Week 8

For lots of reasons and from lots of perspectives, we talked about poverty often this week. And so I have contemplated the idea of "plenty" from that standpoint.

Stephanie Hutchinson (19 February 2010)

Plenty

Plenty.
Define plenty.
Define enough.
Define impoverished.
Are we considering money or emotion or contact or potential or stuff?

Do people have a point where they have sufficient?
Or are we destined to constantly want the more, the newer, the bigger, the brighter, the novel?
Is it part of the natural human condition to be less than satisfied?

Looking at half a century of life,
The best parts are sitting with family and friends
In quiet or animated conversation.

Do such moments have to be proceeded by a gourmet meal
Or is it enough to not be hungry?
Do such moments have to be in a well decorated room with overstuffed chairs
Or is it enough to be together out of wind and weather?
Do such moments require electronics
Or do laughter and tears fill the space and the soul?

Work to do, Food to eat, safe Shelter,
Books to read, Friends to see,
Children to talk to,
Health or
Money to cover the bills for all of this.
And Worship. Remember prayers are free.
Is that plenty? Is it just barely enough?

Can we have too much?

Week 7

I am proving to be a bit unreliable on timing. Maybe having this blog update on Fridays was a bad plan. Oh well.

Stephanie Hutchinson (14 February 2010):

Foundations

Foundation. Stone. Permanent.
Boring.
And yet …
Comfort, constant, reliable
Can also be
Warm and boundless.
A platform from which
We can fly, surprise, experiment.
Stable segments of living
Make possible the leaps and the colors.

Week 6

Lately, if it is Friday, there must be a storm in Elkin, NC! We woke to about 4 inches of snow. Sometime after it rose to about 9 inches, it turned to rain. So now it is very wet and slushy. At work, George could not get his truck out of the lot. The company sent him home (whewww!). While I worked three days this week, we only had students on one day! And I did not hold any Seminary classes due to the black ice.

So here is my poem for the week. George likes this one.

Stephanie Hutchinson (5 February 2010)

Silly Window

The chuckle starts way down deep in the chest.
It bubbles up and explodes out
As the mouth opens and stretches across the teeth.
Sometimes there is sound,
Sometimes delighted silence.

You can never be sure what will be the trigger.
Almost every person has different keys.
Is there a reason why idiosyncratic
Begins with the word “idiot”
As in that idiotic feeling when your joy button is pushed?

Pie in the face,
Word games,
Tickles, tastes, images,
Stories,
And songs.

“Never on a Sunday.” Okay, forget the subtext.
Indulge in the smile, the wonder, gratitude, blessing.
A gaggle of grandchildren
Burst with laughter at the lyric:
“You can kiss me on a Monday, a Tuesday … but never, never on a Sunday...”

Is it anything but fantabulous
When children are so cosseted,
So warmly wrapped in family love,
So secure in parental affection
That the idea of no Sunday kissing
Brings forth spontaneous hilarious giggles, sustained for days?

[Lyrics: http://www.lyrics-top.com/187919-114078/Never-On-Sunday/Chordettes.html]

Week 5 (Really!)

We had tons of snow on Friday and Saturday. I had to rush at work and get home before it started. This is one of the pitfalls of living in the south, we totally forget (if we ever knew) how to deal with snow.

And since the theme for the week was "cleanliness" and snow covers everything, it seemed a good plan to write on the experience. This is the first time George has read my poem before I published it. It is not his cuppa... and he thinks it is too long. I got him back by putting his 2 cents here....

George Hutchinson (1 February 2010):

Cleanliness is next to snowliness.

Stephanie Hutchinson (1 February 2010):

Waiting for Snow in a North Carolina Life

Four Days Out
Might be a storm this weekend.
Storms never arrive when the weatherman says.
Have you checked the reports today?
Projections are only mostly accurate seventy-two hours ahead.
Ignore it all and get back to calculating, reading, cleaning, shopping, playing.

Two Days Out
Looks pretty definite.
Coming Friday.
Ice? Don’t like the sound of that.
What time? What time? What time?
Turn the TV on. Click on the Internet. Bring up the radar.

Day Before
Don’t plan to be home. PLAN to go on as normal.
But pick-up some cold cuts and potatoes.
Chemicals on the roads. Bring in wood.
Guess someone is expecting something.
Not ice. Snow. Click, fast forward, click. Ten inches?

Day
Look out the window. Flip porch light on. Nothing yet.
Pull on clothes, leggings, layers. Pack lunch.
Wrap on coats, scarves, gloves, hats. Grab bags.
Hold Seminary. Feed students warm breakfast.
Check window. Nothing yet.
Who wants time out? Will cut into Spring Break.
Have a good day at school.

Hello? Small load. Out of Virginia this morning.
Blue sky all around. Want help with shopping after swimming?
No worries. Will get home safe.

Key in the lock. Prop open library door.
Hi, hi, hi. Any word? At least we are here so far.
Will they send us home early?
Thanks for the book. Just renew next time, skip being overdue.
Click. Radar shows it is moving.
Look at Oklahoma City. Whew. No ice here, please.
Is Paducah in the path?

Students, books, make a handout.
Train eyes on the parking lot. Nothing.
Send on a page, change a layout.
Twenty done, twelve pages to go.
Look out the window.
Make a call. Arrange the Spelling Bee.
Walk to the glass. Clouds.
Drape on coverings. Grab bags. Drive. Switch buildings.

Hi, hi, hi. Any word? At least we are here so far.
Will they send us home early?
Nothing yet.
Drop bags and plans, carry purse.
Traipse to the big building.

