A Gleeful Dim - By: Madelyn Miller

 

A Gleeful Dim:

Bear pawed with peppered hair.

I have only known him that way.
I'm proud to be his last edition.

The youngest of five, maybe I was his missing link.

My god the gratitude I owe him.

Saving me for last.

I would be misshapen without them.

Awkward with unfinished edges.

My older sisters carved grooves in me like drift wood.

Delicately dug, changing the direction I seek to shore.

Sometimes I wonder.

What kind of man could be so courageous?

In his early 20's singing lullabies.

Twirling pigtails, touching nose to nose.

Not many men know the art of Eskimo kisses.

I am in awe of the intersections of your life.

How they toughened your skin.

Their intricate routes lead to counterpoints.

Places people and times of your recognition.

I search for our resemblance.

The pouches under our eyes match.

And though my hands are not paws their shape reflect yours.

Aesthetically I am an image of you.

After abrading the exterior

I find that I am only a fraction of your rays.

A gleeful dim. Proud to at least resemble you.

If you know one thing dad, please know this.

You are reminiscent of light.

Resourceful and luminescent.

You have never left me to flicker.

Like a blaze at times, I never fear walking towards you.

Remember this dad.

I am one of your many wicks.

Your kindle wood.

Your matchstick.

I will not shy from the opportunity to spread your light.

My chin points to the sky.

Your love for me is blinding at times.

Squinting to form shapes and figures.

Bear paws and peppered hair.

Your missing link and your youngest daughter: humbled.

Gravitational Lust: By Madelyn Miller

Gravitational lust:

The ocean lusts at the moon.

It’s lunar grooves decide waves.

Whirling, swerving, crashes waves.

When that luminescent sphere stares down.

That moment of a stand still.

How sexual I thought.

Directions changed from infatuation.

Swift shifts of energy.

A surrender to beauty,

Exposing more of whats below; the shore swells.

The tide is out.

Leaving vulnerable exquisite conchs.

Glittering under moonlight. An offering for her.

Flickering dazzles of lights,

Amusement for the lunar above.

My god how divine the moon is,

Enough to tame something as tremendous as the ocean.

I know its power stopping night-shifters in their tracks,

Stunned and respecting.

I’ve felt the power she holds.

My eyes have feasted on her light.

She has been known to draw tears from philosophers,

And humble the wretched.

Appearing upon the black silky blanket above,

Forcing us to bow, to swoon.

To stop and change direction.

Reminding us of the oceans within us all.

Salty and cantankerous.

They sway to the rhythms of her beams.

Soured Disconcern - Madelyn Miller

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Soured disconcern:

I wasn’t prepared. This wasnt the plan.

You see, I saw things at a distance.

Parts and configuartions.

I planned accordingly.

But this? No. That deep dive will take time.

And I guess you expect me to accept this?

That a pool awaits my arrival and the jump may be steep.

I practiced breathing in the shower,

Turing my head in and out of the stream.

It’s a start I suppose, but no this wasn’t the plan.

They say I should be aware.

And that this really could just be the tip of it all.

I filled a bucket with luke warm water.

Submeging my head. Practiced hearing my voice muddled.

A way for me to comrehend the void.

That concept really widdled at me.

A went from standing tall to crawling to the tub.

I was petrified as I saw it reach the top.

Trembling I went in arms length to pull the plug.

That night I dreamed that I was just below that plug.

Someone was above me attempting flood the drain.

I wasn’t prepared for the surge that would hit me.

Like a waterlog. My lungs jolted and compressed.

And you know what? That scared me.

This idea that plans are useless.

I stuff the cracks of my door with towels now.

And I don’t expect things to stay in arrangments.

I know now that descent from plans to reality.

All those times starring in the distance.

Parts and configurations. Jumbled in hindsight.

It’s really a shame that I am so jaded now.

I think thats how it happened; this apathetic side of me.

I Suppose you’ll tell me not to sloutch.

Keep my chin pointed upward.

That was my plan. But this?

No. I wasn’t prepared.

Stabling Chaotic Mounds- By: Madelyn Miller

 

Stabling chaotic mounds:

Steady peddle press with a splatter smock.

Red clay and cupped palms.

Freshly poured bucket, you dip your hands and throw.

Grandfather keep me on kilter, I am ontop your wheel.

That room just off the side of your house.

A dwelling space. I know you still reside.

Cool blocks of under-earth stacked un affected  by knuckles.

Musty, loud nostalgia, shadows of your creations.

I think you planned the grit of my father.

