Two Poems and a Poem: Ritual One, Day 21

 Two Poems

“St. Louis: Prayer Before Dawn” by Richard Blanco 

“Passing Death” by Barbara Kingsolver 

A Poem

Poetry is Not My Favorite Today

by ljkemp

Poetry is not my favorite today as I put the finishing touches 

on a teacher resource for National Poetry Month.

I wake to my own ritual to be faced with sadness

a poem of injustice and inequity

a poem of prayer for what is unfair

in our society, our country

and a poem of death

a mother, presumably a wife,

slipping into darkness, dying

as her family practices life without her

until a tumor takes her away.

I looked for brightness between the lines

meticulously dissecting the lines and words apart 

under a microscope searching or the tiniest particles of joy

a description of those who live in comfort

sleeping past dawn with faces resting tender on pillows

the image of memories like seeds from a melon

squeezed out of a fist until nothing is left

but the sticky sweet cling of living.

The first a comparative description of the haves,

sleeping comfortably in peace and the have nots,

who try to rest uncomfortably under fluorescent lights

on commercial streets or on buses.

The latter a description of cancer 

eating away at a woman’s brain.

I pause.

There seems no joy in these poems

words pouring through pain and heartache.

I pause.

It seems the joy is in the beauty of the words.

Poets who string together eloquent words

opening windows to the world- to their souls; 

though inside there is hurt and death and injustice

and excruciating pain and anger,

the joy is that we have words and art and poetry 

to share the human experience.

Italics: First line is from the Richard Blanco poem; the second is from the Barbara Kingsolver poem.

Two Poems and a Poem: Ritual One, Day 20

Two Poems

“This is How they Come Back to Us” by Barbara Kingsolver

“Poetry Assignment 4: What Do You Miss Most?” by Richard Blanco

A Poem

His Hands

by ljkemp

My beloved’s hands,

not just those that know 

my body’s every curve,

hold mine on our evening walks,

squeeze them to draw out sorrow’s energy.

The ones that change flat tires

on the side of the highway,

meticulously fold five days of uniforms

out of the dryer on Saturday,

construct our mind’s images and ideas

into things, real and functional.

The ones that with great care

break apart the tiniest of twigs,

thoughtfully placing each piece,

carefully arranged kindling on the campfire.

I think of him young with still perfect hands.

The ones that proudly wore a class ring

with a swimmer etched in the side.

The ones that were perfectly calloused

from digging ditches and handling tools.

The ones that were the first to touch me,

in ways I never knew I want to be touched.

The ones that took mine in his 

and made a promise.

The ones that delivered our baby from 

me and held him with tears of joy.

Those vivid and tenderly details rendered,

these are how I will always remember his hands.

Italics:

The first italicized line is from Kingsolver’s poem and the second is from Blanco’s poem.

Two Poems and a Poem: Ritual One, Day 19

Two Poems:

“Easy Lynching on Herndon Avenue” by Richard Blanco 

“Burying Ground” by Barbara Kingsolver 

A Poem:

Sunny and Seventy-five

a haiku by ljkemp

pale morning light

seeps into breezy blue sky

leaves of grass exhale

A note:

This ritual is becoming increasingly difficult (as I expected it would). There was a section of the Kingsolver book that becoming unenjoyable for me, so I skipped over into the next section. Today’s poems were particularly solemn- both about death. Blanco’s was particularly horrifying. I chose instead to pull two lines, one from each, about the natural elements in the description. I reimagined them into a bit of joy on a perfect winter’s day in Florida. The lines:

From Blanco: “Only pale morning light seeping into blue sky...”

From Kingsolver: “Leaves of grass exhaling...”