Hi, hi, hi. Any word? At least we are here so far.
Will they send us home early?
Here is my card; change to my company; buy our books; would
you like a pen?
Copy the handout, open email, check bank balance.
Click on weather radar. Closer.
Is the pink on us or below? Looks like South Carolina, maybe Statesville.
Outside again, back to basement classroom.
Look up. Heavy clouds. Sharp wind.
Please, snow, please, no ice.

Bells, students.
Fix this clipart. Find a better picture. Index the names.
Who is on staff here?
First name, last, job, place, twenty minutes, over fifty-six people.
Show the page. Read for grammar. Random box on page thirty-two.
Call the publisher.
Check the window.
Twenty minutes up. “I got fifty!” Great. Now gather and expand list.
Window. Radar. Nothing.
Project the whole staff directory on wall. Correct you paper. Quiz
on Monday.
Monday? Window. Or Tuesday.
Bring four pictures of students and snow.
Bell. Window. Blue-purple clouds resting at six stories up.

Return to the computer.
Publisher. The new picture is not taking, call back.
Okay. Done. Forty pages off.
Window.
ID cards? Window.
Call home. Nothing. Want to come home.
Come on. Bring it all home.
Pack car. Crate of files, card printer, laptop, tub of papers to
sort, bags, lunch box, water bottle.

Thirty-five minutes of highway. Radio. Scan sky, windshield.
Left turn on Northwood.
Down, down, down the dirt road, through the tree bower, into our
garden of grasses, weeds, trees.
Nothing.

Fill arms with stuff, carry along the stone walk, up …
Oh. One miniature flake.
Not ice.
Twist, look, scan.
Few, far, spaced.
But coming, dropping, flying.
In. Snug. Light fire.
Begun.

Week 5

I will have to post tomorrow. Sorry.

I had to complete 32 pages for the school yearbook today and I am fried. Check back.

-- Sava

Week 4

My daughter Allison is trying to help me make it possible to put comments on this blog. I am sorry it has not worked yet. You can send any comments to savaspoems@gmail.com and I will post them.

-- Note on 23 Jan 2010: Comments works!

From Judith Hutchinson (22 Jan 2010):

Keeping it Going

In spite of everything,
uneasy dreams, inertia, self doubt-
it's one foot in front of the other.
No choice, we're here.

Readiness is all, I think;
not ready to quit yet.

From me (22 Jan 2010):

I have been thinking about my poem for this week on and off. I worried that I would not have time to get it on paper.

Then I had to have a filling fixed and found myself at the dentist being fitted for a new cap. So I wrote this in the waiting room and, literally, in the dental chair. I held my note pad and pencil while he drilled and numbed, then took it up when he left the room for any reason.

I hope it works.

Rhythms

Why do I have to count money
On days that my rhythms are fey?

Why do I have to play soccer
On days when my pace is sluggish and my head lead?

Why do I need to edit data
On days when my tempos are bouncing?

Why am I required to talk to people
On days of rhythmetic fog, gooey tongue and visual smog?

Why must I read for INFORMATION
When my mind vibrates from the flag to the window, to stove, carpet, TV, barrette, woodpile?

Why must I shovel snow
On days when my rhythms are driving me to shift margins, dot i’s, count pixels, set fonts at eleven-point-five and column widths at fifty-seven-point-thirty-four?

Why must I sit and stare
On days when my cadence is singing and dancing and flowing and speaking?

Why do the words come
When there is no paper or pen?

Why must I make out a quiz
When my hands long for the pattern of sweeping, my ears for vacuuming, my eyes for a sponge crossing a gleaming countertop?

Why must I sit in meetings
When my heart is humming and my arms yearn for affection?

Why must I paint
When my muscles are spastic?

Would I know I had rhythms
If I did not have to fight-fool-force the pulse into contrary paths?

Some days, my skin wears an armor of forks pointed out
Or in
When the work and the rhythm collide.

Ahhh the bliss
when work and rhythm
rumba and waltz and foxtrot and swing…

Week 3

At the end of another week, we have three more poems. Judy and I have written again. There is a really neat addition to the list of poets:

Charlotte Crane is 8 years old and is my granddaughter. She says this poem does not have a title (8 January 2010):

There's something on the wall
It's just like me.
It moves and grooves
And so do we.

People say it's my shadow
And that is that.
But to me it looks nothing like my cat.


Judith Hutchinson has sent us (9 January 2010):

Categories

Mermaids are....... mammals?
(Open, sesame brain.)

Well, they don't lay eggs,
No clutch.
No cluck.
They only have mermaids,
so..... they clone?
No weddings at sea for these chicks.

Dream on, Liverpool Jarge.

And my attempt for the week, Stephanie Hutchinson (15 January 2010):

Shadows Cool and Cold

Shadow can be a welcome sight
Out of the baking sun, away from light.
Head heavy, throat parched, hands hanging,
The shade offers cool air gusting
Blowing in small whirlwinds of air
Ease for a baked head and hot hair.
Immediate release of stress;
Respite, lull, break from the hot press
Of sun and people and migraine.

But context is everything.

Avoid the shade ‘tween tall buildings
On winter days and cold evenings.
The chill reaches from cement sidewalks
Tearing down the dark unsunned blocks.
It gnaws fingers, ankles, noses,
Chaps ears, slaps cheeks with bright roses.
The harsh ice air hurts breathing in.
(Hold warm air with a scarf cloaked chin.)
Seeking the sun proves you are sane.