Vanessa Shields's Blog, page 22

Poem 304 – Ghosts

Ghosts

“Ghosts, to make themselves manifest, require two conditions abhorrent to the modern mind: silence and continuity,” Edith Wharton (from her book, Ghosts)

Funnily enough, just yesterday I was discussing the necessity of silence – especially in nature. The need to close the human mouth & pause its outflow under a canopy of trees, for example, is some kind of gorgeous silence.

Then later, I was pondering the parts of continuity that include wreckage & pain, breakdown & grief – the cyclical upheaval of It All.

Does that make me a ghost? Or was a ghost around me, tapping on my skull & dumping in these thoughts? There are days when I know I am a ghost of myself. There are dusks when I weep for the ghost of my Nonna. I have ghosts of memories that flicker in my periphery like power outages. I think…my mortality speaks in ghost tongue.

Poem 303 – Every Cell in this Body

Every cell in this body

A hurricane of emotion

Every cell in this body

Kilometres of shredded rope

Every cell in this body

A light show

Every cell in this body

Wetlands of worry

Every cell in this body

Fractals of fear

Where did the fire go?
Who has the needle?
How strong was the thread?

This body a thimble

Surplus of cells wandering
Wondering

How

Poem 302 – Bieber Closes This Day

Bieber Closes This Day

This day ends with Justin Bieber on the brain
if it’s not you it’s not anyone
& all the thoughts scaffolding up my soul

Let go

He’s got angel wings on his neck
in his voice
their wind songs
enough to soothe
the thoughts as they

Fall

Land flat-footed
peer up

Begin the ascent again
through dreamland

…go & love yourself

Poem 301 – Heat (book titles)

Heat (book titles)

My Body The Furnace
Under My Breasts, A Brook
The Mother Zone – Furnace of Life
The Unfurling Rose – A Heated Fantasy
Temperature Rising – Stepping into the Heat Wave
Heat Source, The Reckoning
Soaking From Source
Swollen Measures: A Heated Mystery
Drip Zone, Drip Tides w/ Veronica Heat, Detective
Chemistry Fires – Understanding the Celebrity Crush
Inter-sweat-tional – Examining Heat Connections in the Body

*This was a poem created in this morning’s Yin Writing session wherein we did three minute writes on single words. One of the words was ‘heat’. Thank you to the early-risers who joined me! Gosh – it’s an early call but we did it and wrote together! I will be continuing to offer Yin Writing every Thursday morning from 6am-6:30am via zoom into November.

Poem 300 – Three Hundredth Poem

Three Hundredth Poem

alone in the humble dark
before the sun shifts her crown toward the day
it is – interruption
a guttural sigh
wild-flame flickering
peace unsteady yet constantly peace-full

can’t remember the first one
hundreds of days ago but the
feeling of its beginning lingers here
in the ink and blood flow

what are they all for?
poems caught in the branches of
a majestic tree with roots
that grow out of the ground
grasping my hips
this daily parley with language
tender tortured true

de-cages my ribs
helps me breathe
or sob
to let go or receive
an aiming
to welcome
my light

like each night sky does the sun
this place is becoming
embracing alone
in a humble darkness

*I’ve since learned about Chris Sky. Thank you readers for the illumination.

LINK TO YIN WRITING TOMORROW MORNING 6AM!

Vanessa Shields is inviting you to a scheduled Zoom meeting.

Topic: YIN WRITING WITH VANESSA
Time: Oct 28, 2021 06:00 AM Eastern Time (US and Canada)

Join Zoom Meeting
https://us02web.zoom.us/j/83029366401?pwd=aWowSUhiSjFscU1NaXdmLzRzaE1NZz09

Shall we continue into November? We should, right? Okay, done. That was easy!

Poem 299 – Sheep Love (Found Poem)

Sheep Love Chris Sky. (Found Poem)

On the handle of the shopping cart at the Real Canadian Superstore
a note on a clean white sticker
words in crisp Times black:

Sheep
Love
Chris Sky.

Stop me in my hurried tracks
Who is Chris Sky?
Why do sheep love him? Her? They?
What context brought these words together?
What mind put them to adhesive & slap-stuck them on a random shopping cart?
Why the singular point of punctuation?
One comma would change it all:

Sheep, Love Chris Sky.
Sheep Love, Chris Sky.
Sheep Love Chris, Sky.

But there is no comma
& there is no story for me to know about
Sheep Love Chris Sky.

Oh, how intriguing!
How utterly exciting!
Four words on a shopping cart handle
one powerful period
such profound in the found…

The photo in this post was taken this afternoon at the Dougall grocery store. Does anyone know Chris Sky? The sheep who love them? This is an example of a ‘found’ poem – when you find a note or a sticker with words…and you turn it into a poem. Have you ever written one?

I think it’s pretty ‘profound’ that on my 299th poem, one jumped out at me and bit me in the face. Thank you, poetry!

Tomorrow is the big 3-0-0. My goodness. I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do next year. More poetry? Perhaps a prompt each day from a book of prompts…perhaps playing across genres…maybe a dialogue here or a setting description there or an action scene somewhere…the mind is coming to a boil. Your thoughts?

Poem 298 – Admission

Admission

I’ve been hiding
behind haiku trees
ducking under free verse tents
sliding into concrete closets

cultivating my mastery of procrastination
& self-sabotage – in vain
because these monsters
are in my veins – curious cunning
varicose vicious
torturing my soul with the slow
flickery of fingers

I’ve been hiding because I’m scared of…

(will you think less of me if I admit to)

Everything…

(the monster’s face says: NOT GOOD ENOUGH –
it looks like my face)

Poem 297 – Food, before bed – a question

Food, before bed – a question

If you could eat anything in the world right now, what would it be?
We ask each other this as our bodies warm under the dog-haired duvet
Somehow envisioning our desired food before bed helps the sheep come quicker
Oh, such comfort brings food…even when it’s imagined

Tonight, it’d be a hot cinnamon bun so slathered in icing I couldn’t see the bread
The cinnamon so intense it’d fill the air like a spice storm &
A hot coffee in a Paris cafe – tonight I’d add a place too
Add the sound of rain on cobblestone
Add laughter for its power to connect beyond language

If you could eat anything in the world right now, what would it be?

Poem 296 – Flow & Ebb

Flow & Ebb

when the words don’t flow together

let them stay separated

when the belly inhales & holds the breath
& keeps holding
it will eventually exhale

the itch in my left forearm is deep
a trench of fire tunnelling toward my fingertips
muscles make music in their own sounds

they’re confusing – all the feelings
the sifting through the falling & rolling & gathering
the translation from hum to language

there were so many sesame seeds on the
Tim Horton’s bagel – it was art
butter-shined carb art

it’s okay to be apart
a part of the ebb

Poem 295 – Friday Haiku

Friday Haiku

fat moon in blue sky
shows day a different light
two powers sharing