Irony

My dad was the coolest.
He took me for rides around town
on his motorcycle, my mom’s helmet sliding
over my eyes.

Twelve years later,
once again with a helmet,
I watch the speedometer needle rise
then shift my eyes to the road ahead,
hold on tight.

My dad warned me against
dating a man with a motorcycle.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

This is me, right after printing three copies of my final thesis.


That's right. After months of working on this project, it is completed! The collection, titled Mason Jar, contains 41 poems that I wrote myself. It has been turned into my committee, and my defense is scheduled for Friday, April 8, 2011.

P.S. I am working on labeling different posts. So far, only "thesis" labels have been assigned, so if you want to read some of my work click the link on the right hand side.

You Will Revive Me Again

"You who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again; from the depths of the earth you will bring me up again." -Psalm 71:20

My steps crunch dead leaves in early spring.
The sun starts to warm the earth,
but winter's remnants linger.

The first green shoots break through dirt,
and daffodils raise their trumpets to the sun.

First Date

I used to climb trees
swinging my body up to the next limb.
My hands scratched against bark
as they gripped rough, sap-covered branches.

The sensation of the tree dancing in the wind
as I held on tightly
was nothing compared to the way I feel now.

My stomach knots,
aching in hunger
yet not desiring food.

I peek around the curtain,
check the driveway
again.
Empty.

I dance around the room
silent cell phone in hand
attempting to match my beating heart
with frenzied footwork
until I hear

a car door slam.
footsteps on the porch.
slightly-off-key doorbell.
my thumping heart.

Malaspina

The cold railing shocked my skin, piercing past
the knees of my jeans and rain jacket sleeves,
and a layer of fog lined both sides of the bay
as the ferry glided out from Juneau.

My stomach was a pair of shoelaces
knotted one too many times.

Waves crashed against the sides,
sprayed my knuckles.
The grey world blended with my soul,
and one step closer to home still felt far away.

Adventures of a 22-Year Old Lightning Bug

I have lived my life as a lightning bug in a Mason jar,
contented by glass confinements.

I remember being ten years old.
My sister and I stood very still
in the backyard, eyes scanning the dark air
to catch any glimpse of a glow.
We chased lightning bugs with cupped hands
to place beauty in waiting Mason jars.
We kept them until we caught four or five
then opened the jars, releasing the bugs
to watch their freedom flight.


*photo credit unknown, but I LOVE the picture!

come like a cat

It's winter. I have officially worn each of my various fleece jackets and sweatshirts, as well as my three heavier jackets/coats. My scarves and hats have begun to see some use as well. I have arrived on campus and sat in my classroom enduring the stinging feeling in my thighs and on my nose as they defrost from the chilly walk from the park. The sky has that tint of grey to it, and the leaves have almost completely fallen off the trees in our yard.

Every winter, I try to give myself a pep talk into enjoying this season. I enjoy every other one, and surely this one can be managed as well. "You get to wear fun scarves," I remind myself. "And your new red coat. And hot drinks are even more enjoyable. There's Christmas lights and blankets and a month off from school." And, I do enjoy each of those things. But I can enjoy a lot of those from the warmth of my house. I don't like being out in the freezing wind, which is difficult because I struggle with cabin fever. I can't spend too many days in a row inside before I get grouchy and bored. Even if I have a lot on my to do list, I start to go stir crazy and pessimistic if I don't force myself to bundle up and at least take a walk or do something to get my blood flowing.

One of my goals for this winter is to more than just tolerate it. I don't expect to love it, but I want to take a step in that direction and at least begin to notice the little pieces of beauty that I find - like the way the frost on the grass in the early mornings looks like glitter, or the fact that I can snuggle under layers of blankets.

I wrote this poem a month or so ago for my workshop class. I still need to revise it and tweak it a little, but it's titled "To Winter" so I thought I'd share it. (The metaphor inspiration: my roommate's cat Wheezy)

Come like a cat on silent paws.
Come like a sneak attack.

Come only at night, at first.
Come for the fallen leaves.

Come through my window –
Come through unplastered crevice.

Come with sour, self-centered eyes.
Come bite my toes through threadbare wool.

Come rub your neck against my ankles.
Come shed a chill I can’t brush off.

"Sunday Afternoon"

Auke Bay was still,

save for the salty tide

slowly rising closer

to the rock where

a lone form was perched,

staring out towards the horizon

and tugging her jacket closer

as a presumptuous breeze

ran its fingers through her hair,

her own thoughts drifting

and tangling together

and, like this wind,

taking no direction

but wreaking disorder

and preventing her heart

from rest she so eagerly desired,

and yet –

Auke Bay was still.

But...

You promised a leading voice in my ear
if only an affirming whisper. 1

You promised to know the way I travel
even if I cannot see You. 2

You promised to shelter me, hide me
as a mother bird covers her young. 3

You promised that, if I wholly pursue You,
You would take care of all else. 4

You promised to be with me through fire and flood,
Your love sustaining me in peril. 5

You promised that, through my failings and weaknesses,
renewed strength would come. 6



1.Isaiah 30:21
2.Job 23:8-10
3.Psalm 91:1-4
4.Matthew 6:33
5.Isaiah 43:2-4
6.2 Corinthians 12:9, Isaiah 40:31

*This is one of my recent poems. I was hesitant about giving it to my thesis director because I wasn't sure if the structure of it would be "poetic" enough - and also because it's so blatantly Christian. Not that he would reject any of that, but I am never sure when it's okay. However, he loved this piece and didn't change a thing on it, except for suggesting a different title! (The original title was "I know You're not a genie, but..." and he liked leaving it just at "But...") He liked how I was able to take these "ancient texts" and make them so relevant!

Pieces of my Thesis

For graduation, I am writing an honors thesis. My major is English - Creative Writing, so I am working on a creative poetry project. I am writing a collection of somewhere around forty poems, which must be finished for my defense in early April. It has become a very present topic in my mind, and I have found that I do my best brainstorming while I am in another class. My notes are littered with various topic lists and adjectives and structural ideas. I think the most challenging part is making each poem different. My poetry is free verse, so the goal is to vary the structure of each line length, stanza break-up, general piece length, etc.

Here are a couple of pieces of my recent work. I am still a long way off, but I feel like I am making progress. And actually having fun with it. Fall is the perfect time to be writing.

Gnats swarmed like floating pixie dust -

cluttering the thick Southern air,

silently drifting away in the dusk of an October evening.

--

This porcelain doll

with hand-painted lips,

carefully-curled hair,

an elegant dress,

dainty hands,

unaging skin

sits in a glass case

and smiles with the secret

of a crack in her heel

hidden by the shiny black Mary Janes.

--

It spins downward

this tiny fairy

born of a maple

by the breeze.

I pick up another,

examine the fragile veined wing

attached to a perfectly curved body

Then let it fly,

watch it pirouette in the air,

spiraling stopped only by dirt.

--

The current opening line I am working on forming into a poem:

I have lived my life as a lightning bug in a mason jar