Penelope Connor — ink girl poet
Some days are rainy,
cold and wet, perfect
for holding hands
and for walking in.
Some times you will
dance in puddles,
laugh with me and
let the rain wash you.
Some how your words
can still confound, like
such heavy rain and
low, rumbling thunder.
Some one cannot judge
your distance, counting
wild beasts or southern
states, between silences.
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AUDIO FILE:
at this table, in this café,
and nibble on a slice of pie.
I do not want to write today.
I want to sit. I want to sigh.
I will not mourn, nor will I cry.
It’s not that I am sad that way.
My muse has gone outside to play,
and I am left here, warm and dry.
So, I will write another day.
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#NaPoMo INFO:
For today’s prompt, pick an emotion, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: “Happy,” “Sad,” “Angry,” or well, there’s a universe of emotions out there.
http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2016-april-pad-challenge-day-10
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POETIC FORM INFO:
The poetic form focus for my PAD 2016 Challenge is the Rondeau — 13 lines in 3 stanzas; rhyme scheme: ABba/abAB/abbaA (uppercase letters are refrains) Usually 8 syllables per line. For info: http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/personal-updates/help-me-rondeau-help-help-me-rondeau-another-french-poetic-form
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AUDIO FILE:
The woods were calling.
I sat at at the feet of my Wolf, with tears in my eyes, at having received unexpected news of loss. My heart was spilling over with sorrow, and I could only think of running to the trees. So she took me by the hand, and wiped tears from my eyes. She drove to our favorite set of trails, and let me lead the way. We hiked along, through wet grass and slippery mud as we made our way deeper into the wooded area and turned the corner to a favorite path — one that’s been under water for months.
Accompanied by the frenzied calls of geese and ducks from the nearby marsh, we stepped from the planked walkway into ankle deep water feeling the mud suck and grasp at our boots. Sticking to the center of the path, or the edges, depending on the depth, she splashed along beside me, softly speaking words of love and encouragement, with a smile in her voice.
We waded.
And we talked, about the sorrow of losing a man who has loved me since the day I was born — he was one of the few people in this life I can say that about — and the sudden absence of his presence in this world was a reality I was struggling to absorb. But the woods and the water were soothing. Placing my hands against tree trunks was comforting, and the sound of her voice made it easier to breathe.
The sky overhead was dark, overcast by clouds that promised rain, but held off for reasons unknown. The sun would set in an hour, and the sounds of ducks and geese in preparation for this nightly event filled my ears. Finally, I found the place I’d been longing for since that morning — a stone bench surrounded by trees, deep enough in the woods that I knew I’d see wildlife, if only we were still for a little while.
I sat, and she stood — leaning against a nearby trunk, listening while I shared with her what was on my heart. As I wound down, and fell into thought, they came. First, it was two young deer, who stopped in the nearby copse of trees and stared at me, ears twitching, and bodies perfectly still. The near one and I gazed into each other’s eyes for several long moments, in silent conversation. Then the birds began to call from the tops of the trees, a woodpecker worked steadily in the distance, and briefly, a very large and beautiful brown owl graced us with a silent, overhead flight.
I breathed in these gifts of presence, and pointed out each of them to her, as she watched me. At one point she asked me to do her a favor, and it was really a gift she was giving to me. At her request, I chose a song (the one that had been in my heart all morning, since I’d heard the news) and queued it on my phone. She stepped away, wet, rippling, water sounds following her, as she retreated to some not-too-distant place behind my back, and left me alone in my sanctuary.
I pressed my boots into the sludge and water at my feet, imagining the mud between my toes as I grounded myself. I took a deep breath, before slipping my ear buds into my ears, and starting the song. I sobbed, breathed deeply, and let the words wash over me… just as the sun broke through the clouds over my left shoulder, and cast its reflection into the water at my feet like a blanket.
I cried until I felt I could breathe again – thankful for this quiet, sacred space, and for a Wolf who would watch over me as I got lost in it. The song was set to repeat, and when it began again, I took another, deeper breath, and sang it aloud — to the trees, to the distant deer and the birds overhead, to the wet earth, the water and the sunlight pooling at my feet. I sang aloud, not caring who might hear, or how it might sound. It was my declaration and my prayer. The well of emotion in me surged, and I rode the wave, singing triumphantly, in gratitude.
As the last notes faded, the beautiful sun pulled her blanket of cloud cover back over her shoulders and ducked toward the horizon. I watched for a moment, then stood slowly to my feet. I put away my phone, and gathered myself, turning to find my Wolf sitting not ten steps away, smiling softly at me. She took me by the hand and together we walked through the water, through the trees, and the fading sunlight — finding our way back to dry land.
—–
Come rain.
