Tag: Poetry

SMALL FRY

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Gould’s Trumpetworm
looking to all the world like sand

spoonworms

speckled flatworm, milky ribbon worm
the many segmented worms
(rolled up into a body when threatened)

shells of northern white chiton
diluvian punturella
spiral margarite
wide lacuna
the tiny periwinkles
flat skinea
three-lined basketsnail
solitary bubble
fuzzy onchidoris
graceful aeolis
shag-rug nudibrand
northern dwarf-tellin

if you’re close
or have a yen
for maritime bonsai
of a zoological twist

dig in

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of seacoast poems, click here.

IN THE GREENING

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

in the end, we miss the freezing rain
that becomes fog in treetops on my commute
over melting snow

still achy from gardening
so what do I know?
a touch of lime oil in my morning coffee

green swags
my windows

watch my back and sides
spasms
all that digging

a full month of April showers compresses
into thirty-six hours Monday and Tuesday
welcome relief, but

uproot a hundred stealth maples
and a squirrel
every day
this time of year

the garden looks great, so luxurious to have cut flowers indoors
a second sprig of laurel in my lair
against the deep velvet of Siberian iris
now we’re sinking to detail …

a bucket of strawberries, to the office

too much rain and the sump pump kicks in
a downpour leading to rare July flood warnings across the state

our Lady of Pink Flamingoes keeps taunting
“Have you been flocked?”

such a strange summer
cold, wet July days
rain and thunderstorms forecast
into next week, without break

my Lady of Coriander had the stove going three days

by Bastille Day, still no time in the 90s
and only a few in the upper 80s

where’s it going, our summer of plastic flamingos?

or the alternative, of very humid, stale air –
80 Fahrenheit, 80 percent humidity –
can’t move much
despite intentions

some sun, some rain
including brief downpours

the continuing decay

I mow the lawn, saturate a T-shirt in sweat
of course, it’s extreme high tide at the beach

1 a.m., bedroom windows open

thinking of the past
I smell a skunk
crossing the darkness
below me

into a lazy day, mostly on the deck

frozen daquiris, relief from 90-plus heat/humidity

the first time in five years

profusion of glorious mock orange
in and over the kitchen garden hedge
just because I watch the stars
doesn’t mean I trust them

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.

OUVERTURE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

welcomed into my orbit

a Chicago-Baltimore axis
its own perspective

a shadowbox with sixteen cells of teeth numbered
out of the thirty-two originals

to whip up something before a martini

a gray vase with a cow skull
places I once treasured
since lost, yes, lost. And now?
how often, not the place as much as fragile
in the void of letters, Well, kiddo
all the right intentions

a postcard of Florida seashells

a secretary (white blouse, tight black skirt, black heels)
waiting for the midday train in a suburb

three close-lipped fishermen wait to build a fire
on a rocky bend of the river

a woman in a blue dress pauses at the end of the blue deck
before leaping into subtropical ocean

the blurry backside or figure with bent leg
reaching for balance

to sit, wearing blue jeans and a blue polo shirt
in a corner office overlooking parking in a desert

to enter a tall office building housing a Jekyll and Hyde club
befit with gargoyles, sculpted climbers, human skulls,
and Ionic columns

to pose standing in a powder blue wrapper
under a Greek male torso and the head of a stallion

to leap in a fiery ballet costume
from the Brooklyn Bridge before breakfast
onto a parked Harley on cobblestone

dazzling Shakti Style weavings

a Celtic bowl with three mermaids as snakes

Open 24 Hours
misery, in spicy flavors

modern glass teacups and teapot
modern glass table lamps
modern plastic table radio

all I’ve inhabited but won’t return, ever

no, waiting for a “better” scheduling day means
another couple of years, at best, so let’s do it while we can

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of Partitas, click here.

INVOCATION

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Honor the frail onionskin
cast by the wayside where a snake
has rubbed its sleeve free
in the course of defenseless rebirth.

Protect me when regeneration
dictates some plaited hull to surrender.
Lead me through each forward motion
demanding we embrace fulfillment.

~*~

Teach me admiration
for these obstinate weeds
– their resolute profusion,
even when I pluck them.

Shield this garden
in its cultivated rows.
Restore our mislaid tools
in the morning grass.

Poem copyright 2015 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full Green Repose collection, click here.

 

PRELUDE & FUGUE 43/

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

green drapes
the first week of leaf

before the coral color of cooked lobster

*   *   *

coral (stars) (in a buds of) still birches
(with the wind) an ocean of northern lights

divers (however) shamefaced
avoid the first leaf
draping some fancy coral (yet)

northern lights drape the stilled birches
shamefaced, avoiding some fancy ocean
frogman first

(as) the coral northern lights
leaf out, draping

some still sand bar
beyond fancy birches
(shelters) a roseate sea nymph

(at noon) divers are shamed
facing (her) (the one as fleeting as the) first leaf
or northern lights avoiding (possession) (capture)

(at midnight) hanging still (as) birches, divers
in their shame, avoid facing
(their) fancies, first leafing
(in the) still briny reef

lobster footwork
coming clear

the still green lobster
works its feet in coming
to the clear green

the rippling lobster foot
works clearly
in the coming
green

~*~

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see all 50 Preludes & Fugues, click here.

