Enter Through the Window

Open Books:  A Poem Emporium

Seattle, WA

Photo © 2017 Jennifer Wagner

(About Poems)

Enter through the window,

not the door,

if you’re a poem.

Doors are so conspicuous.

You must be creative—

make me wonder

how you got here—

layered in metaphor,

side-smiled with simile

—surprise me,

even when just spoken plainly

from your heart.

As no doubt, even cerebral,

you are

all

heart.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

Also, I’m delighted to have three poems in Lakdi Ka Pul – II, The Poetry Bridge, An International Anthology by Twin City Poetry Club. 

Flowering

“Consider the lilies, how they grow . . .” Luke 12:27.

They don’t need

to find themselves.

They just are.

They receive sun.

They receive rain.

They grow.

And when the smiling sun

turns, split-scorching what’s tender, what’s new,

and the thunderous dark and cursed rain

somehow gives blessing,

I will remember them and bend

and grow,

too.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

One Way to Look at It

(A poem for June)

Half way through

I haven’t done half

of what I said I would.

Half of things left undone . . .

but of the other half?  I won.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

I wrote this in June and since it’s the end of July I figured maybe I would post it –which is how my year seems to be going!

beautiful name(s)

your name

a whisper on his lips

called like consuming fire

to taste and see

he is good

the sweetness of his name

on your lips

like water

like honey

like something new

you didn’t know

all this time

has found you

when you didn’t know

what you were looking for

© 2017 jennifer wagner

written for some people i love

Carry the Moon to Me

The rain like silver

sky fish scales falling

here at midnight, like I am,

into you, waiting.

The moon, fragrant, white,

blossoming, solitary.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

A twist on the sedoka (two katautas with 5-5-7 instead of 5-7-7 syllable counts) for OpenLinkNight.

Ship Town

En Route

I slept, mostly.  The trip taking longer than usual.  Cat scratching holes in the blanket under her crate. Tranquilizers to little effect.  Grandma swigging Pepto Bismol and turning up George Jones.  Seattle Traffic.  My teenage self waking sleepily to this new life.

Arriving

Hotel hot and stuffy.  Summer late, as usual.  Voices all night outside.  Shadows visible only by the No Vacancy sign.  Mom too worried and stressed to sleep.  Smoking Virginia Slim after Virginia Slim. 

Of the ghosts we left behind, which would meet us here?

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner