Category Archives: Poems

“Pomes 5¢”

The Dream

“Pomes 5¢” is the booth title I dreamed up for my version of Lucy’s version of a lemonade stand. In visualization, my stand is full-sized and the poet is swamped by purchasers.

Poet doll selling poems

Poet’s “lemonade stand”

The Dreamy Reality

Yesterday, I experienced a modified version of this idea at my hometown’s end-of-summer festival. Lucy was portrayed by a doll my niece gave me. The lemonade stand was made from an inverted patio footstool and some small cardboard boxes. “Pomes” (so-called because my everyday poetry is not very refined) became “Poems” (so as not to confuse customers). “Pomes” also relates to apples, an everyday wholesome nourishment.

The real was better than the imagined. Along with a half-dozen other Arkansas authors, and at the invitation of owners Myra and Pat Moran, I shared booth space at Trolley Line Bookstore in downtown Rogers. At other times during the day, I filled in at the Lions Club chili contest booth and handed out flyers for an upcoming car show.

I wore a pocketed apron under my Lions t-shirt so I could carry poems with me and offer them freely to people who looked like they might be interested. My approach evolved as the day went on: “Hi! Have you had your poem of the day yet? No? Well it’s here in this spread somewhere.” I would then fan out a brightly-colored assortment of slips of paper, just as a Las Vegas dealer would fan a deck of cards. “Pick one. The one you pick is the one that’s meant for you … or for somebody who means a lot to you. It’s like a fortune cookie and, when you read it, you’ll know why it came to you this way.”

One man was reluctant to participate. “No. No. I’d rather not.” So we talked awhile about his t-shirt. “Fly Fishing in America” it announced above a related graphic. “Fly Fishing in America” is the name of a band that had just participated in a music contest. We talked on, about family, and eventually the man allowed that his wife might want to try the fortune cookie thing because she likes to read. So we went to her and, as it turned out, her poem was about books.

“Sure you don’t want to try?” I asked. He took one, read it, and was shaken. “How did you know I like trees?” he wondered. “I didn’t,” I answered, “something else did.” The man even knew Joyce Kilmer’s poem by heart. Here is the poem he picked:

TREES THAT PLEASE

Orange-gold
beneath bold blue—
October oaks,
we’ve pined for you.

Golden oaks and blue sky

October Oaks by Krosseel of MorgueFile

It kept happening again and again, that syncing. In one instance, the recipients were a couple. He drew first and got a disappointed look on his face. Same with her. Then they read the poems aloud—and each said, “You got mine!”

All this interacting happened during my wandering around. When I arrived at at the bookstore for the authors’ time-slot, I reviewed the small “lemonade” stand I’d set up earlier and its sign mentioning five cents. By then I knew enough to tell people, “Oh, the first poem is free. Just pick one. The one you pick is the one that’s meant for you…”

The story of the Lucy doll is a very special one, to be saved for a future time. I hope all your days are at least as delightful as mine was yesterday. ♥ ~Jo

* * *

Poems — Jul 2013

These poems are drafts, not final versions, and are not meant to be shared outside this website. Thank you.

Selected Poems

130731

EDITING BREAKS

Walks are pleasant interludes
that help a writer unwind;
they fill the senses, ease the eyes,
work the body, rest the mind—
unless, of course, a muse intrudes
(an even pleasanter surprise).

 

130728b

WAYLESS FARER

When young, I sought
the holy thrills:
sacred waters, sacred hills;
incense, candles, chants, and beads;
meditations, sermons, creeds.

The wayless way, though, has no map.
Spiritual trappings can be a trap,
yet, still I seek the holy thrills;
not nine to five,
not paying bills.

 

130723

MARY CHOSE

Mary was a lily.
She didn’t spin or sew.

Mary chose
the path of heart,
the choicest path she knew.

Mary chose
the highest art;
Mary chose the better part.

 

130721b

DOING OKAY?

Love your loved ones
before they’re gone.

Often, to look out for
means to look in on.

 

130721d

DEAR ONE,

Oooooooh—
Yoooooou!

 

130720a

DAY AND NIGHT DREAMS

Why should magic by day—
     coincidences,
          serendipities,
               delusions—
     differ from magic by night?

Are they not both
     sleights-of-mind—
          illusions?

