Jeanne Poland's Poetry Blog
11 Apr 2020 Leave a comment
in Poetry
one of my favorite innocence poses of the grandchild
My struggle is to use the life in order to transcend it, to convert it into legend.Stanley Kunitz
Lady Marion courtesies
Her hand-me-downs
This fine day arrived.
Apparel takes a bow
For camera
And Grandma:
Author of colors
Fabrics, patterns
Costumes of the world.
Literature
Illustrations
Published:
The pages open
The glance
Submits to legend.
11 Apr 2020 Leave a comment
in Poetry
grew my nails
Jeanne in superhero disguise
April 11, 2015
chutzpah:
a circus
animation.
intuition’s
quicksilver.
balance
centering
resting finish.
hiding
poop &
sweat.
breathing
smiles &
bows.
under the tent.
11 Apr 2020 Leave a comment
in A Drink of Water, Poetry Tags: A Drink of Water, across time, don't tellhim to use a glass, Jeffrey Harrison, my older brother, my son becomes my brother, natural, nineteen year old son, painting by Neil Waldman, Poems of Kindness, simple need, stream of cool water, the same water, two worlds, water dripping from his cheek, youth is flexible
painting by Neil Waldman
youth is flexible
A Drink of Water
When my nineteen-year-old son turns on the kitchen tap
and leans down over the sink and tilts his head sideways
to drink directly from the stream of cool water,
I think of my older brother, now almost ten years gone,
who used to do the same thing at that age;
and when he lifts his head back up and, satisfied,
wipes the water dripping from his cheek
with his shirtsleeve, it’s the same casual gesture
my brother used to make; and I don’t tell him
to use a glass, the way our father told my brother,
because I like remembering my brother
when he was young, decades before anything
went wrong, and I like the way my son
becomes a little more my brother for a moment
through this small habit born of a simple need,
which, natural and unprompted, ties them together
across the bounds of death, and across time…
as if the clear stream flowed between two worlds
and entered this one through the kitchen faucet,
my son and brother drinking the same water.
Jeffrey Harrison
anthologized in Healing the Divide:
Poems of Kindness and Connection
edited by James Crews
10 Apr 2020 Leave a comment
in Poetry, silence of the trees Tags: a presence whose margins are our margins, bottomless ocean, But only God can make a tree, But the silence in the mind, deep of the psalm writer, draw nearer to such ubiquity, Joyce Kilmer, launch the armada, over our own fathoms, Poems are made by fools like me, remain still, RSThomas, silence of the trees, the silence we call God, Upon whose bosom snow has lain, watercolor by Neil Waldman, Who ultimately live with rain
watercolor by Neil Waldman
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
But the Silence in the Mind
But the silence in the mind
is when we live best, within
listening distance of the silence
we call God. This is the deep
calling to the deep of the psalm-writer,
the bottomless ocean
we launch the armada of
our thoughts on, never arriving.
It is a presence, then,
whose margins are our margins;
that calls us out over our
own fathoms. What to do
but draw a little nearer to
such ubiquity by remaining still?
R.S. Thomas
09 Apr 2020 Leave a comment
in branchia that looks at God each day..., Poetry Tags: A nest of robins in her hair, a tree is a prayer during the pandemic, A tree that looks at God each day, a tree that may in summer wear, and lefts her leafy arms to pray, branchia that looks at God each day..., Trees by Joyce Kilmer, watercolor by Neil Waldman
watercolor by Neil Waldman
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
from Trees by Joyce Kilmer
a tree is a prayer during the pandemic
08 Apr 2020 Leave a comment
in against the earth's sweet flowing breast, Poetry Tags: a sense of not getting enough, A tree whose hungrey mouth is prest, against the earth's sweet flowing breast, Against the easrth's sweet flowing breast, anxious, coronavirus, Geneen Roth, grace, highly charged time, I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree, leads to hoarding, Naming and normalizing the feelings passing through, no turning to food for comfort, our life has changes, panicked, patterns and behaviors, scared, shelter in place, take time to see whats good, Trees by Joyce Kilmer, watercolor by Will Hillenbrand, wisdon calm
watercolor by Will Hillenbrand
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
Trees by Joyce Kilmer
Dear Ones,
This is an extraordinary moment in time, our lives, our histories. And her stories. The coronavirus has stopped us in our tracks—many of us are sheltering in place, many of our events have been cancelled. Many businesses are shut down. Life as we came to know it has shifted dramatically. We’re all being affected either by how we are physically feeling (some of us are not well), lack of childcare, being told to stay inside. There are countless ways life has changed. And we can meet this moment with grace, wisdom, calm. And without turning to food for comfort!
This kind of major world-event can induce panic and panic can induce old patterns from childhood: the sense of not getting or having enough, and therefore wanting or needed to hoard whatever is hoard-able. (Of course, just like a chocolate sundae doesn’t cure the deep-seated loneliness, hoarding or bingeing doesn’t cure anything. You could have a closet full of chocolate — or toilet paper:) — and still be anxious, scared, panicked). So it’s only normal, only natural that these patterns come up now during this highly charged time.
On Saturday, April 11th, I will be doing a free call during which I’ll be speaking about many patterns and behaviors—becoming aware of what’s not helpful and what is helpful right now. Here is a partial list of what I will be addressing:
• Not blaming yourself is crucial. Disengaging from that inner judge. Now.
• If you haven’t been practicing kindness, it’s not too late. You can live as if you know what kindness is.
• Remembering (by listening) what your body wants, needs. If you don’t know, you can start now. Nourishing foods. Hot foods. Foods that give you energy, rather than take it away.
