Sunday, April 21, 2013

Poem Archive #365Poems & Poeming into the Now April 14-21

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Your Sunday archive:

Hey Girl: A Love Song for Madwomen

Hey Girl,
I know it's dark and thoughts are ugly and your hips bear
messy gravity like bulls rushing china shops but stop my love
and listen to your fury. Write and scream it out with blood;
we'll learn new truth with every moon.

Hey Girl,
You wailing wraith of rage and sorrow, shadow
self, keep crying and make mirrors in your teary pools
and gaze. Shining there, crazy diamond, see? You're just as
real and true as when you're quiet.

Hey Girl,
Still stumbling into learning like a dizzied child, you know
I hold, too, the solid stance of mother's wisdom. I hold you ever part
of me, sweet maiden, ever tearing— scarred but healing. We are one, but shifting
in the moon like movie monsters.

Hey Girl,
Madwoman is a favorite phrase so listen to the chaos
screeching banshee power from the lessons of your grief. Shriek
and tear and rend your garments and I'll weave them
into stories when the tide turns.

Hey Girl,
Half-sane swirling world of emotion, the dark side
of my moon, my little sobbing sister, hush hush,
and rock you now upon the storming waves' and know
I'll never let you drown beneath.


When I was small I imagined us living in a bowl.
The sky above was open and fresh, but all around
me, everywhere I went, mountains rose on all sides,
round and green and protective with the presence of a mother.

In my tiny town, houses were close in modest, square
yards laid out in flat, safe grids.
Downtown, intimate shops clung and fit snug
against each other along Capitol Street,
but always were the mountains surrounding.
Always the mountains and hills to say home is with you
always and I will be here.

And every grandmother's mother pieced quilts
in small homes nestled deep in those hills. Threads
and fabrics bound families in circles and squares
all enveloped by hills. Buffered we learned in
geography class, the mountains protect
from tornadoes we saw in the movies.
Barrier against killing winds and far away
from the wild wide open of ocean or
the dizzying flat of big sky country, we live
our safe lives in the always embrace of the hills.

When I was a woman girl, I fled the square town
and I went to the city, where downtown the buildings
loomed high like my mountains. Shadows were
constant, and cold there but warmth found me
there, too, in the home of a friend. She made dinner
while we talked, like my mom only vegan, and when I
went home she sent tofu and letters. Comforted
then, I was safe in my little squared town and in blankets
I let the home heal me. And life here was new then,
and the rocks in the river renewed me and white water
sent me a lover. When we were married my girl from the
city brought us a quilt she had made for our wedding.
Beautiful and cozy with inside out seams she had captured
the newness of homecoming love. We were wed in a valley
with green all around us, and leaves in my hair and
our feet in the grass.
(work in progress... 4.20.13)

Haiku for a Window Fan
machine pulls the air
electric lung breathes it in;
spring pleasure in its freshness

To the Long Tall Lady of the Eastern World
Here's to you, the Queen of Everything,
Wielding your Mary Engelbreit mug
filled with coffee enough to fuel
twelve Amazon warriors.
To the Empress of Bombshell blonde
held in bottles like alchemical gold.
To you and your balance
of softness and strength.

Here's to you, LA Woman
hangin' out in the styx, Bohemian
Flower Mama with skirts ruffling
in their own dance well above your ankles.
To the wild woman who owned every room
accidentally, with legs for days.
To you and your beauty
of sparkling and earth.

Here's to the Lady Who Laughed
Until Crying, whose every emotion moved you
for miles and who spoke the language of the soul.
To the woman who breathed music, who
sang and rocked until the bars closed and, later,
until her children's nightmares stopped.
To you and your song
of screaming and whispers.

Here's to the woman who leaped brave
into motherhood like a mermaid to land
and then thrived like weeds growing wild in a meadow.
To the mother who'd have sold her soul
or her life or blood to protects us,
her children, her treasures.
To you and your heart
of silver and sunlight.

To you, my Mother, I weep and
delight for my strength and my
fire and beauty I honor you.
To you, my first home,
in your arms and your smile,
to your love and your memory
to all of the stars in the heavens,
for you.


In these twilight moments,
I am your quiet witness.
On each edge of sleep,
you are baby-precious
and your thin arms seek
me out. We are still a
one thing in two bodies.

In the dazzling sun
this spring time, you run
and climb and explore. You
are a blur of curious, frantic
searching for everything.
Your mind is star-bright and
feeding on new words
and images and songs.

This dance now, between
moving into yourself
then back to me and away again;
this captivating ballet
of growing, is an amazing
wildness to behold.

When you began
deep within me, I reeled
at the meeting of the
sacred and the simple.
Now again my wonder and
awed love is made larger
in knowing that between
every parent and child
this same gleaming,
elastic ribbon binds,
stretches, tests, and grows.

And out of order because image alignment is hard, here's a half-asleep Instagram'd poem:

Follow me on Instagram @daisyb0nes.
(Note the zero; some other daisybones beat me to the account.)

#365poems at

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