 

130720b

HEARTENED

Love
     is the treasure,
     the storehouse,
     the key.
All “open secrets”
     it opens to me.

 

130719

DISCIPLE

Discipline—I surely need it.
But discipline at what?

 

130715

A NIGHT SO RARE

Coral east, magenta west, and golden hues on high—
seen between these billows, an indigo-washed sky.
These twilight luminosities gradually adjourn
as half-moon and her entourage take the stage in turn.

Starry-silver overhead and firefly-gold below
grace the evening darkness as spring-like breezes blow.
Frogs and crickets serenade with query and reply:
“What’s so rare as a day in June, if not this night in July?”

 

130713

OFFER AND NON-ACCEPTANCE

Thank you
for the opportunity.
Apparently, I don’t want it.

I’m working on
fear of poverty just now,
and I won’t blunt it.

 

130712a

THE ULTIMATE DEATH

I must sing my death song,
for nothing may remain
but surrender.

Everything false, everything
unreal, everything off the mark,
must extinguish—no exceptions.

But the world that is judging me—
that is dying too.

 

130712b

DEAR SELF,

I see that you’re in trouble
(mostly because you think
you’re a special case).

I have remedies
(but even I hope
you can pull this off).

—Your Inner Guide

 

130710b

IN CONGRUITY

After you’re saved
or enlightened,
there still is more to do,
amounting to the difference
between finding truth
and staying true.

 

130710d

MIRAGES ALL

We can ONLY love
un-condition-ally,
because, with love,
there is none.

 

130710f

FULL SPECTRUM

You are like
what you most desire
and what you most despise.
Know this and be wise.

 

130710h

OPTICAL COLLUSION

I wake and open eyes
to marvel at the sky’s
enchanted view . . .

Some playful trick of mind
has made the white-on-blue
seem suds-on-sea, I find.

Is every pain or bliss
a how-seen trick like this?

 

130710j

OVERWHELMING RESPONSE

Let me, please, attest:
the thing that you do best
because you make request
of muse or other such—
that very spark or touch
sets up creative flow.

At first, you feel so blessed!
But that’s before you know
the stream has undertow . . .
quite soon it takes you down
and you begin to drown
by being blessed so much.

I affirm that this is so—
because, with poetry, I know.

 

130708

“BE” ATTITUDE

This tree is meditating
just like me—
well, far better.

How efficient it is:
no wasted energy,

no fighting the wind,
no distress over its
limitations. (I’m guessing 

no awareness of any).

It simply takes available
energy and elements
and turns them into tree.

It communes too, answering
my request for advice
by being the way it is.

 

130704

THAT CLIPPY THING

I couldn’t remember its name, briefly,
although I knew full well
how it worked
and what I could use it for.

Even when the word surfaced,
it seemed odd: clothespin.
This one was plastic, not wooden;
m
aybe that made a difference.

But the difference at which
I really thrilled was this:
appraising a thing nameless, wordless.

I like that feeling.
I hope it sticks with me.

 

130703

BAND OF MISFITS

Each of us is at odds
with our culture in some way,
each an outsider.
But that’s how we are alike,
how we are united,
how we are one.

 

130701

FINAL FRONTIER

I want to be
completely free—
meaning,
even free from me.

 

* * *

Poems — Jun 2013

These poems are drafts, not final versions, and are not to be shared outside this website.

Selected Poems

130626

DISBURDEN

If, if, if.
Be done with ifs.

Rest within what you know—
and, should that be nothing,
be nothing.

Or—be anything you choose.
What is there to lose?

* * *

130625

SCRIBE

As I write
these poems
each day,
I wish I knew
what I were
trying to say.

* * *

130624

SIGNS AND WONDERS

Which is the world
we wish to see,
of the myriad perceptions
and interpretations available?
Which impressions
do we choose to filter in
and which to filter out?

Was I simply open, this morning,
to the intuitive prompt
that let me catch an “I’m with you”
snippet of a radio song?

And the moth my dad noticed
in the grass of my mother’s grave
on this, the first anniversary
of her death—
like the moth that appeared
on her ceiling last year, was that
a connection or a happenstance?

A visitation, I say.
Chance? Not a chance.

* * *

130623

END OF DAYS

The final trick of life
is death:
the final twist
at one’s last breath …
when the truth of the reckoning
is revealed to be the beckoning.

