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.

Changes Allowed!

Writing a poem every week is exciting but it also doesn't allow much time for reflection or "tasting" the words, structure, feel, sound . . .

I am willing to accept changes to the poems after they have been put up. Email me!

I changed my own poem from Week 2 . . .

Week 2

Thank you to everyone for your kind comments and requests to join!

The first poem sent in is from Judith Hutchinson (2 Jan 2010):

Watching Reruns

Fifty yards of birds walking backwards.....
or, at least, backwards, I think.....
how can one tell from the tracks,
going and coming on the beach
like yesterday's tide.

Patricia Ihrig (3 Jan 2010) sent this:

Spontaneity

Ah. . .
when spontaneity
hits a writer
can
a poem
be far
behind?

Stephanie Hutchison (8 Jan 2010):
(I left this until quite late in the week, so be kind!)

Holiday Shopping

This gift or that?
Book? Film? Crockery? Food?
Focus!
Loves blue. Loves play.
Analytical, sometimes critical, thoughtful and quick witted.
Puzzle? Print? Model airplane?

How much does it matter?
Shake head. Roll shoulders.
Focus!
Chuckle or wonder?
A fun bit of foppery, slice of sunshine, taste of ambrosia.
Choose!

Nope.
Move on to another display.
Focus!
Something will pop out.
Look for the unusual, the new, the pleasing.
Ahhh. Yes.
This
is
it.