Poem: be aware


Short excerpt from the new book-length erasure poem, BAD THINGS HAPPEN.


31m2vqk1gvlthe evil
in this world

troubled
human history

call for help

LISTEN

in confidence ask
begin to understand
discern wisdom

LISTEN

open your eyes

BAD THINGS HAPPEN

be aware

BAD THINGS HAPPEN

they have been
deluded
they bought into
deceit

words
deluded them

LISTEN

you were captive
to traditions

you were buried
you were dead
you were hostile

you judged
defrauded
your mind

BAD THINGS HAPPEN

your freedom
distressed people

LISTEN

you learn
significant truths

BAD THINGS HAPPEN


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inspired


neither god nor muse
on a train
in a nasty mood
coming from the outside
from the inside
the source is unimportant
the poet is the poet
is the real thing
Yeats is Spicer’s
ghost father
the poem drives
the poet
parasite dictating
to us (the Martian)
Yeats wife possessed
by spooks
“I’m here to give you
metaphors”


Ode to Miss Charlotte M Mason


Ode to Miss Charlotte M. Mason

Charlotte. May I call you Charlotte?
Is it appropriate to be so familiar
with someone so profound?
You are not my friend.
You are my hero.
My mentor.
My inspiration.
You voice continues, even now, to speak
for the children’s sake
for Heaven’s sake
for the sake of all that’s holy.

What would you have done or said
in the face of assaults on nature
of melting ice caps
rising temperatures
shrinking glaciers
clearcut forests
dying bees?

You were ahead of your time
would you raise up a cry
as the natural world crumbled?
How can children walk
beneath trees and sky
when the trees are gone
clearcut for profits
and bottom lines?

Poem: is there peace


by Debi


 

is there peace
.           in your heart

no

BAD THINGS HAPPEN

you    ought to
.          refuse to
.          deceive yourself

return
.           justice
.           righteousness

break
.           your thorns
.           your heart
.           your deeds

be        broken
be        cut away

so your heart

.                                    can beat


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