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.
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
Vs.ii © Tara Linda 4/19/17
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
A sunflower maddened with light
Sheds the seeds of poems.
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
Of course I left you
deep in New Mexico
that endless drive a sea
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
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.
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:
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
is our first offering
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