NaPoWriMo #15--Haiku

I have no patience

for the greedy and wicked.

There is more to life.

No moon in the sky

The clouds hide her light tonight

World rapt in moonglow.

****

When all else fails, a haiku

NaPoWriMo #14--"Homely Joys"

Homely Joys

Slow-cooked stew, meaty,

redolent with onion and garlic,

chunks of carrots, soft green beans.

Custard, warm and soft, covering

spiced apples, sweet-smelling

cinnamon, a dash of nutmeg.

An old friend in the pages of a book,

The familiar chair, worn to fit.

A cat, coiled, snug on a lap.

Stillness, quiet, peace.

***

No, not my dinner nor my reality. Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming. And another busy day!

NaPoWriMo #13--"Some Days"

Some Days

Some days are not days for poetry.

We’d like to think that’s not true.

But some days are for work and grind.

At the end, nothing left for art.

But a promise is a promise.

Thirty poems in thirty days.

But I never promised they’d be good.

NaPoWriMo #12--Untitled

Twenty years ago, I left America

for a job for the first time,

The Internet was new.

Email, sure, but not all had it.

No Skype. No Facebook.

Calls costly, so ties strained.

Twelve years abroad, so much change.

Before that, it had been the 70s—

four weeks in England with nothing

but postcards and letters to friends.

Mom got one call.

At 16 it seemed an age.

So later, having email, a gift.

Now gone again, though “talk” each day

With son, or mother, or friends.

Thanks to technology,

the distance means little.

A double-edged sword.

How much time “catching up”?

How many kitties/bunnies/puppies

Do I need to see?

Today, scroll my wall or write a poem?

I almost chose the wall.

****

I probably should have chosen the wall! This is puerile, but hey, I am bound and determined to write one a day!

"Poetry"--NaPoWriMo #11

Poetry

William Wordsworth defined poetry as

"the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings:

“it takes its origin from emotion

“recollected in tranquility".

If this is true, it’s not poetry I write.

Nor do I think all who call themselves poets

would fit this description, either.

Many, of course, wrote of

these powerful feelings. But often, 

these are not the poems I seek to read. 

I wish I had the talent to write “Absalom and Achitophel”

Or “A Satire Against Mankind” or “Rape of the Lock”.

Telling a saga, epic or mock, in rhymed couplets

Is a skill far beyond mine.  To satirize my world

Is hard enough in prose.  But in couplets?

And then there’s the “powerful feelings."

Mine tempered always by my phlegmatic nature.

The ancients would have seen in me one

in whom things are analyzed in tranquility.

Occasionally there may be a “spontaneous overflow,”

but mostly channeled through a Celtic yell,

a dance, or a full-bellied laugh. Yet these are rare.

Still I pen my poems. Never a poet;

Just one who writes poetry and loves

and honors those whose talent outshines mine.

"An Ode to Digitized Texts"--NaPoWriMo #10

An Ode to Digitized Texts

I want to sing an ode to the internet

and digitized sources.

Twenty years ago, I did my

dissertation on little-known writers

of the 17^th and 18^th centuries.

Rare books had to be borrowed

from far away libraries.

Some read in situ, copiously

taking notes as the pages were too fragile

to photocopy.

                                Those plays that had been

included in facsimile editions were copied

at a huge cost of time and money.

So much so that I kept them for over

fifteen years “just in case”. Did you

know that photocopied words will

impress into the plastic folder that

holds them, neatly lifting off the page,

leaving nothing but a shadow

of memory on the page?

Rarely, a volume could be bought,

Though a stretch for a poor student’s

budget. One who was a new mother, as well.

But if it were under a hundred, I’d bite.

That was half the weekly cost of the

babysitter and a sacrifice.

All these years later, I am going

back to my true love: early 18^th century.

Having lost my precious copies,

I feared finding what I need in this

far distant desert. But as I tell my students,

Google is our friend. As is Project Gutenberg,

The University of Michigan

and Google books.

                                All my old friends are here,

And more! The wisdom of that age, digitized

by volunteers, scholars and technicians.

Scanning thousands upon thousands,

giving poor and distant scholars access.

A mere twenty years ago, I could not

have dreamt of such riches, such bounty.

There are some who despair of “technology”.

They fear it, or say it is dehumanizing us all.

But how very human, this desire to save the

precious, the rare. 

                                My hard drive now holds

more of these nearly lost works than I ever

handled back then. Do I miss the feel of paper,

of leather, the smell of ancient printing?

Of course.

But I can visit them. Go to libraries when

I can. But now I can also work and study

And share knowledge of these riches

with the world. Make sure my fore-

mothers are remembered and 

given credit for the hard work they did

so that I have the right to write.

So an ode to the internet and

digitized sources. For those who

dreamt of a world where books

were forever.