Opening doors is a risky business.
A certain amount of reflection is required
before throwing open doors and
dashing through them.
Cats know this.
That’s why they linger at open doors,
with last minute thoughts,
pondering the wisdom of crossing
thresholds.
#35
After the fire there were pools
of aluminum, puddles and runnels
of molten metal had hardened
where they ran.
Like all who follow the path of least resistance,
they got nowhere.
They became featureless blobs,
most looking like lower intestines
or scat from some
diarrheic metal animal.
Just more things to trip over.
But then I found one,
an ingot, a delicate pendant,
a diamond in the rough.
a small cabochon, slightly askew,
but with twin aspen trees growing
from the top.
Slender, leafy, powdery gray.
So I took it home,
contemplated its essence,
pondered on its trials,
and gave it some respect.
The way we should treat all those
who have dealt with the fire
and come out transformed.
Something beautiful.
#34
I wrote this poem in ‘concrete’ form and, of course, the blog won’t let me use my formatting. So I’ve saved it as a picture and posted it below.
I’ll try to save it to a higher resolution on my other computer but wanted to get it onto the blog – after all – it is ‘poem a day’ !
#33
Extra words in poems are like the scaffolding
surrounding a building. They support the workers as they go,
helping them rise from one level to the next,
allowing them to bring along their tools and extra materials.
But scaffolding is about the worker
not about the work. It is a buffer
and a barrier, obscuring the work from the world.
It can be a fearful endeavour, this baring one’s soul,
putting it on display for prying eyes to interpret.
It’s hard to be brave when you fear to fall,
it’s hard to be honest when no one has to be honest back, but
never hesitate to tear down the scaffolding that
hides your heart.
Let go of the words the way you’d tear down scaffolding.
Poems rise from baring
one’s soul.
Be brave.
Be honest.
Never hide your heart.
Let go of the words.
#32
I’ve been wondering of late
why I try to change my fate
when I can never know or see
what my fate will really be.
If I don’t really know for certain
who or what’s behind the curtain
how can I know the default or
if my future has been altered
or if I’m naively treading
the very path that I’ve been dreading
towards the fate that was laid out
before I started on about
embracing change, chasing dreams.
or switching horses in mid-stream.
If all my paths lead back to me,
I make my own reality.
#31
Earworm, Earworm,
measuring my sanity.
You and your repeating tune
are going to drive me mad.
Earworm, Earworm,
measuring my sanity
This is the result, it seems,
when melodies go bad.
#30
Sun falls through the trees
raven shadows call to me,
flicker ‘cross my face.
I will hold this day;
The smell of the forest floor,
soft wind on my face,
rough bark ‘neath my hand.
The tang of wild raspberry
lingers on my tongue.
I will hold this day.
Take it out and set it free
some cold winter’s night.
#29
Believe in answers
and they will follow you home
and call you by name.
Your only problem
will be sorting them out and
choosing the right one.
#28
The road to Nowhere
is paved with good intentions
Not Hell, but Nowhere.
Nowhere is a spot
on the side of the road where
hope ran out of gas.
Don’t blame intentions,
they’re only a starting point.
Next time bring a map.
Bring along a friend.
Travel roads paved with laughter;
they lead to Somewhere.
#27
I wrote a poem to save trees.
A Han Shan poem to dangle like a leaf
in an endangered forest.
The forest was saved.
The poem removed.
And now you want to rehang it but don’t you see?
it would be like trying to re-attach a fallen leaf to a tree.
The life force disconnected, it could only be a sad thing,
a dead trophy.
Instead we should be writing a new poem,
a poem to the trees
wishing them well.
A poem to all the other poets whose words stayed the bulldozer.
A poem to the people, all the people,
who will one day walk the forest and think,
“How wonderful.
This is the forest that poets helped save.”
#26
Linda Studley 