Vanessa Shields's Blog, page 32

Poem 191 – Haiku for the Last Page

Haiku for the Last Page

ending is sweet bliss
a book’s worth of poems greets
tomorrow’s heart songs

This morning I finished filling up a second journal with poetry for my poem a day writing practice. What a very exciting feeling!

The last pageThe second full journalTwo filled journalsThe new poem a day journal

Poem 190 – The Letter & Gertrude’s Writing Room July Hours!

The Letter

but first
a letter
unloaded words
handwritten on fancy paper

because it calms me down
because it helps me reflect
because it makes me smile
because it’s not 1897 
but it still is 1897
it always is the 
perfect day hour 
minute to 
handwrite 
s letter

I can feel the ghost
of a corset tight-gripping
my ribs I can smell the dense
manure of my chuffing horse
as it wafts through the open window
of my thatch-roof cottage in a small
town named to a saint or maybe the forest trees
the hearth stone is warm & the brewing storm
is not in the sky but at the tip of my feather pen
heavy with inky thunder when I stop my morning chores
to send words to my dear friend in the big city as she pushes
her dreams into a man’s world…

so, yes, first
a letter
unloaded words
handwritten on fancy paper

Gertrude’s Writing Room is Open!

We’re heading slow and steady into phase two of this pandemic summer, and the writing room is open for small gatherings of writers to read and write and be creative in the space!

For more information about workspaces and what’s available, please CLICK HERE!

Poem 189 – Already Seen

Already seen

deja vu on the words
confronted with an infinity
of desires and lifestyle choices

curious that i’ve read these words
on this computer screen while sitting on
this couch at this 9:30pm on this Wednesday
night in some parallel state

there’s comfort in deja vu
the I-can-sleep-in-more kind of comfort
but also a slight lung crushing
bone rubbering
slicing of time
that renders me
big and small
light and dark
human and alien
daringly alive
extra in the now

there’s always more
infinities of desires, one could say
unchosen but chosen
all the same flapping
behind the rose-patterned
sheet on the clothesline of each day

Poem 188 – In His Heaven, Elvis & Glory

In His Heaven, Elvis & Glory

His strong fingers close around the diamond handle on heaven’s door.
No need to knock, he has the key – it is Elvis shaped, an exaltation of hallelujahs,
a velvet voice paving a path of praise for a dignified entrance to the pearly gate.

This worship is heaven sent. The father, the son and the holy ghost on bended knee
for the glory of this majestic human – a father with sons and daughters, a husband
whose love is eternal – a holy heart that beats beyond its failing body.

The delight is God’s with Elvis to serenade and rejoice in the coming of this splendid soul. The truth is marching through him. God has led and he will follow. The joining of
these extraordinary spirits will create an everlasting choir of kings:

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

Rhinestones and tassels,
angels and saints,
in devoted genuflection
for his ultimate
homecoming.

*For CLM

Poem 187 – Two more bracelets

Two more bracelets

smokey quartz
tiger eye
my wrists adorned
with trust in the
heartbeats of
stones the earth
has held for eternities

these shiny spheres
worlds of energies
to gather my worries
show them how to
be infinite
to be so alive
in their repetitive
spinning
letting go is
dizzy freedom –

a necessary choice
to disengage time
a thrilling way to
exhale to feel
the frothy rush of
courage flowing
like rapids deep
deep deep under
my soles

this way
whether I
walk or fly
crawl or fall
I am always in
universal utero
an integral part
of the grand
circumference

My throat is closed. My voice, by choice, is resting. It’s all my strength to type with these fingers when all they want to do is hold up a book to read, flip through a magazine, and hold a pen and write in my journal (finish that letter…). Quiet is my landscape today. To reflect. To receive. To respect the sacred messages that come after a writing retreat…that stew and speak after a week of intense conversations, rolling laughter, and writing on the buddha belly of dreams. (Thank you, Charis.) (Thank you, Tracey.)

