I am not my body…

A Deck of Pornographic Playing Cards

We were ten or eleven, my friend and I,
when we found them up under a bridge,
on top of a beam where pigeons were resting.
Someone had carefully hidden them there.
On each was a black-and-white photo,
no two cards alike. We grew quiet and older,
young men on our haunches, staring at
what we feared might be the future.
The pigeons flapped back to their roosts,
rustling and cooing. The river gurgled
as it slipped from the bridge’s cool shadow.
There were women with big muzzled dogs,
women with bottles and broom handles.
Stallions stood over the bodies of others.
The women smiled and licked their lips
with tongues like thorns. We grew old.
We were two old men with stiff legs
and sad hearts. We had wanted to laugh
but we couldn’t. We had thought we were boys,
come there to throw stones at the pigeons,
but we were already dying inside.
Ted Kooser
in Weather Central

 

Jeanne Poland in 2019

 

I am not my body

but holy outrage too

passionate beliefs-

that straddle the universe

golden light –

from my third eye to the tip of my toes

divinity-

that renders me eternal and able to transform

my body is a humble servant-

loyal for generations and sculpted by my tribe

Jeanne Marie Margaret DeLoca  Sr Virginia Mary of Christ  Poland  Smith

 

4/22/19

quicksilver

Why Grandma’s hem has to touch her ankles

art  by Elizabeth Rose Stanton

 

some of the grands are still crawling

and they need to grab the nearest Nana fabric

to chew on

while other delicious scents can brush the lace

and call over the pets

to the cookie jar

the pumpkin pie

blueberries

watermelon

pie

nana feet

toes

and

essence of comfort!

Diwali Portrait

The Diwali Portrait with light saber

toes, saber, kirtles

scarves, smiles, pants, saber, glances,

electricity

Riddle#10 Fungus

Here is my first CLIMBING RHYME POEM:

Fungus
(“Easy, greaz-y, there’s a fungus among us.” Gary Moore)

Fungus in a tree
teases me to see
if I will fly to munch
mushrooms for lunch.

A bunch of roots
scrambling for my boots

climbing ‘tween my toes
to close the gap
of sap and growth,

lap dancing for me.

Look at this poem closely. The rhymes are not only at the end, but appear throughout in different places, like in African chants called g-hazels. There is a long history in poetry of rhymes being used in work chants such that one person starts a chant to set a rhythm to make the work go more smoothly and entertain other workers. Then the poem is handed off to another worker who keeps the rhythm but adds to the rhyme. In Africa, workers built reputations for being excellent rhymers or great game players in this form of poetry competition.
The CLIMBING RHYME has it’s history in Burma and the Burmese language only has one syllable words, but here in the US adaptations are needed.
Here is a graph for this poem.
Line 1 xxxxA
Line 2 xxAxA
Line 3 xBxBxC
Line 4 xxxC
Line 5 xCxD
Line 6 xxxxD
Line 7 xxxxE
Line 8 xExF
Line 9 xFxx
Line 10 Fxxxx

Poet’s Notebook

Poet’s Notebook

Scribble
Dribble
In the mire.

Scavenge
Stonehenge
Mysteries.

Poet’s Code
Symbols told
Grab you by the Toes!

Jeanne Poland