Poem: Blue

Many people don’t like the idea of “jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.” But, as my dad once said in reference to his paratrooper days, “There’s no such thing as a perfectly good airplane.”

Personally, I have a fear of heights, but I’m also a bit of an adrenaline junkie. I enjoy high ropes courses and rock climbing, and I’ve even been parasailing and paragliding. Perhaps one day, I’ll get the chance to go skydiving. But it is not this day!

Once again, I borrowed this prompt from Julia Garcia’s blog Drops of Inspira. This time, I borrowed the prompt “the color blue” from February.

 

Blue

I’d almost forgotten
the sky was that color
                        once

back when I was a child
somersaulting in the grass
wondering what it would be like
                        to fall up

until I couldn’t take the thought anymore
and wandered to where
a servicemember stood
                        in his uniform

Do you know which one
is my dad?
I asked, watching the parachutes
drift down
                        like helicopter seeds

Kid, I wear glasses,

not binoculars.                

He had a point.
I shuffled back to the
bleachers and sat by Mom
until the last of the parachutes
                        deflated

now I wonder
if we’ll ever get a break
from this popcorn ceiling of gray
and what it must be like
                        to touch the blue

one day, perhaps,
I’ll find a clear day
to strap on a chute and board
a plane with the sole purpose
                        to find out

 

***

 

Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? If you had the chance to go skydiving, would you?

Similar poems: Gold, Pine Trees, and Goodbye Again

Poem: Rocking Chair (Audio)

It’s always an experiment—sharing form poetry via Blogger. I sure hope this one turns out. I realize it may be different for each device, so I apologize in advance if the form doesn’t make any sense. For clarity’s sake, the first stanza is supposed to resemble a rocking chair, the second an hourglass, and the third a scattered mess.

This particular piece is inspired off a piece of furniture from my living room. Doesn’t sound very inspiring? Maybe not. But take into consideration the things in your life that hold meaning and that bring up old memories.

The other night, I was sitting in our antique rocking chair by the fireplace, listening to the popping of sap bubbles and feeling warm for a few moments in this dreadful winter. I just so happened to be reading another book (surprise, surprise), and when I got up, the rocking chair groaned, as it always does whichever way it moves. It irritates my sister to all degrees when we’re reading the Bible aloud, and I so much as lean forward or, I don’t know, rock. Heaven forbid I should rock in a rocking chair. How dare I!

That being said, this poor piece of furniture has seen a lot. It’s been with my family from Washington State to Germany to Hawaii to Kansas and more. It’s felt packing tape on the wood where it shouldn’t have been, and it’s been recovered and cleaned at least once.

To you, it may be just a chair. But to me, it’s a piece that’s shared my memories.

Rocking Chair

In memoriam of the siblings I never knew

She   creaks

like   an

old woman,

pressure

shifting on

her antique bones

as she stoops forward

                        sits back

and rises on her legs,

joints      popping.

Would that I may be so loved

        should age settle in

           like a silk layer

                of dust,

           like the sand

  sinking in an hourglass.

She first changed her dress

when I was but a child, still

playing hide and seek behind her bosom—

later my mother lost

            my sibling—

                        who

            would she or he

have been?

Now I sit and turn the pages

o’er and o’er while the fireplace

                        sweeps up

the forgotten summer days.

Haiku Collection: Sibling Trio

I thought I’d try something new. For those who’ve read a lot of my poetry, you might have noticed that I prefer free verse. It’s—well—freeing. I like to use whatever imagery I want in whatever way it comes to me. But every now and then, I like the challenge of structure. It’s not so much limiting as it is intellectually stimulating.

Of course, writing three haikus may be a lot easier than trying to write one villanelle. For those who aren’t familiar with poetry (hi, Mom!), haikus originated in Japan and are three lines long with five syllables in the first line, seven in the second, and five in the last. They tend to be about nature.

Villanelles (or as I like to call them, vanillas) have a repeating first line from the first stanza, a repeating last line from the first stanza, and a set amount of stanzas and lines. It’s super complicated. (Seriously HOW do people write villanelles? I’ve tried several times, and I can’t get past the second stanza.)

This particular set of haikus I based off my siblings and me. There are three of us in the family—my older brother, me, and my little sister. And while we may be related, we’re each different in our own ways. Hence, the following poems, Dawn, Noon, and Midnight.

Dawn

She sprinkles powdered

sugar on strudels, lemon

juice into your eye.

Noon

Earbuds drown the noise

of chatter beneath some tune

of an hour to spare.

Midnight

Call of cicadas,

not the phone—now hang up and

listen, you’re alone.

***

Let’s chat! Which of the three haikus did you like best? Care to take a guess which one I might be? Which one are you most like?

Similar poems: Starlight, The Muse, and Dandelion Seeds