Poem: leaking family trees


radiation-sludge


leaking family trees
by Debi


energy from the light
glowing paint
Day-glo thread
the visible emerging
from the invisible
when the final darkness comes
still glowing

circles of death tanks
feeding the ground
the rivers, the homes
the families, the future
a secret, a cover-up
20,000 turns around the sun
until Spring

the children unborn
carrying on the family business
cleaning up the waste
from the death beds
of their fathers


 

Inspired by Ginnie Hebert, Leaks, 2013
Cotton quilt, glow-in-the-dark paint, glow-in-the-dark thread

 

 

Poem: Night Skies


by Debi


dark arch of sky
millions of stars
mysteries of the cosmos
blazed in darkness
gleaming jewels
of rose or crystal hue
beauty overhead
a clear night
without a moon
alone with the stars
patterns of constellations
standing out
bright and clear
misty river
the Milky Way
drink in the beauty
a blazing planet
low on the horizon
look up at the sky
breath-taking glimpse
observant
clear-eyed
the night skies are alive

Poem: Dragging the River of Memory

(In case this poem looks/sounds familiar, this is an updated version of a poem previously posted on this blog.)


cropped-grafitti-3.jpg

by Debi

dragging the river of memory—
.           in search of her younger self
it’s already too late

her life was her torture
she was capable of imagining
.           a life outside of housework
that sense of youth
and immortality disappeared
.           in the destruction of the old familiar

the river hurtled toward the sea
inevitable
.           foretold
.                      foreshadowed

re-seeing herself
creating multiple mirrors
dreaming again
re-writing her life

don’t look back
.           or you lose her forever

Erasure: LISTEN


I’m currently working on an erasure poem of an entire book. Is there such a thing as an epic erasure? That seems to better describe this undertaking.  I actually completed the book’s erasure and now I’m working to format and edit it.  I’m sort of excited.  It’s been quite a project.  🙂

Here’s a brief sample of a small part of one of the poems I found hiding in the text of the book I’ve been erasing. Stayed tuned for more on this project.

UPDATE!  The book is now in print!  Click on the book cover for details!


by Debi

31m2vqk1gvlyour       freedom
distressed
people

LISTEN

you         learn
significant
truths

BAD THINGS HAPPEN

you         read
you         know
you         think
you         do

LISTEN

Poem: at fault

by Debi


I sat alone                with them all
my greatest fear        realized
.

alone

 

I would’ve been
.                              less alone
if I’d stayed
.                              home alone
.                              brokenhearted
is it
.                   my       fault
.                   no        fault
.                   his        fault
.                   her       fault
.                   their     fault

 

when     everyone’s
.                 at           fault
who’s    to                  blame?

 

I would say
.               our            fault
but there seems to be
.                               no our

 

is it no one’s fault?

 

I’ll take the                blame
sometimes                 it’s easier to be
.                               perceived as
.                               the one wronging others
.   rather than             convincing others
.                               you’re the one wronged

 

if it keeps the peace

.                               then

 

it’s my fault

 

(does this make me a doormat?)

Notebook Cento #5 – now is a now and this is a this


Sometimes I go back through my notebooks from Graduate school and make centos (collage poems) from phrases I find in the pages.   This is the fifth of a series of centos from my notebooks.


now is a now and this is a this

Notebook Cento #5
by Debi

a now is a now is a now
creating space
.                        between self and outside
.               inside and out
1st person and 3rd
disjunctive
.                  disruptive
find a place, not a position
not an either/or
.                    but an and and an and and an and and …
respect the thing itself
this is this, is this, is this—
.                 rather than this is that

Poem: In the Beginning


by Debi

in the beginning
a god-breathed whole
holy and holistic
I wanted so much
the mysteries of earth
the people who walked
out of paradise
destroyed burned
when the final darkness comes
neither you nor I were ready
blowing up
falling down
bombs and tombs
holes and horrific
at the end


Poem: The End of the World

This was written in response to a gallery exhibition at the University of Washington Bothell called “Particles on the Wall” which had artwork and poetry created in response to the Handford nuclear site in Washington State.  I wandered back through the gallery a second time and wrote down images and phrases that were either inspired by the work, or seen in the poetry, thus creating a response to the totality of the exhibition.


The End of the World
by Debi

I forgive
I forgive
I must forgive

Shall I show you how we dressed our wounds?
downwater downriver
terminal winds
leaking glowing circling dying

someone launched
someone drove
someone fished
and never knew

easy to bury
in the late afternoon
dragged home
bedded down
the rest of us slept
in the river’s shadow

half a million years til Spring
what fossils will the future find?
we have gone blind
we are blind
the desert eats dust
a rabbit digs its own grave

obsolete history
drafted history
voided history
closed history
engineered history

restart
by dawn’s light

origami made from living flesh
unrecognizable
graying

the children unborn
carrying on the family business
cleaning up the waste
from the death beds of their fathers

this is my blood
a chalice of death
the last power
the final cover up

Every time … but it never is


pathway (2)

Photo by Debi


 

Every time … but it never is.

Every time a car slows by the house,
I run to see if it’s you.
Anytime my phone rings,
I hope it’s you.
When Facebook says I have a message,
I pray it’s you.

But it’s never your car.
Never your call.
Never your message.

Every time … but it never is.

But it is always … sadness.
Always pain.
Always grief.
Always tears.

And every time …
it is always

alone.