Good morning friends, I am happy to report that my poem If John Muir Were a Girl was recently published in the Fairy Tales Summer 2020 edition of Alaska Women Speak. Thanks for reading!
Sandra Cisneros says that “poets are in the professions of transforming grief into light.”
On some level, we all feel grief. In Eastern medicine, they believe that grief settles in the lungs. I have asthma, so I find this particularly interesting. I wonder how grief has affected my lungs, and how poetry could possibly help excavate stuck grief.
Covid-19 is a respiratory disease, so perhaps we need to pay attention to the connection of grief and lungs. I wonder how poetry could help us excavate our own grief. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all clear our lungs and heart from grief, and transform it into something beautiful and tangible?
Poetry– metaphor, truth– help us do that.
Photo by Karim Manjra on Unsplash
(scroll down to watch/read)
I am struggling with this blog post. I’ve been wanting to make an important announcement for more than a month now, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it. How do you announce you won an award without coming across as bragging? It’s kind of impossible.
The truth is I was totally surprised, thrilled, and humbled when I found out in early April that my poem, “Solstice through Aperture,” placed first in the Alaska statewide poetry contest.
YAY!!!! Okay, back to being humble now…
Here is a video from the Fairbanks Arts Association of my reading the winning poem, “Solstice through Aperture,” as well as some of my other poems.
For those of you who prefer to read poetry, I have posted a copy of the poem below.
Thanks for reading/watching!
Featured photo by Fera Photography
You can imagine my delight when Plumtree tavern literary magazine sent me an email to tell me that they included my poem as one of the selected favorites from the past year. And lo and behold, mine was listed first!
I wrote this poem during a walk on one of the coldest, driest days of fall. Sounds muted, nothing stirring, and even the wind was dead. The next day life returned in the first snow.
Enjoy this time of quiet solitude. As Crosby, Stills and Nash say, the darkest hour is right before the dawn.
Featured artwork by Watanabe Seiti
More Cowbell (Easter Memories) In diapers you would cause and effect Easter eggs against rocks just to hear the sound of them break Your coyote mind shattered curious glass oceans with a stone’s throw Even now you test my calm to prove that love is stronger than your rollercoaster. I could harness time drive my car slower than an OG, hibernate, close my eyes & let the wind swallow me whole but nope. The chiller I zen, the louder you cowbell.
This year Tidal Echoes, founded by University of Alaska Southeast, virtually launched their annual showcase of literature and the art. For their first Author Poetry Reading, the magazine asked me to read my poem, “Letter to the Universe,” a poem for girls everywhere. Diane DeSloover also reads her poem about the first time she watched Gigi Monroe perform.
Watch the video here: http://www.uas.alaska.edu/arts_sciences/humanities/tidalechoes/index.html
Inside lives a cyclone
that can throw him to the floor.
A punch to the arm
he craves, a battle
in his ears to slay
the storm within.
Give him a cinnamon stick,
whiskey cranberry sauce,
a lemon — anything
to burn the fireworks
in his mouth.
I don’t know where he gets it,I say
as I take a swig
of Bulliet Bourbon.
Last night a meal
of bottled up words
popped off like shooting stars,
burned, then faded. Tide
swollen with grief
breaches the seawall and flows
over marsh and hollow, under lampposts
on which two Ravens perch as if extensions
of the infrastructure, beaks kissing.
for the paper towel
found on the floor of the car
to stanch the flood.
Put a cork in it— she tells herself
Do it over with turkey tetrazzini.
Painting: “The frightened Turkey” by Nathalie Gribinski
tiny breaths on pillowcases
baseboards ticking like my mind
which one should I cuddle first
as if to stop the time
one more year, I tell myself
he hasn’t flown off yet
heartbeats strong underhand
down upon my back
she finds her voice
watching her throat move
in her sleep the jugular
practices its truth
the trouble is I think I still
have time, I hold her tight
wrap my wings around her frame
lest the time fly by
This poem was first published at Alaska Women Speak