Hour 6: Qi

Qi

So it begins — not too early I’ve never been one to court dawn —

        breath and fluid motion,

                cultivating life energy 

Deep breath, 

      cleansing breath,

               in and out

Later the warmth of a coffee-filled mug in my hands 

                      my soul smiles with each caffeinated sip

A leisure walk along the bluff 

           an afternoon swell of wind is a kiss on my cheeks,

                  the azure sky and sun glinting off the lake energy within  

                          Expel warm breath, push sailboats into specks on the horizon

Cool firelit evening, crackling campfire

            My family dissects the world. 

                 Falls into a collective existential crisis but resurfaces

                    with lighter conversation of books and music

                            shares laughter into wee Witching hours — 

So it ends with harmony and deep breath, 

           cleansing breath, 

               in and out

                    It ends with air — Qi

 

 

 

Greatest Fear

Fear

Distressing emotion

Impending danger, evil, pain

Threat 

Whether real or imagined 

Fear the worst 

Pray never happen

Fear of being alone

Being a bad mommy

Not making my mom happy

Not succeeding

The discipline of my child 

My future

The world

Men 

Niggas on the corner

Feelings being hurt

Future of my child

Not being around for my son

Just shows

It’s real

I am human

Goes to show

Greatest Fear

hour 5 god made me haunted like this god makes me haunt & so now this is yours

try two    if not three
try four   four decades of trying
& learning & trying
just a little further
around the bend & im still trying not to cry : why is crying so hard
you’d think id have learned by now   the only way is through it—

they never told me to follow my heart because they didn’t want my heart broken like theirs
but when you come out broken when your moms broken growing you in utero
broken is what you know   you can’t unbreak a person
made broken any more than you can an object —even one hemmed whole with gold
stronger along the faults   remembers its history in its bones

Midlife love made simple

All I want to do with you, baby
is share a joint,
and chocolate ice cream,

talk about our traumas,

listen to groovy music
on the floor,

and make-out
like teenagers.

Prompt 6 Ideal Day

Prompt 6, Hour 6

Misty morning waking

Transcending gardened dawn.

Hill breezes lift to spirit mountain.

Weaving words into a sail.

Rafting on a perfect read.

Down a river, crystal clear.  

Blowing me to leeward shores.

Little birds tweet on a limb.

Wisteria petals hang in ringlets.

Noon is shadowed by the clouds.

Sunsets light up every surface

Evening’s stars dance everywhere.

 

Prompt 7, Hour 7

Write a poem titled Season of the (fill in the blank).

The fill in the blank could be a reference, it could be an actual season, it could be something abstract, or concrete, anything you want.

The key is to write a poem that matches, or interacts with that title.

The Hiker

The Hiker

 

When the sun gleams against the mountains, the birds begin to glow,

singing sons of innocence. Squirrels frolic in the heat,

toppling on one another, dancing to their own beat. A row

 

of ants climb up, up, up, trading coarseness of bark for coolness (the chill)

of fresh morning leaves. Dew dries away, fog begins to form,

the sun creates a whole new world, ready to explore. Warm

air rises fast from heavy lungs as the hiker climbs the hill,

 

he looks to the tress and smiles. A brand new day, a fresh start.

He removes his jacket and his bag, places them on the leaves.

He watches the sun rise in the sky, dangle above the trees,

knowing it will only last moments before having to part.

Favorite Day

An ideal day:

Waking to an aroma:

wintry morn:  eggs and peppers and mushrooms and onions frying

any other season: the gentle breeze carries the perfume of budding or flowering plants outside the window.

breakfast fuels my body, preparing me for whatever tasks are awaiting me

hot tea (with a full spoon of sugar and a piece of lemon or lime) is my favored tasty accompaniment to add sweet warmth and liquid to my breakfast.

Morning pleasantries:

Hearing friendly greetings, whether at work or here at home with birds singing their thanks for the bird food that I give generously because I love their birdsongs.   Sometimes the grandchildren visit and mow or otherwise maintain the land husband and I can hardly keep up with.

Smelling whatever is in the air is usually a likable experience.  Grass, flowers, neighbor’s apple trees are all nice smells that energize; while not so nice smells — such as a deer carcass that the vultures have been picking at — compel me to get some lime dust to cover the carcass and speed the process of feeding the land.

Checking emails is a common task whether at home or at work.   Reading messages activates my brain with joy or problem solving.   Messages from family or friends are simple reminders, easy requests, or good questions.  In this phase of life, I am working part-time for a Community Action Agency, so any problem solving is invigorating.   We are always striving to help those who need assistance, and we often find ways to do that.

Lunch and dinner are savoring times for the tongue.   Cleaning up pans and dishes are never a bother anymore since the two of us don’t create much of a challenge for warm soapy water, accompanied by a cloth or a scrubby.

Evenings are best when we meet with the writer friends.   Hearing their current projects is a terrific thrill — even more thrilling than a polished book is the raw beauty of a work in progress.   When we are able to meet in person, there are delicious treats to add the sweetest flair to an already delightful evening.

Our evenings usually close with a game of Backgammon, because it is good for the mind to have some steady traditions.   And our brains get exercised because we are well matched in skill.

If there are any other pleasures in these ideal days, those under the covers thrills are for us to muse about, but not publish.

 

By Nancy Ann Smith,  Amherst, Ohio

June 27, 2020   Poetry Marathon

 

 

 

A year later (old poetry)

I put your hands around my neck and waited for you to squeeze and when you did, I was the scared one.

I waited for you to catch on fire like i did for you but i knew you were water. you turned into steam and disappeared. as i scorched to ashes.

even as i write this and remember, i REALIZE the oversimplification of the fact that,

you.just.wanted.to.fuck.

while

I.was.just.lonely.

and

stuck

in

the

past.

i’m just thanking the gods now for not dying in the arms of a heartless saint.