GIDEON

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

1

in a beachside motel lacking
a Gideon’s Bible beside its saggy beds

it’s a mystery
just what else might be missing

I, for one, wouldn’t go looking
under the mattress

even at these off-season rates

2

off-season, an indolent tourist village
still awakens with Boston newspapers

rolled up on narrow sidewalks only
now most stores open about noon if at all

and workmen pound new yellow shakes
between weathered gray before the dew lifts

their rounds of hammering and rolling surf
repeat a brazen dance figure in a limited palette

of blue and nearly beige you could render
the clouded and sandy past overcut
and overgrazed
excepting the stooped plumes of wild grasses

3

an earlier Quaker dove pigment might
whet the salt-air and pepper mercies

appearing now

as two couples gleaning the beach
precisely as four aging women

once the gulls raise their aprons

4

tan sand, deep blue water
deep blue sky, touch of green
against the cliffs
gray houses or driftwood

deceptively peaceful
the lulling surf

surfcasters at dawn
wary of ferocity just below the horizon
or water’s surface
approaching the realms of Jezebel and Baal

Sunday dawn or sunset
matching the moon
(heart) breakers

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of seacoast poems, click here.

PSALM OF PSALMS

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

1

the tension
of the harp
and bow-string

in the poet-king’s hand

taking flight
in the air

*   *   *

how many Psalms
expressed the same anguish
and trial

in the glorious regime

*   *   *

how brief the interludes
between exile

2

the Psalms are poems
or the Psalms are prayers

as if I could define either

*   *   *

prayer is not what I speak
but what my Deeper Self would utter
despite me

*   *   *

raise my shield, O Lord,
regardless of the outcome, and lift me

there’s nothing easy about love

3

New Zion

originally, Bible stories were chanted
rather than read and dissected in the rabbinical twist

hardened into bronze

even in daily devotion

in this quest of salvation
facing Jerusalem
tiring of the routine exile

where’s my power in this place?
my heart, ever so uneasy

*   *   *

patriots say Peace but mean Victory:
which is hardly the same outcome
or means

festering and darkening
drumbeats summoned
into crowds cheering
uniforms
or invoking the Holy One
the Prince of Peace
to their cause

*   *   *

even communion tokens
from Colonial-era steeplehouses
witness the contrast to our free-Gospel ministry

with their families, subscribing to box seats
squirming in this theater of pipes

so who exchanged coins
for their purity?

truly, how do you pay
with the psalter?

holy, holy, holy

in a constant delving for treasures
where others see nothing of value

from whom all blessings flow
over each stretch of turmoil

*   *   *

how many strands of history
and sojourn
converge on me
as I’m walking in prayer
and softly humming
a funeral hymn for comfort

some October night
shivery petals shall upend
a row of headstones, too

called to the cause of justice

4

counterpoint originates
in the descant over the cantus firmus

or maybe drumming
or the sound of feet dancing

or even droning under the chant

in the conflicted lines
of desire and pain

in the hideous bleeding wrists
and ankles

*   *   *

O Holy One
contrary to the ancient discipline
I country dance
and sing harmony

to once again crack the thick shell
I build around me

“in the gift of life is also the gift of time”

time, as a signature
for music
for the dance

O Holy One
bless the Singers’ Table
with its poets and musicians

free in the present
free in unity with the Holy Spirit
free in the disciplines we embrace

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set, click here.

REHASH

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

the return of the Princess Wen-Chi

 400 years later I understand it wasn’t
my fault we never connected
but the hardness she’d become

with the curtain already up
when the lights took hold

unicorn and gazelle in repose

too weird, too impractical, too brash, too arrogant

hypodermic syringe on a porcelain teacup

favorite hardware
goof balls, golf balls

perhaps annoy or anger, delight
and so on and on. It never ends, does it?

above the treetops
astrologers, even witches

but mostly the aroma of freshly cut grass

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of Partitas, click here.

TAKING HOLD, AS A VENTURE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

I’m not that young, even to be this foolish
and this time, a month of rainfall starts
with fireworks, of course, viewed from our second-floor deck
before consulting a plumber about a bathroom
and heating for the barn
or a boiler replacement in our cellar, connecting
natural-gas appliances and restoring the downstairs toilet
and shower to use in a house

before drafting radical views of both the Garden of Eden
and Gethsemane and then the doctrine of Inward Light
alas, by year’s end, both would flower to book length
or, should I say, all? this time around, getting serious
as connecting the dots in a seedbed

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more, click here.