* * *

130623b

A ROCK IS A HARD PLACE

I slept with my concretion
last night—the rounded rock
that looks like a popsicle off its stick,
the one given me as a sacred talisman
by a sort of medicine man
or con artist.

I’m using it as a ritual device—
as something meaningful to hold
while I count my daily blessings
and magnify my gratitude.

The giver of the stone told me
that it was formed in the heart
of Mother Earth and that I should
carry it close to my own heart always.

Like many other aspects
of my life, I’m grateful for the
conundrum of how to do that.

* * *

130622

ONBOARD GUIDANCE

When we set our sights on flight
into internal realms,
nothing truly overwhelms.

There, there are no rules to obey,
debts to incur, pains to endure,
or costs to defray.

There, in that lustrous night,
the heart is sure; it knows the way.

* * *

130621

STUDYING ON IT

I keep thinking
I’ll get clear,
keep thinking I’ll know
and, knowing,
will not fear to act.

But, oh, it’s so not so.

* * *

130619

READY, AIM . . .

Planning involves research,
exploring, and dreaming,
plus setting goals and strategies,
masterminding, scheming.

Planning sets agendas
and also trouble brewing,
for there’s no more effective way
to postpone ever doing.

* * *

130614a

MERRY GO-ROUND

Success or death.
Make your choice;
you will get no other.

Life’s a test
you must win—
that, or do it over.

* * *

130614b

STICKLER, STUCK

I keep my writing true to truth—
won’t substitute “old man” for “youth”
just for some effect. But heck,
if I could sometimes just bluff well …
OH, the poems I could tell!

* * *

130614c

INTO OUR OWN

From first days … from babyhood
… others dictate what is good;
we imbibe that with our mush.
“Eat now. Burp now. Sleep now. Hush!”

Monitored to be just so
(not too fast, not too slow,
not too rich or smart or wise),
we live out those others’ lies.

Preached a thousand kinds of truth,
we go crazy playing sleuth.
Preached a thousand kinds of hell,
comes a day our souls rebel.

To our true selves we awake,
early, late (perhaps near death);
sort our inner wheat from chaff;
think own thoughts, breathe own breath.

* * *

130614d

A WHOLE DIFFERENT ANIMAL

Does a pigeon pre-know death?
Does a kitten hold its breath?
Does a mollusk play the martyr?
Being human—what is harder?!

* * *

130613e

LOVE LESSONS

Everything is meant for me.
There’s nowhere else I need to be;
these tests are ones I chose myself
and all the steps from first to twelfth.

I’m here to learn the ways of mind
and leave its trickeries behind
until I know: below, above—
all that’s real embodies love.

* * *

130611a

MYSTERY BIRD

Dark body,
white wing-tips,
wings that rowed.

Not a buzzard,
not a crow.

Till today,
never seen.
Something in between.

* * *

130611b

LUNCH FAV

PB sammich
wif nanner or appy.
Yum-yum-yum,
I so happy!

* * *

130610

JUNE SKIES

These are the days of cloud changes,
of puffy whites being devoured
by gigantic amoeba grays.
Then comes the rain.
Then back again to spacious blue
and puffy whites above the greens,
and songbirds all about.

On high, the buzzards own the sky.

* * *

130609

ROAD KILLED

Dear dead fawn,
come into me
and breathe the air;
use my eyes to view the sky.

Life goes on.
Much is here
to see and be.
Know that love is everywhere.

* * *

130606

NO NEED TO EXPLAIN

Hurrah for rationales!
How else could we
assume our human role—
how reconcile the absurdities,
complexities, and contradictions
of what we don’t control.

* * *

130605b

COLOR VALUES

We so love light
(aurora-bright or purest white)
we think its lack is trauma—
but, oh—not so!
Dark is drama.

* * *

130603a

LADY IN WAITING

How was I to choose among
mother, artist, nun, or nurse?
Which is better; which is worse?

How could I decide between
worker bee or worker queen
without, regardless, getting stung?

Was I foolish; was I wise?
I didn’t choose to specialize.

* * *

130603b

JUST SO

All I know
is how I am.

And how am I?
As I am.

* * *

130602b

SOUL SONG

At last she wakes
and finds her wings.
At last, at last,
the nightbird sings.

