Poetry Workshop: 01 October 2011 Pass-around poems playing with
sense (including time) and voice.
He Tastes
chocolate, marshmallow, bacon and raw carrot
the stones on the riverbed
of salt and old sorrow
bitter healing dust of Himalayan minerals
Christmas in the mocha spiciness she brought home
after she was out for the morning
the soup and spits it out!
bland, empty and distant
left over morning flat on his tongue
and he recalls the taste of his lover’s mouth
She Touches
She touches the dark silky night
and the damp moon of October.
She touches herself, so dry,
in contrast to the Juicy moon.
She touches everything and it changes.
She touches the laugh lines of all she meets.
… my heart
The sharp edges of my broken heart,
and weeps.
She touches my shaking hand,
and I feel the love permeate through the touch.
She touches the indescribably soft
skin of her 5 year old daughter’s neck.
She marvels.
We See
We see the owl in flight at night.
We see too little, yet too much.
We see inequities such as population in Africa
with no food or water.
We see our beliefs thrust as truth upon our world.
We see the surface of things and what is
behind our eyelids.
We see with clear eyes what we want and ought and do.
The tears inside her soul.
We see four jackrabbits, one antelope
and five prairie chickens by the fence… we see.
They Smell
They smell boldly of woman-sweat
undeoderized… so rare these days.
They smell the rain on the dirt road, and
releasing the fragrance of the grasses.
They smell deeply in the meadow,
breathing in the breeze and feeling the heaviness.
Heavenly I.
They feel the smell of tomato plants freshly watered.
They smell cooked food—each nostril
accepting the tang of boiled fish.
The smell the aroma of the aftershave when he walked by.
They smell each other.
They smell like babies, lilacs and rotting cantelope on Summer Solstice.
They smell of death which is life which is death which is now.
Right Now
Right now the lights are brightly resting on books.
Right now my feet are hot and sweaty.
Right now I feel the presence of other bodies.
Right now my head is not attached.
Right now, I am jazzed enamored, amazed, but bone tired.
Right now sweetness mellows my presence.
Right now, I am grateful for having finished an embarrassingly large but expensive sandwich
Right now I smile at new friends and laugh complementarily at their ideas.
Right now I noticed a bug bite.
Is fleeting like catching water with your hands.
It is 2:10 pm Mountain Daylight Time.
Right Now
The lights are brightly resting on books.
My feet are hot and sweaty.
I feel the presence of other bodies.
My head is not attached.
I am jazzed enamored, amazed, but bone tired.
Sweetness mellows my presence.
I am grateful for having finished an embarrassingly large but expensive sandwich
I smile at new friends and laugh complementarily at their ideas.
I noticed a bug bite.
Is fleeting like catching water with your hands.
It is 2:10 pm Mountain Daylight Time.
Right Now
the lights are brightly resting on books
feet are hot and sweaty
feel the presence of other bodies
your head is not attached
jazzed enamored, amazed, but bone tired
sweetness mellows your presence
gratitude for having finished an embarrassingly large but expensive sandwich
smile at new friends and laugh complementarily at their ideas
notice a bug bite
Right now is fleeting like catching water with your hands.
It is 2:10 pm Mountain Daylight Time.
Future Poem
Oh crystal ball, what is next?
Will they eat only dandelions in space?
Or will the night sky reflect the falling stars?
He’ll dive deep, then surface
and take in the cool, night air,
and stand naked under a waterfall, in the
foothills, of the Himalayas.
How will the door open? How will I
step—lightly? with Grace? with Joy?
I Shall dance ecstatically from star to star
with my beloved.
Many will live—all will die. When? Daily.
Wondering about the weather.
Past Poem
Chewed three radishes,
and crunched inside my head.
Found out we weren’t very mathematically inclined.
I walked around the cafeteria to check out all
the delicious, warm entrees.
After the crash he shouted
for help. It echoed.
She remembered how she overcooked the onions
and they were black, but sweet.
Man with brimmed, floppy hat wobbled into
my lane, leisurely,
He asked me to make him write bad poetry.
I asked if she needed help, and she said,
“ No. There is nothing to be done.”
The Wind Hears
I hear the soft breathing of the earth,
moving in her sleep as I caress her.
I hear people waiting for my roar.
The shingles fly off the roof.
Silence, as people cover up their ears under scarves and hats.
I hear moans that sound like mine
from the disheartened and
shrieks from a hawk.
I can be destructive when I churn up the velocity
of myself and become a tornado or a hurricane.
I hear people shouting at me to please go away.
I hear the night, which tastes like smooth, hard liquor.
I hear heartbeats and I dance for Joy.
Water Feels
I feel frost forming sloooowwly.
I’m a monsoon in the shower.
I long to be clear, clean, fresh.
I wonder how it is to fly as
I polish my pebbles.
I am a pond filled with fish, frogs, twigs,
mud and pollywogs.
I want to be still;
yet, all that surrounds me
pushes and pushes incessantly.
I yearn for something, but I can’t quite
articulate what it is—just yet.
Ah, bliss here and now seeping listening being
liquid Joy.
I go everywhere and I touch everyone.
I am all around. Same water.
Same water in a drop, in a pond,
at the bottom of the ocean. Inside you.
In a tear as it travels down your loose looking face.
Poets: Devira Chartrand, Megan Haseloh, Ginny Hout-Gibson, Eva Johanos, Jeanne Kipke, Kathy Kotnour, Sarah Kowalchuk, Virginia Schultz, Kathryn Singey, Emily Wiechec