National Poetry Month: Day #7

The only certain thing, some times, is uncertainty. Then as now, no matter how hard we try to anticipate it, the element of surprise will always surprise us. Thus, this offering, originally published on April 16, 2003:

Graceful Tumble

for Elizabeth

Practically from birth
we train
like cynical thoroughbreds
to seek surprise, dispel
astonishment before it crashes
us into fences or others staggered
by the unforeseen mouse
or sudden stinging insect.
We practice patience, vigilance
and balance, keep eyes
ahead and feet
below
until
the rug furls
like a flag,
a standard of futility,
topples us
without ceremony
leaves us only
with the graceful
way we fall.

©2003 L.A. Smith.

National Poetry Month: Day #6

In a poem called "Introduction to Poetry," former US Poet Laureate Billy Collins writes, "I say drop a mouse into a poem / and watch him probe his way out."
I took his advice and came up with this poem on April 1, 2003:

The Mouse Inside This Poem

The mouse inside this poem
is blind,
sad, suffering bastard,
tailless wonder
wandering
wondering
what cataclysm
brought him here
without his kin
who must be puzzling his absence
between them.

I'd reassure them
if I could
some how
some way
some day
they'll find themselves
together in some nursery
or Kindergarten,
but I don't think they'd understand
the complex, self-referential
paradigm.

So for now at least
they'll suffer uncertainty
like the rest
of us,
those other two and
the mouse inside this poem

©2003 L.A. Smith.

National Poetry Month: Day #5

I recall that I'd been reading Neil Gaiman a lot back when I started writing these poems. I'm not certain what effect that had on my own writing, but I do remember that this poem came straight from a dream I had after reading the story "Baywolf" in his collection Smoke and Mirrors. It's the very first one from April 1, 2000:

Familiars

We've been here before,
you and I, but then
we didn't look like this,
bottled up in sacks of pale
pink flesh
like a couple of tender
underbellies ready to be torn
apart.

I've smelled this air before,
this crisp and prickling
scent of something
frightened, vulnerable,
and delicious
cowering low
just out of sight.

You caught it too,
and pricked your ears
then twitched your bushy
tail a time or two
so I would know
your appetite.

In unison then
like currents deviating
in a stream
you swept in left on silent
paws while I, so quick,
so ravenous, descended
from the right
to seize
the prize.

After, we lay
sated and savoring success
still on our muzzles
as moonlight bathed us
blue and breezes
sang our remorseless lullaby
through the trees.

©2000 L.A. Smith.

National Poetry Month: Day #4

Because it seems this year that spring is taking forever to get here, a poem from April 10, 2004:

Eventual Spring

That day you dreamed
when January's hollow heart
pounded all around you,
hoplessness mingled with cruel,
capricious flurries and a bite
of darkness long before cocktails
could be gracefully excused,
arrived today wrapped in gleaming
yellow light and soft wind,
warm as shallow breaths
on cotton pillows.

©2004 L.A. Smith.

National Poetry Month: Day #3

Here's a poem from April 12, 2003:

Self Help

Do it gently
down to darkness
quiet among the low
gray light of a stormy afternoon.

Distill notes from nature's symphony
into your theme.

Flatten mistakes
like pressed flowers
into your belly.

Slide unintended consequences
and uncomfortable silences into brown
paper envelopes and seal
them with your kisses.

Drop your anchor
and defenses long enough to know
that intimacy
is when other people are close
enough.

©2003 L.A. Smith.

National Poetry Month: Day #2

Here's a poem originally published on April 20, 2000:

Simple

In simple moments, understanding comes
like a stray cat pawing
at the kitchen door
or a phrase of music escaping
from a passing car
to catch you
off balance, in the act,
shame-faced a moment before
you shove your hands
into your pockets and rock
on the balls of your feet,
staring at the ground
whistling a tune
to clear your head
of the one thought
that takes your breath
away with all the subtlety
of a Louisville Slugger.

©2000 L.A. Smith.

National Poetry Month Begins

In 2000, before "blogging" was a verb, I began to celebrate National Poetry Month by writing a poem a day and posting those poems to my erstwhile Web site, cryingcoyote.com. These poems were, for the most part, drafted in one of my many notebooks, then crafted online very early in the morning before I set off to work. Pressed for time, and hoping to get a wider audience for some of these poems, I'm going to re-publish 30 of them on this blog, one each day during April.

Here's today's offering, originally published on April 3, 2000:

Mrs. William Carlos Williams

Was it enough,
his simple note?

Did those 28 words
undo the damage,
of his selfishness?

Or did she pout,
hungry and left with nothing
but tea and toast
for breakfast?

Did she turn her cheek
to meet his lips
as he set out on his morning
walk to the hospital?

Did she brood all day,
regretting her decision
to marry him?

Did she serve him dinner
silently with his pathetic confession
still propped against the sugar
bowl on the table?

Did she wrap her curves in flannel
thinking, "If you liked how cold
those plums were, wait
until you climb into bed
with me tonight."

©2000 L.A. Smith.