* * *

Poems — Jan-May 2013

These poems are drafts, not final versions, and are not to be shared outside this website.

Selected Poems

130525

EX-PROCRASTINATOR

Doing nothing?
Nothing doing!

* * *

130515

DANG IT ALL

I’m about to die
in the blink of an eye of a fly
and the question isn’t how,
but why;
why is this life
so interesting now?

* * *

130505

CONSIDERING MY OPTIONS

I kill bugs.
In my kitchen, mainly.
Spiders in the bathtub I escort outdoors.
Well, ticks I drown.
No telling, inside my body,
what havoc occurs to other lifeforms.

Are there alternative options?
Can I redesign any of this
with a mutually beneficial outcome?
Or is it possible that it’s already so?

We’re all in this life/death adventure together;
that’s my basic assumption,
even it’s only within my own mind.
But I do mind
killing bugs.

* * *

130504a

ROLE CALL

I heard the critics
squabbling today.
That’s fine;
they have their play.

The artist chooses bliss.
They don’t know what they miss

* * *

130504c

POISED

How do I move
when my soul is so still?

Why should I move
if I haven’t the will?

* * *

130410

KILDEER

Today when the hail
bombarded the lake shore,
where was the mother bird?

If not on her twig-and-gravel nest,
have those three speckled eggs
gone stone cold?

* * *

130409

ODDS AGAINST

If I start a poem, will a poem result?
I wouldn’t expect a giraffe,
or a gnome, or a carafe . . .
though, if one appeared, I’d exult.

* * *

130403

WORK DEMANDS

Do it now:
that’s all I ask.
Hurry! Hurry!
Multitask!

* * *

130314

SLUMBER

Here he is in workday clothes,
breathing softly through the nose;
hands on chest, clasped and closed;
posed as if in death’s repose.
It’s a preview, I suppose.

* * *

[Undated]

WISTFUL

I don’t know why,
she said with a sigh,
but I want to be healthy
the day that I die.

* * *

130221

EXPECTANT

I hear breathing, chirping;
I hear chiming clocks;
I hear subtle tappings;
I hear clicks and knocks.

But all I’m really listening for—
is that one knock upon my door.

* * *

130220

!  B@@[\]  B!??^/

I been bizzy—
bizzy like a B
when all the
other alphabet
ups and goes to C.

* * *

130219

NO ‘CUZ FOR ALARM

Howdy, friend.
You look glum—
sumthin’ botherin’ you?

Yeah! Nuthin’ matters.

Oh, uh-hum. You might
wanna think that thru.

* * *

130218

SLEEP WALTZING

It only gets better,
this life-death trance.
I am eternal.
This is my dance.

* * *

130213

HAPPY TRUTH

This truth
by wise ones is averred:
you can’t unsay
a done-said word
and you can’t roller skate
in a buffalo herd,
but you can be happy …
if you’ve a “don’t-mind” to.

* * *

130212

ENSURE THIS

Never give up,
even if you never make it.

Never pass the cup
without a chance to taste it.

* * *

130211

THE UNDEAD

Dawn arises,
not from ashes,
but from its own
pooled blood.

* * *

130210

PLEASANCE

Like a happy
hippopotamus
am I—
scant of thought
and slow of pace,
but wallowing
in grace.

* * *

130203

A FRESH VISUAL

Our finches are prolific;
we must take measures.

This morning, Ethan checks
the nest and confirms—
“Time to pluck some eggs.”

* * *

130202

HARD TIMES

16-bean soup,
give or take a bean

* * *

130201

LAMENT

Alas, I’ve failed
at loving you—
but not for want
of wanting to.

* * *

130128

ENOUGH IS PLENTY

It could be fame,
or wealth, or breath, or death—
it doesn’t help to plead;
life doesn’t give me
what I want,
it gives me what I need.

* * *

130125

FINALLY FEARLESS

If God is truly
Love and Good,
He’d never abandon me—

and if He’s not
or if He should,
why would I care to be?

* * *

130123

NOTICE

I declare myself free—
not as a battle cry,
slogan, motto, avowal,
assertion, or affirmation—
as an observation.

* * *

130121

MISFITTED

I weep. I rail. I curse.
What’s wrong?
What’s wrong?
What’s wrong?
Where do I belong?

* * *