Thursday, May 24, 2012

Moon Phases

I started to write these moon poems on April 6, 2012 and found that I didn't want to stop! The last one came in the middle of May. 

Birthday Moon
I felt your presence all day —
illuminated heart

Passover Moon
you are the perfect 
matzah ball

Melancholy Moon
do you still miss
last summer's hyacinths?

Lonely Moon
I know 2 herons who would
welcome you into their nest

Sleepy Moon
I crocheted an afghan
for you to snuggle under

Ballet Moon
utterly adorable
in your tangerine tutu

Shakespearean Moon
surely it is better to be
than not to be

Bear Moon
I'm all out of honey
but please come for tea anyway

Laughing Moon
I love the way 
your belly rises and falls

Haiku Moon
each syllable 
brings me closer to you

Walking Moon
in your brand new sneakers
I can hardly keep up with you

Patient Moon
inching toward you —
your friend the spider

Upside Down Moon
now the rivers don't know if
they're coming or going

Nearsighted Moon
how often have you mistaken 
dustballs for dragons?

Matchmaker Moon
what a brilliant introduction —
bee, meet flower

Midnight Moon
when you can't sleep 
do you count stars?

Old Woman Moon
still looking through
young woman eyes

GPS Moon
everyone knows you have no sense
of direction

Rebel Moon
breaking all the rules
you make for yourself

Hungry Moon
I get it —
you're sick and tired of seaweed salad

Traveling Moon
how is it possible —
you missed your train . . . again

Forgetful Moon
may I suggest

Possessive Moon
you'd have more friends
if you shared your marbles and plastic trucks

Brave Moon
you stood up for me
I'll do the same for you

Fashionista Moon
on you 
the hot pink feather boa is divine

Yoga Moon
don't you think you've been
standing on your head long enough?

Mango Moon
to get enough of you

Disheveled Moon
you look like you were tossed around
by your dreams last night

Thrifty Moon
shopping with you isn't as much fun
as I thought it would be

Adolescent Moon
you're right
I really don't understand you

Bronx Moon
I'm sorry to have to say this:
you can't go home again

Grieving Moon
countless waves
carry your tears away

Tango Moon
claiming the horizon
as your own private ballroom

Worn-Out Moon
now is the time
to sink into a lavender bubble bath

Curious Moon
go right ahead —
ask me anything

Hula Hoop Moon
spinning spring
into summer

3 a.m. Moon
take a flashlight
the next time you go to the outhouse

Suspicious Moon
stop looking over your shoulder
no one is chasing you

No-Poem Moon
all I can do is love you
there are no words

Roller Skating Moon
who would have thought you could be 
so graceful on wheels?

Turtle Moon
leave your shell on the sandy shore
let's go skinny dipping

Purple Moon
I almost mistook you
for a field of irises

Zen Moon
I dropped by to help you
rake your rock garden

Cautious Moon
you must be weary
sleeping with one eye open

Gypsy Moon
it's not about the accordion
it's about spirit

Mother Moon
for you it will always be

Ice Cream Moon
not everyone can handle 3 scoops
but you can

Garden Moon
thank you for reminding me —
nobody owns the flowers

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

small poems, april 2012

These small poems were written in April, 2012 (except for a couple about crows, and one that's a real oldie but I wanted to share it again anyway):

before the garden blooms
folding 100
origami roses
(Inspired by "High Summer, 1928," by Tamara de Lempicka)

a stringless guitar —
the Joan Baez Songbook
on the unmade bed
(Inspired by "Lady in Blue with Guitar, 1929," by Tamara de Lempicka) 

blue rain
we share an umbrella
until your bus arrives
(Inspired by "The Girls, 1928," by Tamara de Lempicka)

that summer
sailing paper boats
on the pond — —
now you live 
an ocean away
(Inspired by "Portrait of Arlette Boucard, 1928," by Tamara de Lempicka)

I recognize your handwriting
even in my 
sepia dreams
(Inspired by a letter written by Tamara de Lempicka to Gabriele d'Annunzio, 1926)

purple leather gloves —
I bought them for you
but kept them for myself
(Inspired by "Lady with Green Glove," by Tamara de Lempicka. Years ago I bought a beautiful pair of purple gloves to give my sister. I'm still wearing them.)

skating around the corner
entering another
(A childhood memory: my first pair of roller skates, with those silver metal clamps that kept them from falling off my shoes, and a heavy key dangling from a lanyard.)

a single candle —
not even her birthday cake
knows her age
(I wrote this as a little joke to myself for my 61st birthday.)
after the seder
all the cousins
play Gefilte Fish
(In other families I think that card game is called Go Fish)
sipping tea
no thoughts
no ceremony
(This is an old poem but it felt right for this month, with Passover. I wrote  it many years ago at a retreat. We were having a tea ceremony and suddenly I felt the presence of my Grandma Yetta. She used to take "a little refreshment" in the late afternoon: sometimes a small dish of vanilla ice cream, or a glass of hot water with lemon; maybe an hour spent with a novel, or just a few minutes twiddling her thumbs, or humming. Whatever she did, she did it gently, calmly, intentionally, with grace and dignity. No fuss. No ceremony.)

with a worm in its mouth
the fat robin
sings to itself

spring crows just as loud as
winter crows

even among crows
some are bossy
some are nice

an open basement window
raccoon accepts 
the invitation

in another country
you wake     laughing     from a dream . . . 
and so do I

remind me
how we both went to the river
but only one of us returned

I knew you'd arrive today —
in my dream
the call of a bamboo flute

overnight train
home from the mountains 
in my hair — pine needles

holding my breath
across the bridge
last train home

wind chimes on your back porch
after all these years 
the same breeze

rubbing my finger
down the book's spine —
dust from before I was born