Amaranthine

photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Just outside this circle of light

the mood of sky is darkening

as sprinkles of rain are turning to floods.

I feel I won’t drown this time,

awash in ash, as deep autumn burns out,

thrusting the baton to barrenness.

Stained on the caverns of my heart

are four amaranthine trees.

Their branches and leaves are arms and handprints,

shoring up each chamber.

Their colors are lanterns,

bright and glowing.

This heart has been made rich and fertile;

this ship has beacons, reasons,

to remain buoyed and sustained.

By them I am helped to weave my way,

even when the dark bleeds thick

upon my mind, poisonous and looting.

I have found in their eyes

warm respite from the seeping cold of lifeless hollows

and cradle the hope that is anchored

in the breath and vitality

that each of their smiles light

to bring me home.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For my four sons and all they have had to understand in my struggle with depression.  Ever yours ~ Mom.

A Street for Kings

I wrote a poem

about two people

I often see

strolling together

holding hands—

is that you now on streets unending?

Every morning made

fit for a king

whispering poetry

to the ear of the one you love?

 

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

   

Today at dVerse we are remembering poet Dave King.  I wrote my poem based on a comment he left me.

“Could easily have been Doreen and me, if we had been in Seattle. It's a beautiful picture you paint and you delineate it well. Thanks for helping to make my morning.” – Dave King on my poem 75.

The Color of Blood

photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

the red pony

the hunt

for red october

the red pyramid

redwall

red rabbit

where the red fern grows

the red badge

of courage

the signature of jesus

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse Form for All:  The Hidden Poetry in Books.  I went a totally different way with this than I thought I would.  It’s more of a list type of poem, but it’s where my muse lead.

Books are from our family library:  The Red Pony by John Steinbeck, The Hunt for Red October and Red Rabbit by Tom Clancy, The Red Pyramid by Rick Riordan, Redwall by Brian Jacques, Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls, The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane and The Signature of Jesus by Brennan Manning.

(In memory of Tom Clancy, Apr.12, 1947 - Oct. 1, 2013.  R.I.P.)

Mother's Portrait

Photo by Margaret Bednar

In the room of no music

and unlit fires

she hangs between us.

Her fingers continue to pound

the keys in my head

of all her expectations on me,

her hopes in you.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

I’m a bit late, but this is for Margaret’s Artistic Interpretations at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where she has invited us to concentrate on setting and mood as we write to images she took of place miniatures at the Art Institute of Chicago.

September Wish

photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

i know we’ll all

have our winters to face,

and for some, dark skies

may be just down the road—

but today, my hope is for light,

for rest on the journey,

and a place to sip sweet cider

with hints of cinnamon and clove

and autumn’s smile

to come and sit with us,

like a covering of colorful snow,

staying as long as it likes                    

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

dVerse OLN

Wrestling with Goodbye

At all the wrong turns

and times, and for the wrong reasons,

we vowed love

through false teeth.

You were looking for a mother

I could never be, an anesthetic

for your terminal sicknesses.

And I was hiding who I was meant to be,

afraid of myself.

I am sorry for the mask

and how long it wore me.

Still, I am not sure if you are as fatally sorry

for this headstone you’ve saddled me with.

No matter—

a dew dropped, more dark than red, rose

waits on the doorstep.

Take it,

I can live with your ghost no longer.

Plus, I’m learning what it’s like to be me    

without you

and how,

finally,

to like her.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For the prompts at Poetry Jam:  Battles and Poets United:  Just Past Center

*A poem of mine was selected for the dVerse 2^nd Anniversary Contest at Boston Poetry Magazine.  I’m thrilled to have had my piece be chosen.  Click here to check it out and read the poems of others who placed in the contest.  Thank you to all the judges and congrats to all the winners!  Great writing, all.

