Broooo…….. I totally have permagrin. as the poem was building, I didn’t understand that my face was hurting until it was over. I’m totally shocked. I’m so glad that I was able to read this. talk about really inspiring my day.
Padraigh, I just want to tell you that I did this exercise with you at Omega in Fall 2024 and I have since hosted a couple of Pantoum parties in my (new) neighborhood. Absolutely everyone loves it. Folks also bring a favorite poem/lyric to share and it reminds me a bit of a sing-song. I'm doing the next one in February at our book group in place of a monthly book. We're celebrating poetry and writing pantoums. I cannot thank you enough for helping me find a place in my new home through poetry...something that feels like part of my fabric. Grateful. Grateful.
That was fun. I can’t think of the last time I wrote any poetry (sixth or seventh grade, maybe?) It highlights the tension I so often feel. The tension between trying to enjoy the movement, while trying to plan for the future, and trying to “be more.”
Every morning I walk the dog around our neighborhood
It’s early, we may see another dog, maybe two
And we see the sunrise, bouncing off clouds
In purples and oranges and greys
It’s early, we may see another dog, maybe two
Usually friendly, sniffs and pleasantries are shared
In purples and oranges and greys
The day is predictable, but could bring anything
Usually friendly, sniffs and pleasantries are shared
I wish I knew my neighbors better
The day is predictable, but could bring anything
I think through all I hope to do
I wish I knew my neighbors better
And we see the sunrise, bouncing off clouds
I think through all I hope to do
Every morning I walk the dog around our neighborhood
That is so moving. And what love there is in this poem — you to your daughter; your daughter to you. That a poem like this came so easily speaks of the connection between you both. May she recover and thrive. And may you, too, flourish amidst all these concerns.
Ah, so much you cannot do, so much you want to do. May that ache in your heart, those deep desires be transplanted into a joyful waking for you and your joyfully creative artistic daughter.
Dear Liz, “only her mother” - what an ache in that. It’s so hard when we love someone and can’t ‘fix’ whatever threatens them. I echo Padraig’s wish that you both thrive. Wishing you strength and patience in the mean time.
I was caught at that line too “only her mother” … for me a positions. The mother went down, the way the hospital almost always does until just the right human comes along, recognizing you no matter their position in the “healthcare architecture” ❤️
The Pantoum! A new form for me, and it's gorgeous. I can already feel that I'll be studying and playing with this for a good bit of this new year. I don't usually share poems in their infancy, but this was so fun, and I'm so grateful that it is the first newborn of the year. Thank you, Pádraig
On Lake Garda, high up on the hill, it is very quiet but for the wind
Listen, the neighborhood dogs talk to one another, and the birds wake early
My breath or is it his? deep and steady, then shallow and hesitant
Marco occasionally throws out a hand, in distress (?),
when the neighborhood dogs talk to one another, and the birds wake early
One common wall in this row house where pipes flush in the night, and the young boy on the other side fights late into the night
while Marco occasionally throws out a hand, in distress (?)
Time is a long droopy sigh, and then it’s a sharp intake, slowly grey creeps around the half-open shutter.
On the other side of the common wall in this row house, where pipes flush in the night, the young boy fights late into the night.
The cramps in my feet and calves call out to my heart, which thrums and insists on my attention, so circular breathing.
Time is a long droopy sigh, and then it’s a sharp intake, and grey creeps around the half-open shutter
It’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay.
Even when the cramps in my feet and calves call out to my heart, which thrums and insists on my attention, so I focus on circular breathing
Breath deep and steady, not shallow and hesitant
It’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay.
On Lake Garda, high up on the hill, it is very quiet but for the wind
I creep silent down the stairs/Put the coffee on/ I tried not to wake you/But here you are rumpled and ruffled.
put the coffee on/ You are too much for me to hold/But here you are/ Good morning.
You are too much for me/ The sun has not yet broken the horizon/I take my first sip/ We sit in each other’s presence.
It is cloudy/ I tried not to wake you/ what is left to be said? (When I wrote the 8 lines, some were longer so I broke them up as I filled the structure as felt appropriate)
On a hillside, in a home shaped by these hands
Coyotes call and the wind rattles tin
The dog’s soft snore, air moving through ducts
Moonlight slips through parted blinds
Coyotes call and the wind rattles tin
Her body turns slowly in dream, my son’s floors creak
Moonlight slips through parted blinds
Time is like a slingshot between wakings
Her body turns slowly in dream, my son’s floors creak
My heart knocks, twisted back
Time is like a slingshot between wakings
Will I live it right?
My heart knocks, twisted back
The dog’s soft snore, air moving through ducts
Will I live it right
On a hillside, in a home shaped by these hands?
Time is like a slingshot!
Beautiful!!
