Its All In What You See

Three years ago I wrote 'Silk Stockings' from what a friend said to me. A sultry piece I do with Flora Newberry and her trumpet. Did it last night at Dr. Lou's Open Mic, and all memory. I almost want to pass out cigars and bourbon before I perform it. Get the room smoky I say.

So, here is another 'Said So' style piece...when Pasquale called me from a Philly neighborhood...needs work, I was putting Pearl's assonance to use...I may have gotten carried away on this train...heh!

Backseat View

A brick house with Groucho Marx eyes caught the attention of a gray and dark January day   speaking with his funny cigar smile down steep allies when shots rang out blocks away  police lead a young boy away in cuffs  past the old factory lot where confederate soldiers tame picket lines   electrical inspectors always intended to move families further north where legacy of grass is a lighter shade of green houses are colorless and everyone knows crime pays   hear the buildings whisper through bleeding eyes   journey through the burning brain smells fame  worker ants do not build them like they used to headlines claim   those fancy Groucho Marx eyes and funny cigar smiles


[Artwork Photo- Cheryl Tall]

Nighthawks by Jim Knowles

I have been wanting to talk about this delightful book I purchased a few weeks ago. Not just because he is a new poet friend, but because this book is fun. Insightful. No fancy artwork, just a white book, with lots of shorts to ponder. Great to have around to spark inspiration. Clear out those moments of blank thoughts. Okay I have senior moments. Some call it writers block.

Here are a few examples of his work. Jim says it best, "radiates a supernova of the unsaid"...visit his site to purchase your copy! Ribbon of Intonations, take a look around at his great pics and information.

Parking Lots

Pass the trails gate,
a large parking lot,
this end barely used,
except for leaf races.

I feel that we always have things we think in our heads, but often, there is no one around to hear these clever thoughts. Pieces of maybe a greater puzzle. Pieces lost. Jim however has kept them like little notes to oneself, and then collected them in Nighthawks. Gems. I like Gems.

This is one of my favorites, well, because of the bitter cold going on outside right now...

Seasons

Once,
luck smiled down on me.

I forgot to watch
as it started to sneer.

Wash, rinse; repeat

I wonder if I should put it up on my dashboard somewhere...

'GOOD POETRY IS TAKEN DOWN AFTER A FEW DAYS'

Only serious pieces that could grab attention anyway...

Because I notice a few people come over now and then and leave comments. I am in serious edits and re-writes on my first book of work, so I test a few out. Also another book in the works with my poet friend Pasquale Varallo.

We spent the afternoon going through files and emails of stuff we have sent back and forth. He has much more sitting in files than I do. He is 80, and been writing for more than ten years strong. Me, I only began to go back to the works from ten years back (I read in the eighties to nineties), and some of it stinks. Some is fine left alone, but I have less than most of you writers and poets who have been at it for years.

My commitments laid else where. Sick kid for fourteen years. Phew, do I have my work cut out.

Did I mention working with a conservative (navy carouser at his best) who is eighty has its challenges? His beliefs change from moment to moment, I have to stand my ground, and listen. Hmmm...

Thanks to all of you who give encouragement. My audience also tells me what works and doesn't on paper or in reading. Funny how that works...

hugs,

Elizabeth

PS- The photo above is a prompt pic I used from T, a former and fellow, This Town Blogger Photography group I was part of the past year...I have not taken as much pictures as I usually do, but will pic it up again, since I have been noticing such oddities in the snow the past few days.

Another Mother's Arms Are Empty

This poem is going to be in my book, 365DaysXTen, a poetry book of mine about the ten year journey of healing after my daughter's death.

January 8th, 2011

I lay back in the dentist chair anticipating
ordinary pain- a news reporter said
a nine year old girl passed, she was shot
point blank. A

life cut short
by a twenty two year old
gunman. A special birth
for the world 

born on September 11th,
2001. Does a life have meaning
before or after death
when it happens just after the New Year

begins? The first world tragedy.
Maybe one day, her mother, a fellow life
giver, will stand on the opposite
side of a window

with her hand raised up
to mine. Glass separating
our fingers, our states,
reasons not the same

as we feel the pain
of loss rushing through
our blood, as we struggle
to see deaths purpose.

For Anelisa, Christina, and all the other children taken away from a mother’s arms…

I was about to get my teeth clean when the news program up on my dentist's television was showing the interview with the Green's. As they spoke my own wounds opened up, and I asked the girl to turn it off. Tears began to flow, not for myself, but for the parents. How they would have to begin the journey I had ten years ago when Anelisa passed. Once you lose a child, to a bullet, an earthquake, drowning, or heart disease like mine did, you feel all of their pain. The wounds open up and you want to reach out and hug them.

I saw myself on the opposite side of a window reaching up to place my hand on her hand, Mrs. Green, and we became two mother's strong.

I wish them peace, though the walk will not be easy. Pain will resurface and resurface, over and over again, but you find your way back. Just today I felt my Ane sitting beside me on the bed, maybe to hug me as I began to cry. I miss her, as I am sure Mrs. Green longs to hold her Christina.

Elizabeth Stelling