Chrysalis

photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

i knew it

butterflies do

come

in all shapes and sizes

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

dVerse OLN 

All Your Places

a blurry photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

say the names

and see them

like your eyes have hands

to touch them

say the names—aloud

of the places

where all your blood and bliss were sown

say the names

to your children, speak them,

so they can say them

back to you when you’ve grown old

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Kim Nelson invited us to write a poem about The Places You Love inspired by Sherry Blue Sky’s poem Saying the Names with Love which was inspired by Al Purdy’s poem Say the Names.  I wrote three, but the other two I am still messing with so I am going to link this one to Verse First (very late) and to The Poetry Pantry.  I was really moved by Sherry’s and Al’s poems and when I had read them I immediately thought of a recent trip I took to the Grand Coulee Dam.  I learned that during construction of the dam the reservoir flooded many tribal lands and cultural sites of the local American Indian tribes as well as causing salmon and other fish to be unable to migrate.  I know the dam is very valuable because of the hydroelectric power it generates and irrigation it provides, but these words of Alex Sherwood in this photo from the exhibit brought tears to my eyes.  I kept going back to read them again.  What if my most favored places, the most meaningful to me in my history, were gone or severely altered?  Or, as I have been doing some reading on memory loss, what if it was me who was altered and could not remember “my” places?  I also love the personification Alex gives the river in his words.  His words are poetic to me.  These are long process notes for what is a short poem, so thanks for bearing with me if you stayed to read this long!  Maybe I’ll feel satisfied enough to post the other poems I’ve written inspired by this prompt at a later date.

The Finest Thing

High Angle Rescue Drill, Firefighter Ian Wagner

Photos © 2012 Ian and Jennifer Wagner Family

On the deck

sipping the last of summer

from my glass of iced coffee,

I’m drenched in a moment

of luscious sunshine,

one of the few left before

autumn’s return.

I’m watching our youngest boys

with delight—

plastic swords and shields in their hands,

attacking The Alien, also known as

the small green sprinkler

with four arms

and a mind of its own.

A miniscule, slate blue butterfly

flits by

and then a larger one, white and clumsy—

meanders by too.

Does it know where it’s going? 

I like thinking it doesn’t,

it just floats along, discovering.

But I know as I watch

two crows

wave west over my roof,

looking so purposeful,

that there are jobs to do, of course—

and each one of us has our own.

A neighboring apple tree

is nearly full of green-gold apples,

three Asian pear trees are laden too—

our Polynesian neighbor

will fill sacks full of the succulent fruit soon,

drop them off on our porch,

with his brown-sugar fingers

and white smile, wrinkled.

My contentment spreads,

a drunken, giddy peace

in the listening to leaves rustling—

still clinging, green, to trees.

They will fall soon enough,

as time keeps its own pace.

I’ll savor this good day

with the gray day of remembering looming,

ashy, grating,

real—

for the grief of

New York’s Bravest, Best and Finest

and all who fell too soon.

But real, too, is the spirit

of what is the best of us.

And that has lived on.

I know it

in the browned fingers of giving,

in the bright laugh of the innocent,

and in your mouth on my neck—

like a breeze,

like sunshine.

I am reminded,

here, in this moment,

not eclipsed

by any large, evil scheme,

that come what may,

some will continue to Give,

Sacrifice,

Love.

And that is still The Finest Thing

on any given day.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse OpenLinkNight

Margarita

In the scablands

I was his sour rose

made from the brittle peel

of a dark and shriveled lime.

I wore heartache on Tuesdays

and stilettos on workdays—

cradling my rusted pride

with strength just enough to throw halite

on the trail of slush

left by his insensate heart.

He simply laughed, depravedly,

Corona spraying from his nose,

until the sting

and watery-eyed regret

saw my frozen eyes, obsidian, indifferent—

to his suffering of half-drunk burns.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For Laurie Kolp’s prompt at Poetry Jam.

*Halite-aka rock salt, used to melt ice.

*Mexican beer and lime can cause burn marks similar to that of a jellyfish sting.