Wash these tear stains
from the windows of my heart,
so I might see
through the blur —
clouds that cover,
comfort me.
For just an hour
— or four — hide me
from the sun.
Let me stand,
wet and shivering, but alive
beneath your skies?
Come rain.
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AUDIO FILE:
Listen to Come Rain by Penelope Connor #np on #SoundCloud
afternoon sunlight
paints her eyelashes
where they lay
beside her cheek
watching, I lose count
of my ragged breaths
in the way
my stomach aches
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AUDIO FILE:
I’ve spent the past several days in the hospital with a partner. She is doing well, and we’re narrowing in on what the non-life threatening problem actually is. However, as a result, I will be re-posting a couple of previous poems this week. I hope you enjoy!
From February, 2015
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I wrap myself in rain soaked sheets,
my skin well drenched in poet’s ink.
Words drip from fingers, lashes, hair,
although the squall line’s past, I think.
A rolling thunder echoes now.
Tempted I am, to seed the sky —
(I feel it in my skin, my bones.)
to dance a prayer against the dry.
To gauge the weather, test the air —
while rushing winds in whispered voice
make promises of darker clouds —
for instruments — I have one choice:
I’ll take my pen, write rhymes in form.
hold back the sun, bring on the storm.
—–
You’re the bread dough
out on the windowsill,
the sun in the
morning skies.
You’re the balloon slipped
from a tiny hand,
and the gaze of
searching eyes.
You’re the flood waters
after days of rain.
and Lazarus stumbling
in surprise.
You’re the full wolf moon
on a January night.
Through the darkness
you will rise.
—–
AUDIO FILE:
These long nights etch frost
across our window panes.
We are the slow, tired reply,
heavy with winter’s sleep.
Let’s draw the cloak of longing–
curl into our hollow spaces,
inspire the waning heat of
our own, too-shallow breath.
There’s in us yet, a reaching.
Limbs promising new growth
itch under stubborn bark–
breathless for season’s change.
Sap whispers in our branches.
Murmurs wake us in the night.
Rumors stirring wild imagination,
hope kindles these dry bones.
We’ll soon wake from slumber,
bathe our faces in the morning.
Our weary nights are numbered;
–here comes the blessed light.
We are two celestial bodies — like ships —
weighed down with stars in a vast galaxy,
bursting at the seams with a cargo
of explosive, universe-creating energy.
Yet we cannot connect long enough,
to make exchange, to offload our cargo.
We pass each other –sailing in circles,
and occasionally our shadows kiss.
Our respective holds strain, and shift,
inner-voices — sailors to man rigging,
and mend sails — they grow tired
of these circling, endless journeys.
They are tired — I — am tired,
of seeing your smile from afar,
feeling the wake of your orbit,
and yet not casting out a rope.
I long to haul you in, to pull myself
into you. but you pass so quickly,
the briefest glimpse is shadowed
in darkness. So, I busy myself —
I check my charts, devise clever signals
to launch into the sky. Your response is
always, “Soon…” as bewildered by weather,
star charts, and creaking ships as I.
My thoughts are warning sirens
spinning faster until I lose my grip
on words that no one else has used.
I find that calm spot,
then without warning — claustrophobia.
I’m out of control again.
I’m beautiful but deadly,
swirling, whirling, snapping,
circular winds uprooting trees.
I am rain-wrapped twists and turns
a starving demon-woman
breaking glass, taking cover.
In the eerie, quiet aftermath,
of new beginning,
I feel unsettled, unknowing —
scattered memories:
clean sheets
striped socks
a cat shivering
on my lap
and debris
in
my
wake
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POETIC FORM: An out-and-about Poem
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PROMPT:
To earn the “Crowdsource” badge, pick a public place with a lot of foot traffic. Select a concrete noun (e.g. tree, wax, mouse, window). Hold or display a sign inviting the public to contribute their definitions of the word or talk about what they think about when they hear that word; alternately, walk around and ask random people to contribute. Collect a minimum of ten definitions, and use those words to write your poem. Do not include the chosen noun anywhere in the poem’s body or title. Cite your collection method, location and chosen word at the bottom of your post.
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PoMoSco (Poetry Month Scouts)
Found Poetry Review’s 2015 National Poetry Month Project
– April 2015 – 213 poets joined together as a troop to earn digital merit badges for completing experimental and found poetry prompts.
– Prompts are divided into five categories – remixing, erasure, out and about, conceptual and chance operation.
– Each category offers six distinct badges to be earned.
– Poets choose their own source text.
– For more information, check out pomosco.com.
A dear friend and fabulous poet, Von Thompson, is a participant. When she told me about the challenge, I decided to play along at home.
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SOURCE: Facebook Friends
Pen's Ink 