Quotable & Poetry Tuesday:
Posted on | February 26, 2013 | 1 Comment
It feels so odd re-living old notebooks from my early to late teens, but I am enjoying it at times. There are parts of me that are still a part of that girl, but a larger part of me that is this woman with so much more purpose, drive, and love in my life. My teens were spent feeling a bit out of place and I was a bit of an 'old soul' compared to my peers. Below is a poem I wrote in 2002'ish.
open
life is
At first this got me feeling a bit defensive that yes life is only about love. I am so full with all the love in my life! But next it got me thinking that I am still this person with my own interests, passions, and an indelible past worth remembering. Sometimes I forget that I am more than a mother. Even writing that feels funny.
But being a mother & a unique person can coexist, right? My dear b has been telling me this for months but I couldn't see. I guess it takes a sixteen year old April to let it sink in.
I think one of these days I'll leave the man & girl home to photograph the sunset and as I drive home I'll blast my favorite band on full volume. I may think of dear h a majority of the time, but I will look back & appreciate this time to cultivate my passions. Because life is about me too, every once in a while.
Other mommas - how do you keep the balance of motherhood & feeding your own passions?
Poetry Tuesday: Marriage
Posted on | February 12, 2013 | No Comments
My mother used to have a book of poems by Khalil Gibran that I would read through as a kid, and I remember loving the fact that each chapter had a topic such as 'love,' 'war,' 'children,' etc. I browsed the same book tonight and was a bit surprised that it interested me as a child, and that I could understand it as well. Props to my mother! The poem below resonated with me today. I hope you enjoy as well.
Poetry Tuesday: shoots & ladder
Posted on | January 29, 2013 | No Comments
This isn't so much a poem as just an excerpt from an old notebook full of poetry & thoughts. This is when I met my lovely B.
4.29.05
We walk in. You reassure me the work you can do - the walls, carpet, and life you can change. I need no pledge, no declaration of any kind. I can see you & me so clearly. Countertops made only for the pleasure of our late nights lounges. A porch where we can lay like children astounded by the lights & colors our lonely sky creates. A floor for scrabble, coffee, and our flawless Oreos. I want to make love behind a curtain and live in your eyes all the while.
We will dance in the living room. James Taylor will inundate the room & the dog will find ways to trip me and smile the beautiful way only a canine can. She will think we were playing a game & I will simply laugh. I laugh knowing she is right; we’re this game of phenomenal outcome. We’re shoots and ladders with no shoots. We’re Monopoly and Life with infinite spins and shakes and a vast board to play on. We have no limit.
Poetry Tuesday: 'One Today'
Posted on | January 22, 2013 | No Comments
I originally thought I'd post an old poem by me, however I was very moved by the poem from Obama's inauguration yesterday. It's a bit lengthy and some people claimed it was a bit 'commercial' but I loved it as I was driving watching the sun try to peak through the fog. I was also very impressed with how passionately the president spoke about gay rights and equality (the author of this poem is a gay and hispanic man). I don't say this often but well done, America.
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper -
bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives-
to teach geometry, or ring-up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the "I have a dream" we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won't explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father's cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.
mingled by one wind - our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day's gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.
or whispers across cafe tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos dias
in the language my mother taught me - in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn't give what you wanted.
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always - home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country - all of us -
facing the stars
hope - a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it - together.
Lost and found
Posted on | January 20, 2013 | 1 Comment
I've been indulging in old poetry to help me explore my emotions. I had notebooks full of old poems, and even an online diary that I wrote in through my late teens/early 20's (write me for the password, if so inclined). I have books filled with favorite poets that inundate my hope chest. Some people don't get it.
...
I think I'll start posting old/new poetry of mine & other poets to satiate this need of mine. Poetry Tuesday - what do you think?
- April
- I am a RN & natural momma in the Pacific Northwest, married to a beautiful man I adore. Nature is my niche, animals get me. I read and I write, I hike and I love photography. Welcomed our daughter Hazel Annan earthside in February 2012 after three years of infertility & our second miracle daughter Juniper Louise in April 2014.
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