Poem 186 – How it happens

How it happens

Words wing.
Soar in my mind on gusts of worry or joy,
swoop like precision kestrels into the shadowy depths of my knowing
yet even with my intuition firmly in flight, I slip into a sliver of eye
inside the tornado of love & I fall –

The yang of departure like clear blue sky, comforting & vast
tempts this curious language, flits over treetops,
nuzzles mountain peaks, delivers me to the distant
dreamlands of discovery even when

my body is here at the dining room table & the pen
in my hand speaks to the page like two souls
reuniting in the heart-jolting spark of remembrance.

Poem 185 – Haiku for Heat & Special Guest Poem Haiku for Donut

Haiku for Heat

neckline drips desire
inner furnace rages heat
summer passion burns

Special Guest Writer

Haiku for Donut by Charis Cotter

fresh donut on plate
big sneaky dog on the loose
one gulp and it’s gone

Oscar, the ‘big sneaky dog on the loose’, loves donuts. It’s just that simple. Look at those eyes….! #protectyourdonuts!

Our three-day writing retreat was another success. We continue to talk about it…it seeps into every cranny of our days. Tomorrow we will reflect. Discuss what worked the best, what we want more of next time, and likely, get weepy that it’s over. Indeed, we’ve been so busy, these poems a day are coming later and later in the day! Happy Sunday!

Poem 184 – Because & Thimbles Book Review

Because

Because I said in a writing workshop there’s little room for because in a poem
Because every word matters
Because you are your words
Because I am my words
Because subordinating conjunctions are necessary and important
Because it is be + cause
Because be the cause
Because it looks so pretty in cursive
Because it can start a sentence
Because because because because because! because of the wonderful things he does!
Because poetry
Because play
Because love
Because change
Because possibility

Thank you Dorothy for the inspiration!

Thimbles book review by Kim Fahner

Thank you so very much to brilliant poet, teacher, playwright and friend Kim Fahner for this beautiful review! Kim has been a steady support lifting up the light of Thimbles from the very beginning with her heart-felt blurb before the book was even bound! She is an example of how love thrives in our writing community. And, thank you also to Rob McLennan – another force in our community – for sharing the review on his blog, Periodicities: A Journal of poetry and poetics.

Without further ado, HERE IS THE LINK TO THE REVIEW!

Retreat day three…our final day together in this magical and creative space…feeling calm and prepared…feeling productive and hopeful…feeling like I want it to last forever! The food, the friendship, the frenzy of creativity!

Happy weekend, writers!

Poem 183 – When the voices are

When the voices are

The voices are daggers today–
Does it matter–
Where they came from–
Who sent them–
How they sharpened–
No.
They. Are. Here–

And so, voices, I hear you–
I see your jagged edges–
I am to be punctured–
Perhaps even–
To be cut open–

Let’s see where your points settle–
Then I will write–

Photo by Charis Cotter

Day one of the writing retreat went well. We wrote. We talked. We ate. But today, oh, today, the anxiety is fat. The voices are daggers (see above). And the work is with the soul not the page…but go to the page I shall to shake down what the heck is going on. This is why we ‘retreat’. The soul needs the words. And the words need the soul. There is always a need for realignment…and that can be messy, painful, scary…but the other side of this realignment is loaded with light and freedom. That’s where I’m aiming…no matter where the daggers land.

Poem 182 – Rise

Rise

Up with the early bird,
I watch her tug a plump-shiny
worm from the wet summer earth.

At first, standing still,
the red-chested ave feels the
underground vibrations of
the worm. She can hear it
slithering in the dark mouth
of its moist dirt mansion
I call backyard.

I watch her pull & bite & hold
until the annelid is in pieces
in her cheeks. I wonder where
her babies chirp in wait. Did
you know a robin can eat
up to 14 feet of worms in
a day? That’s two six-feet-unders.

What else can she hear?
Whose voices? What secrets
do the worms belly over,
curl under? What translates
when the robin listens?

Oh, all is being revealed.
Up with the early bird,

the past rises –

I’m on the first of a three-day writing retreat at Gertrude’s Writing Room. I’m feeling…contemplative, excited, nervous and grateful. My writing partner and I are feeling the space, the park, the sounds, the energy…more to come! Keep writing and reading friends. Be kind.