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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Unsuspecting April

A sunflower maddened with light
Sheds the seeds of poems.
-Lawrence Ferlinghetti

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It always happens like this, standing on Columbus
somewhere near Jackson, Bay winds press me to find
the words to keep you walking, unsuspecting April,
with a saunter past City Lights.

With the sun setting, shadowed winds channel up alleys
of glass windows, and slice through our ambling. I pipe up
how ‘bout a book…? which sends your eyes glazing into freefall
with how ‘bout-a-nap?, Washington park, and then
I’m kinda thirsty, refreshing words not heard since

Columbus last October. And because you don’t read poetry
and I don’t drink beer, we slip into familiar Specs where I buy
the first round, before the 2nd at Vesuvio’s, after which you
escort me next door to my favorite book of poems .

Tara Linda ©2017

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Return of Muse 887

Of course I left you
deep          in New Mexico
that endless drive         a sea
of  mesas

the San Juans just in       view
you stopped for      dinner in Gallup       fried tacos Sopapillas in honey those visions
the ones that follow into       dreams        portal
from a picture

I knew I would leave
well before      sunrise          before
you made that        unnatural
turn          due north, RR 371
at Thoreau.

Don’t be mad      there was no     sign
besides        only one can fit     down
the sipapu*            at once

     Tara Linda. 2016

*Hopi word for the small opening in a Kiva; opening between worlds.

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Poet Rescues Song: Abducts Musician

I’m writing lyrics now for at least 5 of our new songs, and wasn’t quiet finished with 3 of them by last night. This is ONE fun thing about writing poetry (and one great thing about writing more often in April): As a poet, you get into the habit of seeing poetry everywhere…

Last night, I did something fun.  I played a small show, our first in Oakland, with new project “Fistful of Stars”.  We’ve played radio spots, making ready.  We go on tour next month to Europe- so it’s all coming together fast.

I’m writing lyrics now for at least 5 of our new songs, and wasn’t quiet finished with 3 of them by last night.  This is ONE fun thing about writing poetry (and one great thing about writing more often in April): As a poet, you get into the habit of seeing poetry everywhere; in couples drinking coffee, overheard conversation, positing scenarios from across the room, and just plain imagining things. And if you don’t have that gene for remembering lyrics (I don’t), or you haven’t quite finished the words-no worries: Poet-in-You will deliver, often taking you utterly over, hijacking your body, setting sail in your soul, borrowing  your lips to say things you never dreamed before ;). This is pure bliss, of course.

Last night, for one amazing song written by guitarist Rafael- that I didn’t quite finish lyrics to- I called it Mesa Song, and strung together all of the poem pieces for my one poem called “Unravel”. I read/talked the words as a single poem over the verses instead of singing. For the choruses, I sang (moaned) like the wind. Yes, Unravel– the poem pieces I haven’t yet posted all here, beyond the first because I didn’t think they were finished enough. 😉  Surprisingly, friends said that Mesa Song was their favorite of the night: it had a story they said, some mystery, and they got lost in the poem. Yay!  I promise to post another piece of Unravel for my next  poem post. Not tomorrow though- off to a Pow-wow.

So- I usually do a wrap-up post for NaPoWriMo.  I have to say, this year, I wasn’t as engaged in publicly participating as in past years. In fact, if there was one word to sum things up for me this year, it would be a verb:

 

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 This time, I was loathe to do anything on cue. And I didn’t want to follow anyone’s prompts. Hahaha!  But I still wrote lots. AND best of all, I don’t want to stop!! And so I won’t. Yet another good rule to break.

 

You held us last night-

soft woods, laughter,

warm arms that offered sweet

champagne and love.  We drank it all

down, and from across the room

 I gave you a poem 

like a kiss.

taralinda c.p. 2014

Dive

Ask me
she says, and just maybe
Clouds add a shadow, thunder punctuates

Evasion.

Curtains blow
over a window you never opened
now only you in this room and a flower
on the ground, hers from a tree on the
wrong side of pelagic, still blooming, an island.
Bare feet shuffle sand behind a door, she
quiets her breath, wind circling soft clays
just outside the door.    You

clear your throat, feel the barometric pressure
dive, a trickle of sweat meeting the sensation that she
is closer than her breath, nearer than

across the room. A gust of memory
begins a tango, spins her, down the long hall.

No you say. No questions.

take
your shoes, this
dust, your restless wind-
      Go.

TaraLinda c.p. 2014

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Offering

Awakening
is our first offering
praise…

Awakening
is our first offering
praise, an open eye taking in
first light, space, color ~
A stretch, body’s first gift of
movement, vibration, cells alighting,
muscles expand, remembering~ Gratitude.
Warm contentment, Freedom before thought
weightless presence, first breath,
Joy ~ our ultimate prayer.

TaraLinda c.p. 2014

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