Morning Couplets

Housebound kittens watch a flurry of white;
flower boxes frosting under a patch of blue sky.

Packed icicles adorn the roof, two of them;
like twin swords they glisten and melt into the sun’s victory.

The warmth of black kittens contrast the icy white,
beyond my window pane, and the tire tracks of ambition.

There is a stillness in snow, winter gray makes me stay;
reflect on time slowing or moving forward, a reminder, a gift.

Snow melting, and our kittens chase their tails
when everything could be wiped clean as a chalkboard.

He caresses dishes with soap and water, while I coax
the existence of cats from a hardwood surface; these acts of living.

Yesterday’s interview and today’s chipped nail polish;
roads clear and winter moves in with the sun behind it.

I rise first and devour words for breakfast;
my hands are utensils, the cold outside – an instrument.

A meal prepared, a table christened, and friends brought
to warm cups of conversation; a growing circle.

The overcast sky holds in warmth, our hands held
under blankets; we dream of each other under a thick, white blanket.

A week in May

I have fallen off the radar, again. I let the entire month of April, National Poetry month, go by without a single blog entry. However, I did not let the month slip by completely unnoticed. I squeaked in a lunchtime poetry reading at work on April 30, with the help of a poet colleague of mine, Charles. We shared the microphone and had a decent turnout. We also recorded our reading and Charles is working at creating an MP3 file. Once this happens, I will post our reading on my blog and facebook profile.

Otherwise, my attention to poetry has been slipping. I haven't been attending the Planet Earth Poetry series at the Black Stilt Cafe as regularly as in the past -- I am so drained by the end of the week, and I want to spend my time resting at home, and letting my ideas gestate. It reassured me to know that the likes of P.K. Page admitted to not writing a single poem for years, and she managed to come back into the spotlight. Life does have a way of shifting in waves. Right now, my focus is on my upcoming wedding. I do manage to write the odd poem, and I am working at finishing my draft of Turnstiles. It is all work, and exploration. I am also frustrated that I am not being accepted for publication of the poems I do spend time with and send out into the world, heart full of hope. I've entered random poems and contests for publication, and only received pleasant rejection letters. I believe it is all timing, and perhaps my time hasn't arrived yet. I won't give up.

I find that my day job, writing for the government, is sucking me dry. I once had a poetry prof warn me that if I choose a career in writing, the last thing I will want to do is come home at night and write. I am grateful for my work flex days, my writing days. I wish I could work from home every day as a writer.