Thank you!
Very good.
Thanks
This one made me smile so hard I absolutely love it!!!
Thank you!!
I’m ashamed, living in Singapore, that I don’t even know this form. I try to make up for that:
oh, peace prize.
of blood, money, power & oil.
laurels laid on quiet graves.
a medal rinsed in sanctioned fire.
of blood, money, power & oil.
they call it history, shaking hands.
a medal rinsed in sanctioned fire.
the cameras blink, the ledgers smile.
they call it history, shaking hands.
children count the nights by drones.
the cameras blink, the ledgers smile.
silence learns its accolades.
children count the nights by drones.
laurels laid on quiet graves.
silence learns its accolades.
oh, peace prize.
This one hits hard after this weekend
Broooo…….. I totally have permagrin. as the poem was building, I didn’t understand that my face was hurting until it was over. I’m totally shocked. I’m so glad that I was able to read this. talk about really inspiring my day.
Padraigh, I just want to tell you that I did this exercise with you at Omega in Fall 2024 and I have since hosted a couple of Pantoum parties in my (new) neighborhood. Absolutely everyone loves it. Folks also bring a favorite poem/lyric to share and it reminds me a bit of a sing-song. I'm doing the next one in February at our book group in place of a monthly book. We're celebrating poetry and writing pantoums. I cannot thank you enough for helping me find a place in my new home through poetry...something that feels like part of my fabric. Grateful. Grateful.
Guess I should have given the pantoum a go. I spent the holiday away.
Mexican cottage, three walls, opens to the sea
Sidling up to shore a single wave repeats
Wonky fan slapping at the heat
There are more stars in this sky.
/
A single wave sidles up to shore
My family sleeps
There are more stars in this sky
I wait, peace of place, enter me.
/
My family sleeps?
Aging body, crisp sheets, far from home.
Peace of place. Enter me.
I always wake with longing.
/
Far from home.
Wonky fan slapping at the heat
Awake with longing
in a Mexican cottage, open to the sea.
This felt so true to life. I felt like I was right there with you seeing everything. I really did love this so much❤️❤️❤️
Love the question in the middle of this. Feels like the whole piece turn's on this, in both sense of the word.
How the everyday can be so full of poetry.
This is just an apology for misspelling Padraig...again.
That was fun. I can’t think of the last time I wrote any poetry (sixth or seventh grade, maybe?) It highlights the tension I so often feel. The tension between trying to enjoy the movement, while trying to plan for the future, and trying to “be more.”
Every morning I walk the dog around our neighborhood
It’s early, we may see another dog, maybe two
And we see the sunrise, bouncing off clouds
In purples and oranges and greys
It’s early, we may see another dog, maybe two
Usually friendly, sniffs and pleasantries are shared
In purples and oranges and greys
The day is predictable, but could bring anything
Usually friendly, sniffs and pleasantries are shared
I wish I knew my neighbors better
The day is predictable, but could bring anything
I think through all I hope to do
I wish I knew my neighbors better
And we see the sunrise, bouncing off clouds
I think through all I hope to do
Every morning I walk the dog around our neighborhood
Among the Cottonwoods along the Little Missouri
Crickets’ legs rub rhythm line
Under soft snoring of my two favorite humans inside
The outline of the tent’s thin, peaked sides
Crickets’ legs rub rhythm line while
So close the soft snorting and weighty plodding of bison hooves to
The outline of the tent’s thin, peaked sides
Time stands still
So close the soft snorting and weighty plodding of bison hooves
As I hold my breath
Time stands still
I pray they keep walking past
As I hold my breath between
Soft snoring of my two favorite humans
I pray they keep walking past
Our tent among the Cottonwoods along the Little Missouri
I wake slowly these days.
Climbing up from tightened depths I remember
my joyfully creative artist daughter is ill.
She has two kinds of blood cancer.
Climbing up from tightened depths I remember
I am not her case manager -- only her mother.
She has two kinds of blood cancer.
She will have a bone marrow transplant soon.
I am not her case manager -- only her mother.
I will be her isolation caregiver afterwards.
She will have a bone marrow transplant soon,
as she recovers from her only chance of more life,
I will be her isolation caregiver afterwards.
My joyfully creative artist daughter is ill.
As she recovers from her only chance of more life,
I wake slowly these days.
This was not hard to write; it its quite hard to live, however.
That is so moving. And what love there is in this poem — you to your daughter; your daughter to you. That a poem like this came so easily speaks of the connection between you both. May she recover and thrive. And may you, too, flourish amidst all these concerns.
thank you, Padraig -- ad you also, Challi and Lisa!
Wow, Liz. "I wake slowly these days". Peace and strength to you.
thank you!
