Tag: Poetry
Kinisi 1
honesty / reliability / responsibility
A YEAR OF POETRY, TOO
While we’ve been concentrating on the release of my newest novel, What’s Left, 12 new volumes of my poetry have appeared this year at Thistle/Flinch editions.
AS A FOOTNOTE AT THE TABLE
I wonder if the longstanding tradition of morning cleansing of marble steps at the front door in many inner city neighborhoods of Baltimore has survived the stresses of two-income families or single-parent households? Who knows when it started or in how many other locales it’s also practiced. This has been a custom of row houses, connected to each other – blue-collar communities, in fact – and not of detached suburban housing. And that makes the foremost difference.
These poems consider what women do and preserve – though not always exclusively. Yes, I’ve known women who bale hay or decipher monastic manuscripts, and I’ll also admit men can know nothing of bearing children or nursing. Yet, somehow, many women seem most at home around the kitchen, even if it’s nothing more than a teacup or a picnic. Even her garden, should she be so inclined, seems to extend from that table or the alchemy of her oven. And that goes for flowers, as well as vegetables and berries. (Remember, though: not all mothers and daughters can stand to be in the same kitchen at the same time, though they both be masterful cooks.)
Looking back on Baltimore, I remember my next-door neighbor, each morning in season watering the black locusts between our houses and the street. Maybe she did her stoop, as well. But the trees, which seemed to have always been there, were beautiful and timeless, as if spreading their own table.
~*~
For the poems, click here.
SOMETHING MORE COMPELLING
Looking at my new lineup at Smashwords, I felt one cover just didn’t match.
The first round of my editions there had covers that were an homage to Richard Brautigan’s classic books of the ’60s, each of which had a portrait of a pretty young woman.
As I looked at the cover image, though, it felt dated. Looking closer, I realized it also didn’t reflect the edginess of the contents. I wanted something more compelling than a woman in quiet reflection.
So here’s what we have now:
Rather than this:
Whaddya think? For more, go to Blue Rock.
FAMILY VALUES
Mrs. Richardson had been yelling at the kid
the fifth-grade girl who came around to our door
begging money to pay the babysitter
Mrs. Richardson yelled at the grandchild
for three days, and spanked her
then they were crying, in different parts of the building
all the while, their phonograph repeated
“the angels sing, glory to the newborn king”
~*~
Mrs. Richardson was pale as death
her face, hollow as a skull; hair, powder gray
her lips were chalky, and the eyes barely moved
she was thin as a broomstick
her son returned, with a cardboard suitcase
and cowboy boots
he wouldn’t stay long, if he could help it
To continue, click here.
Copyright 2015
PRELUDE & FUGUE 28/
an elephant with flowers painted
around the eyes and painted toenails
four zebras sipping water
* * *
luxurious green tent on safari white bone
ornaments through noses armed for the hunt
and cocktails already served
three African bushmen in a field of wrinkled flesh
eyelid (the elephant) the rain
is needed, sticky or no sticky (unlike the rhino)
zebras, black and white in a splash of vibrant green
with netting over the bed
luxurious green tent on safari white
bone ornaments through their noses
armed for the hunt and cocktails
already served three bushmen in a field
of wrinkled African flesh, an eyelid (the elephant)
the rain is needed, sticky or no sticky
(unlike the rhino) zebras, black and white
in a splash of vibrant green with netting
over the bed’s luxurious green safari tent
white bone noses armed for the ornamental
hunt cocktails served by three bushmen
in an African field of wrinkled eyelids needing rain
sticky or no sticky the elephant (unlike the rhino) or
zebras, black and white in a splash
of vibrant green netting over the bed ornaments
beasts leaping from dust into a tropical river
before a tiger atop a car spirals between
four zebras sipping water the way
a camel’s nose runs ahead of its mouth:
the hairy trunk and mouth of an elephant, so spotted
forages on hind legs, trunk and tusks upraised to the tree
the elephant with flowers painted
around the eyes and painted toenails
still leaps from the dust into a tropical river
a camel’s nose runs ahead of its mouth from hind legs
upraised to the tree in front of the tiger
atop a car of spiraling spots
the hairy trunk and mouth with flowers painted
around the eyes guarding four zebras sipping water
and the foraging beasts leap from dust into the river
running ahead of its mouth
a camel on hind legs, the tree painted with flowers
and toenails a feeling of life finally coming together
atop a car, four zebras leap from the dust
into a hairy river and forage
a feeling of life finally coming together these days
~*~
Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see all 50 Preludes & Fugues, click here.
APPREHENDING
gratitude
for minutia and large
flowing creation
and homing
family, mystery within walls
around our bedding
wealth beyond cash
and clutter
overabundance of opportunities
to engage
any strength generously
distinguishing between gifts
and hard-earned wealth
and everything seized from others
remembering greed
bondage and
warfare
gluttony all entangle
lust
yet if we love liberally
this sojourn
exposing each deception
in relentless light
reunion . reconciliation
uttered utterly
forgives . accepts
corrects . and gives again
Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set, click here.
LOOKING OUT
picnic table with a block of snow 2-feet deep atop it
and a hole at the center
extraordinary deep purple in the Siberian irises
Quaker ladies abloom on the meeting burial ground –
even on the Friends graves in Pine Hill Cemetery
the ox-eye daisies I lifted from rock and sand
to transplant here – my wife’s beloved June flower,
the blossom smaller and more delicate than the Shasta
old woman across the street with her phlox
sunflower, yes
forest sunflower
jungle sunflower
and the jingle, from the neighbor’s
wind chime
Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.
BENDING THE BEAT
I could imagine myself an orchestral conductor, but there are many things that must be trusted to the players themselves. Something like Rubato, within a musical phrase, comes to mind. And then, in a flash, it’s passed. Reflect on that with these poems.
~*~
For these poems and more, visit Thistle/Flinch editions.
Jnana's Red Barn 