Maybe once while you were throwing clay.

The roughness of your fingertips.

Did you plan him as you would a bowl?

How trusting of you;

Shutting your eyes while stabling chaotic mounds.

Clay is not easily forced, but you sooth its harsh frame.

No mind to the splashes on your shoes.

Your brow is furrowed. You never lash out in frustation.

So precise, you sit still. Cloudy water drips from your elbows.

Did you plan the mellow grooves of me?

Because at times I worry I will need your hands to remind me.

That devistating silence just after you break pottery.

Making my limbs feel like putty.

Reminding me my father is made from your clay.

Steady press with splatter smock.

Grandfather keep me on kilter, I am ontop your wheel.

A life that could not have been By Madelyn Miller

 

The Life that could not have been:

I saw a woman once.

She had a peacock feather painted on her collar bone.

It protruded toward me in vibrant colors.

I wondered what paint-can held its hues of mulberry.

My nephew played horse shoe, with a mysterious man.

He looked like someone I knew.

I was attracted to his mystery.

My gaze was of wonder, not of lust but he was erking my intuition.

I thought to myself, what is his favorite color?

Does he pray to the prophet Mohammad?

I sensed that he was adventurous, and would venture to a place unknown.

Like Jupiter with its bellowing rings.

I looked out toward the lake.

A cool rush came over me.

Stumbling towards it, I realized I had one too many.

And though it was breezy, I pictured myself in a swanky setting.

Images of Southern California in 1975.

Shag carpet and a train wreck of a house party.

The mysterious man laughing with me. 

My calico cat warmed my feet.

There was a ridiculously lavish dinosaur painting on the wall.

How extravagant I thought.

I was pampered in that moment.

Like the women with the peacock collar bone.

And her life that could not have been mine.

Splatters of you By Madelyn Miller

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The Splatters of You:

I love you as if you were folded.

Oragami in form, intreging at each crease.

But you are not delicate like a paper crane.

I cannot hang you from twine above my bed.

And if you were origami I would make your paper by hand.

A pulpy mache flattened to dry in the sun.

Taking time to scrape every last morsel from under my nails.

Firm presses. Integrations of you to calico sheets.

I saw a man once sitting curbside.

Knees to chin and curved spine.

He srpung up just before downpour.

Scattering chalk on dry cement. Sorbet displays with tangerine peaks.

A frenzy of colors, like it poured from him.

As the clouds parted he settled back. Un sheltered from the rain.

Knees to chin and curved spine. A chrmoatic osmosis.

Kalidescope swirls collect in cracks, bringing new life to his scatters.

He placed blank pages ontop puddles.

Dying them unexplained.

I love you in that way.

If you were origami I would dwell on the patterns of you.

Freckle your corners, creating the splatters of you.

The knotted scars that punctuate your skin.

The swift tendancy of your jaw.

I would spare no instance.

And if I were to unfold you, and fold you again,

I could admire you differntly.

If you grew taddered and freyed like old origami,

I would crouth near you, knees to chin and curved spine.

Loving you as if you were folded.

Anticipating the unnoticed; the underestimated lines of you

A Poem Beginning With a Line by Pablo Neruda and Ending With a Line by John Koethe By Jimmy Chen

A Poem Beginning With a Line by Pablo Neruda and Ending With a Line by John Koethe
By Jimmy Chen

I don't love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, or sand.
You gave me nothing in return for companionship
Like a gift that was never appreciated.

I don't love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, or marble.
That emotion does not exist in comparison
As if history can be rewritten or if a race could be reset.

What I feel for you reflects beyond time
And all the intricate years between.

A Poem Beginning with a Line by Pablo Neruda and Ending with a Line by John Koethe By Melissa Campana

A Poem Beginning with a Line by Pablo Neruda and Ending with a Line by John Koethe

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz

But as if you were a Ferris wheel in Paris.

At night when the lights flash and the

Surrounding buildings glow yellow,

There’s no better view than that from

The very top of that tumbling snowflake.

I enjoy watching snow fall

Through a frosted window in our living room.

Bundled up in that blanket your mother knit for us

For Christmas back in two thousand eight.

Chamomile heating  our throats and our hands,

Of course, wrapped around those turquoise mugs.

I’m so relieved that we got out of having

Dinner with your boss last Wednesday.

You work all day anyway, why waste more time with him

When we could cook dinner in the backyard,

Like we did when we first moved in

And all the intricate years between.