"I am not her case manager - only her mother"
Ah, so much you cannot do, so much you want to do. May that ache in your heart, those deep desires be transplanted into a joyful waking for you and your joyfully creative artistic daughter.
thank you all -- Rebecca, Lisa, Patty. She is doing well -- facing this with courage and most of her usual energy. And we are doing as well as we can.
Dear Liz, “only her mother” - what an ache in that. It’s so hard when we love someone and can’t ‘fix’ whatever threatens them. I echo Padraig’s wish that you both thrive. Wishing you strength and patience in the mean time.
I was caught at that line too “only her mother” … for me a positions. The mother went down, the way the hospital almost always does until just the right human comes along, recognizing you no matter their position in the “healthcare architecture” ❤️
Yes, that does sound very hard to live - I am wishing you and your daughter courage and light.
Whoever thought I'd wind up in Florida?
Outside my window, the AC unit kicks on
I swear I dreamed a thunderclap so loud it woke me
But now, in the quiet, two little phone screens glow in the dark
The air conditioning settles on a dull grumble
I can't move for the cats tangled in my legs
The blue-white light tells me he's up, too
It's too damn hot for January
Flanked and immobilized by the cats I won't disturb
My skin sticks to itself from sweat
It shouldn’t be this hot in January
I was born in the cold and snow
I’m not sure if the sweat is from heat or hormones
Or the deafening thunderclap of my nightmare
I turn 40 in 10 days
Forty and Floridian: who'd have ever thought?
When I wake there’s always shame
It doesn’t matter how early it is
I’m not sure where it comes from
I guess there wasn’t enough love
Time doesn’t matter
The sun is pouring through the kitchen window now
Maybe there wasn’t enough love
There’s a pattern of sun and shadow
See the sun pouring through the kitchen window now?
I will make it through another day
Watch the pattern of sun and shadow
I can’t tell if I need to cry or just breathe.
I will make it through another day
I know where it comes from
I can’t tell if I need to cry or just breathe.
When I wake there’s always shame
Lenora, May the sun shine on many years of your making it through another day.
I loved the visual of the sun pouring through the kitchen window within a poem that holds so much pain. It is a line that feels like a breath.
My eyes filled with tears as I read this. What a poem.
In a world divided by day and night
half of us asleep and half of us awake
traversing a canopy of stars
our home a spinning galaxy
half of us asleep and half awake
ghosts of ancestors shake our bones
our home a spinning galaxy
they challenge us to dream
ghosts of ancestors shake our bones
no consolation for those who will not see
they challenge us to dream
past visions of heaven and hell
no consolation for those who will not see
traversing a canopy of stars
past visions of heaven and hell
in a world divided by day and night.
What an image - half of us asleep, half awake! I never thought of the time zones that way. Thank you.
Always at home, in the holler by the smallest creek
A coyote pack cries wild through the night
My daughter coughs, I pray she will not wake
The moon casts shadows on the stretching night
/
A thousand coyotes sing my name through the night
My breath escapes the walls to roam
This moon a searchlight for my soul
My god, I am face to face with time
/
My breath, his breath, frozen in a mournful kiss
I wake to nameless fear, I settle in shapeless peace
My whole body pressed against time in the night
Come morning, I must tend to the ten thousand things
/
I wake to nameless fear, I settle in shapeless peace
My daughter coughs—I pray to the Moon she will not wake
For in the morning, once again, I must tend to the ten thousand things
Always at home, in the holler by the smallest creek
Lots of coyotes this time of year!
Surprising how an exercise like this expands your vision:
The cat bruises my back.
How long can I stay here
Before my prostate insists
And I start the day?
How long can I stay here
Which will win
To start the day
My ageing body or the cat?
Which will win?
That's life's question
My ageing body or the cat
I'll hold on a while yet
That's life's question
Will my body insist?
I'll hold on a while yet
Before the bruises come back
The cat and the bruise!
A hefty cat when he leaps from the window bottom!
The Pantoum! A new form for me, and it's gorgeous. I can already feel that I'll be studying and playing with this for a good bit of this new year. I don't usually share poems in their infancy, but this was so fun, and I'm so grateful that it is the first newborn of the year. Thank you, Pádraig
On Lake Garda, high up on the hill, it is very quiet but for the wind
Listen, the neighborhood dogs talk to one another, and the birds wake early
My breath or is it his? deep and steady, then shallow and hesitant
Marco occasionally throws out a hand, in distress (?),
when the neighborhood dogs talk to one another, and the birds wake early
One common wall in this row house where pipes flush in the night, and the young boy on the other side fights late into the night
while Marco occasionally throws out a hand, in distress (?)
Time is a long droopy sigh, and then it’s a sharp intake, slowly grey creeps around the half-open shutter.
On the other side of the common wall in this row house, where pipes flush in the night, the young boy fights late into the night.
