Author: Juliana Lightle

Commitment and Poetry

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This business of committing to posting a poem a day during National Poetry Month is not so very easy.  Yesterday I totally forgot and tonight I am nearly too tired to think of anything at all profound and clever.  However, a commitment is a serious endeavor, I will put my fatigued brain in gear, and something of use to someone will hopefully result.  Now that I puzzle over this, the solution is to write a poem about those things to which I am committed:

 

Commitments

 

Make a difference in this world.

Enjoy ordinary moments.

Hang in there for the long haul.

Express joy and courage to

be the best possible self.

Make a difference in this world.

Dance to the sound of silence.

Learn something new and

meaningful every day.

Meditate, practice yoga.

Cherish friends and family.

Make a difference in this world.

 

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Teaching

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Three students mad at other students:

in stream-of-conscious essay one

tells me,

“I want to punch ___T____ and ___J_____ in the face.”

Two others allude, avoid the overt.

I must “fix” this for them.

Senioritis.

Change

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“If you want the present to be different from the past, study the past.”  Spinoza

Christians went to the Holy Land

to claim it back.  Crusades.

Moslems fought Moslems

Sunni against Shia

Sufis outcast or revered

Hafiz, Rumi

No middle ground

No compromise

Centuries gone

New technology

the only change.

No one learned

listened to the past

to the humane

voices in the wind.

20 Reasons why Slovenia must be on your travel wishlist for 2015

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20 Reasons why Slovenia must be on your travel wishlist for 2015.  I do not usually share a lot of posts, but this one from a blogging friend is a must share.  It includes such incredibly beautiful photos–for all of you out there who like travel.

Pain

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She remembers nothing.

Head vibrates,

fingers tremble

heart thumps.

Her brain hangs on

one big thorn on a

mesquite tree.

She cannot cry,

looks at pestules on

dry, blotchy skin.

Her brain hangs on

one big thorn on a

mesquite tree.

She tries to remember.

Feet walk on

broken shards

eyes crimson,

silently cries.

Her brain hangs on

one big thorn on a

mesquite tree.

Listening to a Band

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Yesterday my second daughter arrived from Thailand.  Biologically she is not my daughter, but rather my first exchange student six years ago.  We have kept in touch over the years and she is now here with me for a month.  Her best friend from high school here is also with us.  Tonight we went to the Palace Coffee in Canyon, Texas, to listen to a trio because the band leader is a friend of the friend.  This poem attempts to describe the music.

Long hair flying

except the drummer

Wild strumming

No picking

Guitar and bass

percussion not strings

Three percussion instruments

vibrating sound

until

suddenly

guitar becomes synthesizer

haunting, electronic

other dimensional.

Then

back to

three percussion instruments

vibrating sound

voices lost

Aging

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Today’s contribution to the Tupelo Press 30/30 commitment:

Face can be lifted

Arms covered with long sleeves

Hands plumped with injections

Eyebrow and head hair dyed

You really know you are old

when your pubic hair turns grey.

The Tupelo Press 30/30 Project

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Today, one day late, I discovered this project for National Poetry Month and decided to commit to it by experimenting.  It requires writing a poem daily either on your own or following “instructions”.  Today’s directions included finding a nearby book, going to page 29, picking twenty words, and using them to write a poem:

crazy think

goofy people

worried together

leave bear

smudges on the glass

bloody floor

huge knives

packed sorrow on

a plastic table

Sunday Haiku

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Mourning doves call at dawn

haunting echoes

I turn, drifting back to dreams.

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Note:  today is my birthday.  Spent the day at a soccer tournament in Midland/Odessa watching my grandson play club soccer.  Returned home to find, at last count, 82 birthday wishes on Facebook, greetings from all but two continents.  Feeling grateful.