#6: I Hope the Devil is a Dog

(Or three reasons to never stop barking)

The dog in the house down the street
barks incessantly, and we wonder if it is out of
loneliness since it begins when his owner leaves, like shouting to
fill space, loud enough to fill absence, and keep
yourself company.

Or maybe he his sounding fear, because anything can happen
in emptiness, so he barks in constant tempo to scare away
dread, to fill the house with the might of amplitude, loudness splattered
like paint in giant blasts across the walls.

Or perhaps it is all simple anger, a defiance to tear the house down
altogether, so that nothing stands between the dog and the neighbors, whose faces are knotting up grimaced as we speak. The dog must think it’s a
human kind of snarling.

Either way, the house is an amplifier, presenting his bark in
all directions, first at Loudness-8, Reverb-10 to the apartments next door,
and traveling down the overpass, leveling off to Loudness-7 before hitting
our house and the crossroads that turn it all up, projecting the bark in
two more directions.

I hope the devil is a dog, there, at the crossroads,
kindred kind to negotiate something fair between this maybe-lonely
animal and all these neighbors, pockets filled with anger coins,
ready to ransom a canine soul
for silence.

Vs. 1:   4/11/2018

Taralinda  2018

If it matters to anyone- my numbering system in my post titles now, doesn’t follow the NaPoWriMo prompts anymore, since I have been writing more, ironically. My goal is simply to post as many poems as possible this month; 30 poems in 30 days would be nice. 😉 That said, I did experiment with longer lines for once (Prompt #6), and there is a parallel of perspectives in this piece (Prompt #10).

And speaking of the length of a linebreak in a poem, I just realized in this poem post, that long lines are not supported in the formatting of this blog template; ergh! Although I don’t use them often, I detest being limited by force. Time to look for a new blog template. What are your favorite WordPress templates for writing poetry?

Thank you for reading!

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NaPoWriMo

Prompt 4: Archival Memory II. Poem

Archival Memory II

You bathe in forms I’ve never met

But if memory serves                           without the sugarcoat,
When you were in writer’s halls, singing villanelles, offering odes,
and cornering quatrains with your lacy sestina,

The marine lab held me sway, chambered in Nautilus pompilius,
casting nets deeper than darkness, her bioluminescent waves.

Come Spring, my algal mats were a riot of bubbling pigments
much the way cherry blossoms bloomed in your haiku.

And how can I hold it against you? The courage you held for two.
While I scribbled verses on graph paper,  you doodled lips on fish.

Archival dust made us both sneeze.

 

Tara Linda, c. 2018

NaPoWriMo Prompt #4: to write about an abstraction in a concrete way.  This poem is a rewrite of a poem from 7 years ago, about something very abstract: regret. And perhaps a bit of jealousy.  It’s one of those pieces that when I first wrote it, began to open a door  to a feeling I’d yet to articulate: that I became a scientist instead of a poet. And that somehow, a certain poet I knew was farther ahead and better equipped than I. Revisiting this poem now, this topic, was easier. I felt more like an observer than a participant, I could open the door even wider, filling in more specifics than before. I loved studying science. And poetry! And I have no regrets. I know now that regardless what my path has been, marine science enriched my life. And of course, studying poetry and music in non-traditional ways, has made the poet within stronger and more defiant than ever.  I can see now too, what a waste of time it is to compare ourselves to others. Don’t do it!!  Thankfully, our paths all differ wildly. We should celebrate this.

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Day 2: Flight Risk. Poem

Should I leave for Algiers then?

On the 2 O’clock train                 he’ll watch your reluctance

recede in rust hues, Doppler fade.

 

Or will you come?

Yes you should go, but           (how to tell you…)

I must stay      to                     (choose a lie).

I love my whiskey

and women complex

to look back with both in hand.

 

                                   She presses the flower

                                   in the leaves of fine linen

                                   makes a point to never look back.

taralinda  2018

Prompt NaPoWriMo,

Day 1: April and Poetry~ NaPoWriMo / National Poetry Month

Here is one thing
I always think
but never say aloud…

Haha!  If you’ve been a visitor to this blog during past years and April months, you’ll know that I love poetry and this whole April movement toward poetry worldwide. You’ll also know that I mix up prompts from NaPoWriMo, and my own Muses and inspirations.

There is much travel and recording, work projects this month, but No Excuses!!!  Haha!  Seriously, since poetry is Art, and my goal is to LIVE my art in all ways possible (music, poetry, creating with my hands…), presenting a little bit here shouldn’t be so difficult. Right?!  But the truth is, it’s that evil perfectionist that stifles my presentation on this blog- via editing. I write daily, several times so in my journals (would DIE if I couldn’t write). But it’s that ‘polish the draft’ thingy that stifles my posting! Luckily, as I alluded to with the previous post on Rauschenberg’s art, I am suddenly wildly inspired by the messy art journal crowd of late, and have a board started here on Pinterest to celebrate a particular version of poetry journals; where journaling and poetry meet visual art: the visual poetry journal.

And So I will be trying a little harder this month, to leave my critic in the dust, to post as habit, my first and second drafts. I truly appreciate the momentum of this poetry community, and would love to hear on this post- How do You get past your critic to post early drafts, often?  The link provided by NaPoWriMo on Fifteen Poets on Revision is insightful.

Here we Go!!  Happy Writing everyone!

When Forgiveness Was a Stage

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Oh we don’t go to church anymore
made her realize, how much she missed
that, his belief, casting bygones          gone, when
forgiven was a stage everyone got to walk       across,
acting lead parts.

Grace.
Easier times, with enough space to wonder aloud,
wander through, no one jumping to bets why,
only questions, and time enough       to say, everyone
waiting for reasons, everyone waiting for you to say
your lines.

Vs.ii © Tara Linda 4/19/17

Green Absent Black

Sticky green, lush
spirals on woody stems
that barely move
in the coast winds.

We called them black
for the pods, the way
they cast seeds
dirt imprinting stone
dark with dust.

I swallow silence, taste the tea
as you hand me fresh cuttings.
And all this time
I thought the leaves oozed
shadowed things, absence.

Great grandmother knew well
you say, moving memories from
fingers to apron in sage stains.
The bees know too.

Tara Linda © 2017

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