Libby Weber's Blog, page 22

July 14: All Good Things

Eleven lives, eleven calendars,

Eleven journeys carefully aligned

Eleven minds all eager to confer

And write eleven tales newly assigned.

For seven days eleven sowed the field

With blessed solitude and conversation-

Our House of Our Own then began to yield

The signs of universal germination.

O meadow of ideas in full bloom

Cross-pollinated in lush summertime

Bear fruits that nourish us when they’re consumed

And leaven the eleven in their prime.

Eleven, do not weep that we are scattered;

Improbable converg...

July 13: Mischief Laughs

I do enjoy the incongruity

Of sitting on a screened-in patio

Surrounded on all sides by broad-leafed trees,

But hearing naught but highway traffic flow;

The lake, magnificent and gray, that reaches

Beyond horizon, cool fresh water favors

The weary, yet it’s rimmed by private beaches,

Except a tiny strip packed with sunbathers;

When we return, the pool below us beckons,

Our rented home a few stone steps away

Alas, on solid fence we had not reckoned

Blocking our access. Thank you, HOA.

At least we got some...

July 12: Idle Theme

O daydreams, become nightdreams when I sleep,

And let my slumbering mind elect stay

Wrapped up in luscious pleasure for to steep

Repose in bliss, and keep nightmares at bay.

For yearning daydreams much prefer to play

While masquerading as reality

Which makes them lack the breathtaking array

Of the subconscious mind in reverie.

So take my much beloved memory

And aspirations for the things to come,

Suffuse them with surprising novelty

To make a whole whose glory strikes me dumb.

In sleep desire, desire the...

July 11: Word Sisters

One week a year, Eleven Sisters gather

From east and west and far across the sea,

From south and north we come, we who would rather

Abandon lives, though temporarily,

To court sad Melpomene and to laugh

With Thalia, with Polyhymnia

To sing on creativity’s behalf,

And hope our families are blessed by Hestia,

For though we crave this fleeting sacred space

Where words may freely flourish in our brains

We know we’ll leave our leisure in this place,

But acts of our creation will remain.

Collaboratively we hon...

July 10: Treat Retreat

A texted photo of the dogs asleep,

Their legs askew. Laughing in awe and mirth

At strength and balance, sitting in a heap

After I lost my own, upon the earth.

Dramatic readings of e-mails from work.

Absurdly wonderful orchestral fusions.

Receiving e-mailed queries with a smirk

From someone next to me who’s in seclusion.

Professor Hil says writing fiction is

A direct line to joy- a phrase so apt

That perfectly encapsulates the fizz

Of finding an idea that’s untapped.

To do so on one’s own is quite excitin...

July 9: Self Care

On such days as one’s organs will conspire

Against coherent thought, what can one do

Apart from rest, recover, and retire

And hope the brain will be restored anew?

Indulge in World Cup, perfect omelets,

With stimulating stories interspersed,

Refreshing hot tub soaks with forceful jets,

Accept some days make mediocre verse.

Yet, poor mental connections can’t be faulted

When one is asked for plot, rather than theme,

Fecundity of thought is what’s exalted-

Fortuitous requests the self redeem.

At least this...

July 8: Simple Gifts

When you spend time with friends but once a year

And you’ve ostensibly converged to write,

Your first task is to take the time to hear

Each story; reconnect to reunite.

Collectively, we’ve lost, and we are grieving;

We’ve made mistakes, wrote things that made us proud,

Annoyed Goliaths, complex interweaving-

With one another’s lives we are endowed.

And so a gift exchange for birthdays past

Imbues each gift with how that author sees

A most beloved subject in her vast

Complexity and chooses what will plea...

July 7: That Rings a Bowl

A dozen singing bowls- which do I want?

The stoneware vessel that makes molars shake?

The painted brass whose sound seems nonchalant?

Does ample character equal mistake?

My fingers first alight on red, and since

The bowl agrees to sing for me, the rest

I hardly try, assuming they evince

No notable vibrations in the breast.

But when I have selected it, my hand

Still strays to others, wondering if one

Might speak to me and forcefully demand

That it is mine, that shallow choice undone.

And in the end, I do...

July 6: Weird Processor

When there is just one CD drive on hand

And it’s in a PC that’s six years old,

To rip the files takes longer than one planned,

And syncing to the cloud takes time untold.

And so to pass the time, I chose to write,

But there’s no Open Office here, by heaven!

I gnashed my teeth preparing then to fight

With Microsoft and Word 2007.

And yet, my histrionics were unfounded

Since I use Windows programs all the time

For work, so my high dudgeon I have grounded

To focus on my meter and my rhyme.

The only souvenir...

July 5: By the Bayside

Philosophers and artists of all types

See nature as a source of inspiration;

For seas and roses, stars and tigers’ stripes,

Give rise to figurative infatuation.

Still others find the works of human hands-

Cathedrals, tombs, Chicago, Grecian urns,

And broken statues issuing demands-

To be the things for which the spirit yearns.

But, oh, at their divine juxtaposition

Where breezes carry boats across the bay

During an outdoor concert’s intermission,

As as sunset sets skyscrapers’ walls ablaze-

There I shall...