Based on a true story.
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Sue

i circled, on my bike
you standing rigid in a hat, and open jacket
expectant, miffed
thinking i was crazy not to know
who you were

but the time we'd been apart
was a mystery i had no name for

i still can't be sure
if someone was sick or
you were visiting relatives, states away

you'd gone, like a a movie i saw
once on a Sunday afternoon
and couldn't find again

for weeks or months
i called at your door, your mother
sticking her head out, saying
you weren't back

looking at me with a look that said
you might not come back

at seven, i couldn't handle it
and when you were there, suddenly
dressed in clothes i'd never seen

i wanted my best friend back so shaking hard
it would have killed me, if i'd been wrong

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4/18/2012
by MK

Poem a day? Four catches me up.

I'm in a Haiku mood, today.
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melon in white bowl
gathering juice pools beneath
wet treats, Spring evening.


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lone crow rides the fence
issuing sharp challenges
to the empty field.


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a swaying mem'ry--
industrious bee works on
freshly hung laundry

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blue or brown eyelash
silly choice, silly reasons
marketed time-suck.


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4/17/2012
by MK

I'm six poems behind, as of today. But now just a few: this is what happens when I wake up to a windy, 70 degree day and have coffee in the backyard.


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Framed by ropes of wires
Against the flattened blue
Eerily slow, clouds crawl
Ignoring the surface of sky
And its features-- birds, ancient branchings
The points of pine or the skittering sun

Heedless, like the
Mind of God

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What Really Happened to Them


The last of the bees, huddled
Hidden in a fallen oak
Half a mile past some stream
Gathered their wings
Singing furious rhyme.

Hanging together
In a crowded new shape
They flew forth to become
The next jaguar.

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Anarchy


The peonies left and took the ants with them
Tigerlilies were on the fence, but
The roses are in revolt, so
I weed more carefully
Hoping to build goodwill--

And sow an army of sunflowers
Just in case.

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4/16/2012
by MK

Inspired by pictures from http://craftygreenpoet.blogspot.com/2012/04/dalkeith-country-park-and-oak-woodland.html:

 treeconstructionism

wayward as old fingernails
but fringed in newest green
the oaks of Dalkeith
lovely in decay
give up their hollow hearts
as homes for the woodland

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Inspired by pictures at Writer Unboxed on FB:


Studio


Your picture of a cordovan chair
And the elegant desk lamp in a deep corner office
Sets a mood. It's writerly, grown-up
A place for serious work.

My space, a white table looking out towards a field
Wouldn't show through the frame--
All you'd see
Would be rabbits, chickadees, and grass.

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Inspired by a picture I painted, that was stolen:

Neckline



The art of instruction
Shouldn't include
The sort of nepotism
Or unstable morality
That let our our lab fees
Pay her cousins to pose, fully clothed
For our figure painting sessions

The lines of thigh or breast
Corrupted, contained by spandex, by sweat pants
By a white cotton tee
I focused on while his back
Faced me, grey tag sticking out
Against his hairless neck.
You admired the point of view
While avoiding my brushstrokes and questions.
But I learned
Not to lend canvas
To you


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4/15/2012
by MK

Student


I didn't call back
or speak nicely
when we happened on each other
at the cafe where you sang
the other night
only because of the number of things to say

a high number, larger than
a long friendship, or a heavy, full past
where I was unequal
to your mentoring phrases


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Screened

black tail curled
puma thick and intense
the tip taps and pauses

a stutter in the throat

caught in a loop
of stilted predation
caught watching, watching
with no chance to explode


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Strength Moves

The crack was loud
Her face scrunched
"First, the wine was corked, and now--
I hate to see a wineglass broken."

"It wasn't a favorite."

The evidence swept, our mood
jumped from the couch
to the table under the maple, from
cheese, figs, and a zin
to guacamole and beer
from the independent film
to the bitch at that bar.

It's all in the wrist.

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4/14/2012
by MK

Rising Late

Resting


If I were folded
behind my stone, cool and alone
wrapped against decay
in sweet linens, mouth stuffed with herbs
and a ferryman's penny holding the shutters closed
unable to see the wreck of the world
I think I'd ignore
a call to rise.


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early gift

rice cakes, tea, mangoes
a morning of surprises
left on the green tray



by MK

April Skies: Going all poet on ya.

Since I stumbled, just now, onto an FB share by fellow writer, musician, and wonderful collaborator Songsville, that tells me of NaPoWriMo, I have to try. for one, my songs seem to have stolen my formerly quick-flowing poetry, and for another, I've been sick inside for a week and can use a nudge to get my routines back.

 So: Poems everyday till the end of the month. No promises as to the quality!

I'll stop overdoing it when I catch up.  Ta, Mari.
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untitled 1

Motionless

In uncut grass

The small, fertile mind of the rabbit

Creates faith

In a warm, safe spot

Another taste of new green or yellow

Without the feel

Of cat’s teeth on his neck

Or the frightening slam of a car door.

The next leap takes him there.

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On Chopin’s “The Awakening”

Ellipses scattered under her sentences

Fixing spots on an emptiness

Of the imagination

A failure to see where a woman alone

Might swim to

Where a woman alone in the world

Might write, without apology


  by MK