NaPoWriMo #30

For my final poem for NaPoWriMo 2013, I reflect on the experience of it.  Overall, it has been positive and very, very good for me.

Reflection

On a whim, goals took shape
a little scratching every day
opening the Other, the Muse, the vessel
to the Source
enough, enough
a stranger at the bus stop,
the wind blowing a certain way,
birdsong      human song,
shock and news,
snippets of a day
and then words and        lines
a mouthful formed
for another day

Then there is excitement
what if I keep going?
a little inspiration every day
what if I mould these moments
into work      into hope
a chance at potential filled
a story, a cookbook, a chapbook,
a novel
what if?

A little scratching every day
at the bus stop
between demands of Mommy
before the demands of languid Sleep
then there is excitement
and goals take shape.

© 2013 Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #29

I had a hectic day at work yesterday, so poetry did not get written.  However, here is #29:

Hush now, hush now
hear you breathe
sun’s not up,
and I’ve yet to sleep
lullabies fade into starlight
no monsters hiding under the floorboards
no monsters humming in the closet
no monsters raging in your heart
such wrenching sweetness in your face
a hundred dreams fill the quiet room
protective vigil sealed with a kiss
you stir and mumble
hush now, hush now
hear you be.

© 2013 Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #28

waves collide to the screams of seagulls
salt blows through my hair
I am the driest thing this side of the sea
until the tears start
then pour
they are not two poetic streams
flowing out to meet the otherwise occupied sea
nor the prim weeping of princesses
no
these are the tears that wreck havoc into sobs
such terrifying thunder
a gale of primal ache thwarted
a messy, dripping anguish
demanding the universe listen
demanding the universe shift sideways
just this once
twice
I’ve lost count how many times
until I fall to darkness and warmth
the unthinking of dreams
while my body lies curled in the sunlight
slowly turning to sand.


© 2013 Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #27

Sometimes poems come like songs.  The first five lines of this one came as I waited this cool, cloudy morning to be let into the building at work (that is, my steady income work).

Sweet, don’t call me to the light
Sweet, don’t call me out
Emotions like heartache
a word to abide
if only I’d listen
instead I sneaksneak to the edge
take a peek      take a full-blown fantasy
wild          tighten the reins
shake my head
knowing I can’t let this grow
it grows                it goes
out    out       stamped   trampled
Sweet, don’t call me to the light
Sweet, don’t call me out
can’t hide the blush
my hair is up
stumble   mumble   fumble    ever a fool
I’ll hid this precious       have this precious
thing like light in shadows
like petals in rain
tell            I’d whisper
reach         I’d hold on
I know better         I survived the landslide
a few weeks later, it won’t matter
Sweet, don’t call me to the light
Sweet, don’t call me out

 

© 2013 Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #26

I wrote the first two lines of this poem on April 4.  I wrote the rest of the poem yesterday and edited it a bit today.  Enjoy.

we speak in the guarded words
of never-never
we tell ourselves
The sun rose strong
and silence fell
A wisp of affection
a temperamental “hello”
snippets of connection
until            there
we spin webs of desire
pull strands           release
we make a great unnamed thing
out of words, out of love
we pull desire taut
it will not snap
it flows and fades and flows back
tender music
whatever others guess
whose side we’re on
let go               don’t let go
will we ever touch?

 

© 2013 Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #25

a book on a bench       an invitation
without scalloped edges         metallic seals
without pastel calligraphy       RSVP
without wheres and whens     please bring
yourself
without worry about what to wear
about who will be there

the book on the bench      silently
calling             pick me up       read
indulge in words
you know you want to have
this

book on a bench

 

© 2013 Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #24

Storefront

She stares out a re-vamped window pane
green and black
She sits with stripes
fingers in her hair
her stare like paparazzi caught
her as she looked up
half-vacant, half-somewhere else
unsurprised but not quite
to the pose

She beside herself
caught in a wind machine
playing pouty, playing sexy
to the shock of camera clicks

She is beside herself
turned
her mouth closed         indignant
standing straight as a pole
her diagonal chest takes up
space
she concentrates

We are big           she and I
still we are condemned to the same tune

objectify.

 

© 2013 Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #23

Today’s poem has the potential to be part two of yesterday’s poem Systemic Panic Attacks.

The clock ticks
loud as a heartbeat
Morning comes and    somehow
I am not here.
There is a story
there was a girl

she ate and grew
shame
she shrank and grew
to the ticking of a clock
things changed                freedom
the body is love
eventually        marriage
always the wordws

there was a woman
writing herself out of cages
into stories
where there was no longer a girl

always the ticking
and I know this is wrong
Why can no one see?
I will not bleed my bones
to dust to claw up
to the broken Dream
I have other dreams

There was land
there were flowers,
lavender and mint
there was dirt
I dug in my hands
raw solar fields blessing technology
there were children

Why can no one see?
We hold hands                        the paths
we sought to walk

the burden of eagles
over ants

blind to this tender joy
alive                 a life in spite
of clocks.

 

© 2013 Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #22

I feel like this poem may be part one of a two-part poem.  We’ll see what comes.

Systemic Panic Attacks

Happiness is not important.
Get a job, any job
any job is better than none.
If it makes you sore,
if it makes you ache,
if it exhausts you
or makes your body think night is day,
we don’t care.

A job’s a job’s a job’s a
job
even if you cry yourself to sleep,
even if working three jobs leaves
hungry bellies at home.
How dare you try
to raise your kids?
Put them in school and care
and get a job.
We don’t care

if one life is all you get,
if you dreamt of being a botanist,
if you wanted a farm and five kids,
if you wanted to paint
and host lively dinner parties,
if you wanted to teach
the next world
with our support and small classes,
if you wanted to stretch yours arms and
breathe
this bright miracle of a world
and live.

Get
a
job.

© 2013 Robin A. Sams

NaPoWriMo #21

I’m a day behind but catching up.  I wrote part of this poem yesterday and finished it today.  Enjoy.

Blossoms whisper across the sky
in pink and white,
a chill wind chases
the sun with grey clouds
and drops of rain splattering
pavement in light
a storm blows then wavers
transition of seasons
spring a transition
summer aching to come.

© 2013 Robin A. Sams