Screaming whispers by Amber Rose

I don't love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz
I love you as if you were a cave upon a mountain
Through the years our tears have dried, crusted
We drown out each others voice when we desire
We listen to the oceans core when we want
All in all we come back to another like polar magnets
Forced together no matter what obstacle lie in our way
You've been the very best friend, a sister by choice
No distance placed between us matters
We will always find our way back
No fight, no boy no misunderstanding can tear us apart
Just as the sun will rise each morning
Our friendship will grow like the blackberries along the river
Out of control, wild and carefree
Memories tucked in a keepsake
Laughs that echo forever
A bond, unbreakable
Sisters through the good times and bad
And all the intricate years between

Lost by Amber Rose

I wish I knew by amber rose

Amber went to college

Caitlyn stayed at home

Caitlyn kidded life

Without a care about a future

She didn’t even test a challenge

Making excuses for everything

With so much going for her

She didn’t notice

Caitlyn didn’t grow up

A child herself never baring any

Just excuse after excuse until the glass ran dry

Searching for something more

Too lazy to check the fridge

Amber went to school

Working her ass off

No deaths, sickness, or finances could weigh her down

Caitlyn sat and watched

As Amber climbed to the top

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Poem of the Day: Sadie and Maud

BY GWENDOLYN BROOKS

Maud went to college.  

Sadie stayed at home.  

Sadie scraped life

With a fine-tooth comb.

She didn’t leave a tangle in.  

Her comb found every strand.

Sadie was one of the livingest chits  

In all the land.

Sadie bore two babies  

Under her maiden name.  

Maud and Ma and Papa  

Nearly died of shame.

When Sadie said her last so-long  

Her girls struck out from home.  

(Sadie had left as heritage

Her fine-tooth comb.)

Maud, who went to college,  

Is a thin brown mouse.

She is living all alone

In this old house.

Borrowed Lines Poem by Kimberly Coverly

A Poem Beginning With a Line by Pablo Neruda and Ending With a Line by John Koethe – by Kimberly Coverly

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,

No, my liking for you started way back,

When your shimmer caught my eye,

Sitting in the center of a sterling necklace.

Not particularly calling much attention to yourself,

But I saw your beauty even back then,

When my mom gave me a golden ring.

The family gushed over the glittering diamonds,

Though my attention was stuck on you,

Sitting lopsided in your four silver prawns,

Hiding your beauty to accentuate theirs.

They were always the star of the show,

Yet you never minded because you knew I saw.

I still see that shine that you hide so well,

On days that everything else seems dull,

Even the triad of diamonds on my finger.

But you, you, will never lose your brightness,

For it is what makes you special to my eye.

I don’t care if they laugh at my choices,

One look at you and every pain subsides.

You hold all of my dearest memories,

Of days in jewelry stores and trips to the mall,

All the way to lecture halls where everything loses excitement,

And all the intricate years between,

Astounding Heavens by Kimberly Coverly

Astounding Heavens by Kimberly Coverly

No one gropes among a company of parrots,

Not one cobra in a quiver hisses a complaint,

Only we, with bimodal transportation, want

To part the seas and fly above.

There is no end to our objections; we want

Simple Earth and astounding Heavens.

But, the Peacock with its brilliant feathers,

Eats its berries all day, and is satisfied.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Wanting Sumptuous Heavens by Robert Bly

No one grumbles among the oyster clans,

And lobsters play their bone guitars all summer.

Only we, with our opposable thumbs, want

Heaven to be, and God to come, again.

There is no end to our grumbling; we want

Comfortable earth and sumptuous Heaven.

But the heron standing on one leg in the bog

Drinks his dark rum all day, and is content.

Yet Do I Wonder

Yet Do I Wonder by Kimberly Coverly

I doubt not God has good intentions,

And that he suffered for us I understand,

That brilliant man made glorious inventions,

Yet they all eventually turn into sand?

Make apparent your reasons for temptation,

Good people making questionable relations.

Declare why war and violence surrounds,

Outnumbering us by leaps and bounds.

What horrible things have happened to him,

That he wipes a nation out on a whim,

Yet do I wonder about this man,

To make a woman like me trust in his plan.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Yet Do I Marvel by Countee Cullen

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind,

And did He stoop to quibble could tell why

The little buried mole continues blind,   

Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,

Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus

Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare   

If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus

To struggle up a never-ending stair.   

Inscrutable His ways are, and immune   

To catechism by a mind too strewn   

With petty cares to slightly understand   

What awful brain compels His awful hand.   

Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:   

To make a poet black, and bid him sing!