In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Serenity.”
The prompt is for an image of serenity.
The photo is from 2006, our small town synchronized swim trio waiting for their scores after they have performed. My daughter was nine years old.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Serenity.”
The prompt is for an image of serenity.
The photo is from 2006, our small town synchronized swim trio waiting for their scores after they have performed. My daughter was nine years old.
How funny that the traditional positions are reversed
you to be the homebody
while I go out to fight
I am still struggling with what you have chosen
say yes to everything
because so much of the time you don’t answer
I take that as a brush off, you know
silencing
you don’t want to hear it
you don’t want to discuss it
you have your interests
I am interested in everything
but particularly people
what makes them tick
and discrimination
which makes me want to wade in
with my sword
and carve people into mincemeat
perhaps I am to learn patience from you
perhaps this is a respite
perhaps this is a safe place to retreat
you have been fighting for a long time
I am glad that you have laid down your sword
and are finding rest
though sometimes I think you are missing things
withdrawn from the present world
I see that you seem happy in the past
I am trying to accept that
meanwhile, I am well enough
to pick my sword back up
and wade in.
It's hard to let go of you and stay present I don't know why The Beloved set me this task I argue and struggle a fly in Her web But I hold still when She bites me Paralyzed by love You connect me to Beloved that's what I want Like a spring Like a stream Like a geyser Like a tsunami Like an ocean I am lost in the depths It's ok really I am used to pain I am used to the air hurting like knives When I draw breath Oh Beloved The sky is crying hard with hail while I write this It's hard to let go of you and stay present Luckily I have so much to cry about That you can't tell which tears are about you
The photo yesterday is of my daughter on the beach, but she is in the air. She is not touching the ground at all. And today the picture is my son airborne at the beach. I wrote this poem in 2005. When I found each of those photographs, I thought of this poem.
Why, you say, does this poem leave the articles out? I went to high school in Alexandria, Virginia. Yes, I was a Titan and graduated from there. In Alexandria when we were really angry or really passionate, the articles got dropped. I try not to talk like this in the northwest, because people get scared. I am also influenced by Walt Kelly’s Pogo and all of the messing around with language and spelling. Stephen Fry on language (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J7E-aoXLZGY) is a lovely comfort!
Previously published on everything2 August 25, 2009.
Powergirl takes off
Powergirl have wings
to fly
She related to
Superfly
She scared when
baby almost die
She scared and yes’n’she
do cry
Husband say she much
too strong
He say she most allays
wrong
He sing and dance de
same old song
He rather she put on
a thong
He played too much with
that old bong
Now man he working
ooh he big
He have no time for
little kid
Not that he ever
really did
She research kidses
summer camps
She study schedules late
with lamps
Pay de money, lick de
stamps
Husband say she got too
much power
He say it nearly every
hour
He grumpy sullen and really
sour
Powergirl got wings
to fly
She look with longing
at the sky
She look at husband
wonder why
She finally realize he
a pain
She take a saw to
ball and chain
Husband he whine and
complain
She wonder why he
goddamn insane
She learn divorce lawyer
nice name
Husband lie on ground and
moan
He whine and bitch all on
de phone
Powergirl leave him there
alone
He drink and fuck and get
real stoned
Powergirl have wings
to fly
She rising rising
in the sky
Kids light as she is
hollow bones
They scared to leave
familiar home
Ride on her shoulders
in the sky
She hopes that they will
learn to fly
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