Creative space

Alan Jacobs' SNAKES and LADDERS post today got me thinking,

What do we need
To be creative
To write
To paint
All our books lined up
In size order?
By color?
So every time
We open our eyes
A rainbow spans
The bookshelf?
Do we need blank space
An ocean
A lake
Green space
A particular rug?
Me?
I need birds
Inside and out.

Redefinition

I have two other manuscripts in waiting, so I thought I'd start out with number three, the smallest one first.

I suspect we all
Redefine
These days
One way
Or another.
This week I am on
Book number three
I will self-publish.
Have contacted a printer
Even three people
Who will write
About my writing.
This is new
For me.
I suspect we all
Have redefined.

Raw

So many ways
To speak
To hear
To be heard
Even in these times
Of sorrow
Of rawness
I used to describe myself
As Pollyanna
Yet she
Is anything
But raw
But sorrowful.
She dances.
She sees the world
Painted
In rainbows.
And then
And then
Someone saw my work
As raw
It is time
To see underneath
Pollyanna,

Bee balm

We wait for the bees
With purple bee balm.
It returned this  year
Not everything did
But bee balm
Yes
We wait for the monarchs
With milkweed.
It is profound.
It returned.
It calls
For those butterflies
Enough
For
Multitudinous
Monarchs

Post pandemic

 Waiting for the pandemic to end, like all of us, and I mean ALL.

The world gets fresher
We open the windows
Listen to the birds
The lawnmowers
Feel the wind
Through our hair
Consider new things
Possibly
Post
Pandemic

Fashion statement

I ordered a floral series of masks yesterday. May as well make myself laugh, when I look in the mirror.

Masks
Are the new
Fashion statement
Most everyone
Wears one.

Assemblage

 When a loved one struggles with a diagnosis and we work to figure out how to struggle with it, it is like a collage of sorts.Which are the pieces of tissue paper to use? When to stop and merely  sit?


No
I do not speak French
Yet this is the word
That chimes
In my head.

I try to put things
Together,
Make them fit.
Maybe the word is more
Like collage.
Now it feels like
Watered glue
Multi-colored tissue paper
On cardboard.

Company, sometimes

This is one of the times I must guess.

We all need company
Sometimes
Sometimes
We know it
Sometimes someone else
Must guess
Come up alongside.

Unearthed wealth

 One more for my great-grandfather, Thomas Sadler Roberts. I am another generation watching birds.

The swoop of goldfinches
In the backyard
Reminds me
Of all the treasure
That remains
Unseen
Unknown
They are unearthed
Wealth.

The bison were not open for business yesterday

My beloved's birthday was yesterday, We were going to go see the bison. No. They were not open .

The bison were not open
For business
Yesterday
We could only see them
By computer screen
And then
Only if they chose
To walk by
The cameras
The bison and bob-o-links
Have taken a break
From  being on perpetual view
They can choose
If they will be seen
Or not.
It is the season
For calves
This season of sickness
Has allowed the bison
A rest.

The cat, I love the way

The cat
I love the way
She tentatively enters
Dark places
The cat
I love the way
She crawls under bookshelves
To see
What's there
Even if only
Half of her
Can fit
Amd all I can see
Is her tail
Then she backs out
Shakes the dust off
Does a final preen
Begins again.

Oh so white

We are weary
Yes
And angry
Yes
We can't breathe
Yes
We can't breathe
The quotation
Of a young murdered
Black man
In the city of my birth
The white city
Of my birth
Oh so white

Trauma

 First

My trauma
Does not equal
Your trauma
Does not equal
Her trauma
Does not equal
His trauma.
Equality
Is not the word
We seek
The word we seek
Is trauma
Common trauma.
It is the only possibility
For unity.
But first
Comes recognition
Of individual trauma
Before we arrive
Anywhere else.