The cramps in my feet and calves call out to my heart, which thrums and insists on my attention, so circular breathing.
Time is a long droopy sigh, and then it’s a sharp intake, and grey creeps around the half-open shutter
It’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay.
Even when the cramps in my feet and calves call out to my heart, which thrums and insists on my attention, so I focus on circular breathing
Breath deep and steady, not shallow and hesitant
It’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay.
On Lake Garda, high up on the hill, it is very quiet but for the wind
“My breath or is it his” !!
Night Waking
I'm at home, in the town where I was born
Outside, fireworks go off and couples fight.
A man noisily uses the bathroom.
The streetlight prevents it from ever being properly dark.
Intermittent explosions of fireworks and fights.
My lodger and cat keep each other company through the night.
Everything is illuminated by the street light.
Time races ever quicker as I age.
Cat and lodger, both nocturnal creatures.
Cold outside the duvet and nightdress bunched up inside.
Time hurtles on, taking me with it.
Should I get up and pee?
My nightdress is bunched up, but it's cold outside the duvet.
There's a man using the bathroom.
Should I get up and pee?
I'm at home here, in my own bed.
I creep silent down the stairs/Put the coffee on/ I tried not to wake you/But here you are rumpled and ruffled.
put the coffee on/ You are too much for me to hold/But here you are/ Good morning.
You are too much for me/ The sun has not yet broken the horizon/I take my first sip/ We sit in each other’s presence.
It is cloudy/ I tried not to wake you/ what is left to be said? (When I wrote the 8 lines, some were longer so I broke them up as I filled the structure as felt appropriate)
I am alone with the moon outside behind the trees
I can hear the rough rustle of the dog as she licks her pads
While outside a car speeds up as it hits the long, flat road
Beside me a small screen glows, cast aside when I thought I might sleep
I can hear the rough rustle of the dog as she licks her pads
And somewhere a barred owl asks its nightly question
Beside me a small screen glows, cast aside when I thought I might sleep
Turning, I reach for a cool, untouched spot beneath the comforter
And somewhere a barred owl asks its nightly question
Putting off looking at my watch, knowing it is the deepest part of the night
Turning, I reach for a cool, untouched spot beneath the comforter.
As my mind rushes toward morning, spiraling uselessly, can I do what needs to be done?
Putting off looking at my watch, knowing it is the deepest part of the night
While outside a car speeds up as it hits the long, flat road,
As my mind rushes toward morning, spiraling uselessly, can I do what needs to be done?
I am alone with the moon outside behind the trees.
What a great way to begin the New Year. Thank you I am alone with the moon outside behind the trees
I can hear the rough rustle of the dog as she licks her pads
While outside a car speeds up as it hits the long, flat road
Beside me a small screen glows, cast aside when I thought I might sleep
I can hear the rough rustle of the dog as she licks her pads
And somewhere a barred owl asks its nightly question
Beside me a small screen glows, cast aside when I thought I might sleep
Turning, I reach for a cool, untouched spot beneath the comforter
And somewhere a barred owl asks its nightly question
Putting off looking at my watch, knowing it is the deepest part of the night
Turning, I reach for a cool, untouched spot beneath the comforter.
As my mind rushes toward morning, spiraling uselessly, can I do what needs to be done?
Putting off looking at my watch, knowing it is the deepest part of the night
While outside a car speeds up as it hits the long, flat road,
As my mind rushes toward morning, spiraling uselessly, can I do what needs to be done?
I am alone with the moon outside behind the trees.
Sorry I managed to post this twice. Once is enough, and the last line is really "I am along with the moon outside..."
At Night
My bedroom in the country is shared with coffers the color of light coffee and husband of 35 years. They comfort me.
Opened screens in spring bring the deafening sound of bullfrogs mating.
But nothing blocks the snore of my adult son through the safety of his night monitor.
Quilt patterns and knit projects roam across my mind like calming lullabies, making friends with the dark.
In the spring I love the sound of bullfrogs wildly mating.
Our cats, one gray, the other cafe ole, chase toys till something hard crashes off the counter.
Unfinished quilts and knitting projects roam my dark room like lullabies, making friends with the dark, block my whizzing thoughts.
I own the quiet for a brief moment.
Our cats chase a mouse.
When I wake I check the rug so as not to step on pieces of their freshly dead gift.
I own the quiet and time tastes like a savored meal for a brief moment.
What am I now called to? Is someone sick? Can I steal this moment in peace? go right back to sleep?
When I wake my head hurts as I rise to change my son from his back to side.
I hear the snore of my son through the safety of a night monitor. Can I steal a moment in peace and go right back to sleep?
A room in the country, shared with coffers the color of coffee and husband of 35 years. They comfort me.