• Becoming aware of—and questioning—old voices. Old patterns. “You are unworthy.” “You will never get or have enough.” “You are unlovable.” “You’ve blown it and now there is no going back.”
• Naming and normalizing the feelings that are passing through. Allowing everything that is here without getting swallowed up by scary stories about it.
• Taking time every single day, many times a day to see what’s good. What you already have enough of.
This Extraordinary Moment:
Compulsion and Kindness in the Time of Corona
Date: Saturday, April 11, 2020
Time: 1:00 PM US Pacific Time
To find your local time, use this TIme Zone Converter
I’d love to hear from you before Saturday with your questions and anything else you’d like me to address. I will read them all and do my best to answer them. Send your questions to me at: AskGeneen@GeneenRoth.com
Please join me on Saturday. I so look forward to connecting with you.
With love,
Geneen Roth
07 Apr 2020 Leave a comment
in Poetry, the bronchia tree in the lungs Tags: a tree that lifts its leafy arms, Gray Tree in the mist, I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree, Neil Waldman, the bronchia tree in the lungs, with oxygen
Neil Waldman’s Gray Tree in the mist
I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree
A tree that lifts its leafy arms…
…with oxygen
05 Apr 2020 Leave a comment
in My First Golden Shovel Poem, Poetry Tags: 4/5/2020, I choose to wear the holy sanctuary, Jeanne, light, My First Golden Shovel Poem, my most sacred robe, Power, Quicksilver, strength, the arc of the covenent
Sanctuary in Christ Church, Hudson NY showing Mother Eileen in her vestment
Exterior of Christ Episcopal Church in Hudson NY
The Golden Shovel or the last word of every line is a sentence
The sentence:
Wear the sanctuary, the arc of the covenant, as your robe, strength, light, and power.
Poem:
Of all I choose to wear
I choose the
holy sanctuary
whose tent carries the arc of the covenant,
my most sacred robe,
strength
light
power!
shovel poem by Jeanne
Quicksilver 4/5/2020
04 Apr 2020 Leave a comment
in Poetry, the golden shovel Tags: 1981, a tune is born of outrage, approachlessness, Berkshire School, bloodshot men, cruise, Don Share, Gwendolyn Brooks, his sin, If I should die before I wake, Jan Hutchinson, jazz, moonlit lawns, rap, smooth as wood, strike her son in the face, Terrence Hayes, the golden shovel, We Real Cool, wounded
The Golden Shovel
The following is written by Jan Hutchinson:
The Golden Shovel is a poetic form readers might not — yet — be “familiar
with. It was devised recently by Terrance Hayes in homage to Gwendolyn
Brooks…. The last words of each line in a Golden Shovel poem are, in
order, words from a line or lines taken often, but not invariably, from a
Brooks poem. The results of this technique can be quite different in
subject, tone, and texture from the source poem, depending upon the
ingenuity and imagination of the poet who undertakes to compose one.
(Don Share)
Here is the original poem by Gwendolyn Brooks. I heard her read it at Berkshire
School in Sheffield, Massachusetts only weeks before she died. She read it once
like jazz and again as rap. She’d had already suffered a stroke and was wobbly
but sharp as a tack:
We Real Cool
The pool players.
Seven at the Golden Shovel.
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
(Try reading this so it is a rap. Watch the tempo.)
(Then try reading it as jazz. play the sax.)
Here is Terrance Hayes’ first Golden Shovel poem:
The Golden Shovel
I. 1981
When I am so small Da’s sock covers my arm, we
cruise at twilight until we find the place the real
men lean, bloodshot and translucent with cool.
His smile is a gold-plated incantation as we
drift by women on bar stools, with nothing left
in them but approachlessness. This is a school
I do not know yet. But the cue sticks mean we
are rubbed by light, smooth as wood, the lurk
of smoke thinned to song. We won’t be out late.
Standing in the middle of the street last night we
watched the moonlit lawns and a neighbor strike
his son in the face. A shadow knocked straight
Da promised to leave me everything: the shovel we
used to bury the dog, the words he loved to sing
his rusted pistol, his squeaky Bible, his sin.
The boy’s sneakers were light on the road. We
watched him run to us looking wounded and thin.
He’d been caught lying or drinking his father’s gin.
He’d been defending his ma, trying to be a man. We
stood in the road, and my father talked about jazz,
how sometimes a tune is born of outrage. By June
the boy would be locked upstate. That night we
got down on our knees in my room. If I should die
before I wake. Da said to me, it will be too soon.
Terrance Hayes
after Gwendolyn Brooks
I’m going to try my first golden shovel poem tonight. See you tomorrow!
01 Apr 2020 Leave a comment
in April Fools Day, Poetry Tags: a fool's fact, ah fib, Alphabet Majuscules, April Fools Day, fastball, George Plimpton, his future, hoaxes, Jeanne, jokes, opulent life style, pitcher, recluse, Sidd Finch, subtltle, yogi
Alphabelt Majuscules by Jeanne
Today is April Fools’ Day, a day of hoaxes and practical jokes the world over.
In the April issue of Sports Illustrated in 1985, George Plimpton reported that the New York Mets had recruited a phenomenal young pitcher who had learned his craft in a Tibetan monastery. The pitcher’s name was Sidd Finch, and he could throw a 168-mile-per-hour fastball. Plimpton buried a clue in the article’s subtitle: “He’s a pitcher, part yogi and part recluse. Impressively liberated from our opulent life-style, Sidd’s deciding about yoga — and his future in baseball.” The first letter of each word spelled out “Happy April Fools’ Day — ah fib.”
(It is “a fib” a lie-a falsehood- a trick-a misdirection- a hoax, a fool’s fact-
a fast-ball)
The Vibrant Channeled Creator 