another daydream

another daydream

Monday, March 9, 2020

Give A Listen



Ever since visiting the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston one spring, I've been inspired to grow nasturtiums––humbly, in a planter. The flowers are a crop of deliciousness.

"Eating Nasturtiums" has been a title looking for its poem, patiently standing by. Written in December, and published in February by Ulalume Lighthouse, I decided to give it a reading here as well (via the dropbox link below).

Thanks for giving it a listen!




https://www.dropbox.com/s/hwu6o0mgsgadamf/Eating%20Nasturtiums.m4a?dl=0


Monday, February 24, 2020

Did Someone Say Ulalume?



There's a burgeoning journal called Ulalume Lighthouse
where you'll find two of my poems, published a few days ago. They've both debuted here on the blog, and by sharing a page at this journal, they sound like a picnic.


https://www.ulalumelighthouse.org



Tuesday, February 4, 2020

Not a Poem

Striking Light from Ashes is in good company at the Lost River Trading Post
Wardensville, West Virginia

Rather than a poem, an announcement. This blog is morphing...into more of a behind the scenes platform.

My focus for 2020 is to veil a good bit of my writing, as is required for most publishing opportunities.





This means I can't continue to share my poems here at the rate I've done over the past five years. Five years––thank you so much for hanging out with me throughout (or dropping in from time to time)! Having an audience, a readership, keeps poetry alive. On that note, be assured you will stay in the loop with me as I write and publish. A lot is cooking––prepare for surprises.




Tuesday, January 7, 2020

"Spiel" (Word Golf)

Spiel


She could say the mistake was fake
or pour him a little more saké,

plead that she’s not as sane
as portrayed, not the same

as any synonym for tame,
contained (who doesn’t teem

with vicissitudes?), to seem
the rub rather than mending seam, 

rather than soothing sonata, to beam
ambiguously. More words for the ream

all mean one thing: she’s unmistakably real. 


~LCMH

[Word Golf in this instance means we go from "fake" to "real" in ten moves, one letter at a time.]

Tuesday, December 17, 2019

It's a Wrap



Thank you for spending time with me at mix and moss poetry in 2019! One of the highlights 
of the year was hosting a poetry tent at 'Art on Cullers Run.' I loved having conversations 
with kind strangers (and new friends) about writing––while being outdoors in the beautiful 
setting of a mountain arts festival. The poetry tent will reappear in 2020, along with other 
events, and, of course, more poems. 
Wishing you peace...

Charise

Wednesday, December 4, 2019

"Eating Nasturtiums"

Eating Nasturtiums 


Peppery bloomskins make me salivate
––orange taste uncitrus––rambunctious unlike 
inedible ranunculus––zing surprising 
––reminiscent of salted dried plums from 
the Chinese market, La Cresta, in the sweat 
of Panama City––keeping the seed tucked 
into my inner cheek long after sucking the gnarly 
fruitmeat––only once downing the rocklike 
remnant while tying my shoes for the first time––
reassured that it would pass through me––
that we discard the wrong material––
we are made to be revised.   



~ LCMH

Wednesday, November 20, 2019

"Alterations"

Alterations


I want a hero of a certain type,
            a muse who gabs for newer garb
custom-made for archetype
            of shape shifter, a tarot card

hermit who emerges without hype
            or hardened heart,
an orphan of the night tilting light
           by walking backward,

            Magritte’s chapeau to alight
from gallery to weary guard,
            surreal to set things right,
a little prince to free the sword 

            as words from stone, to see    
the stone as notes for poesy.   


~ LCMH

Friday, November 1, 2019

"Uber Rubric"

Uber Rubric


Autumn is an aria––
warm tones of yellow, orange, red.
Resonance resounding
as conversations shift in sedans, suvs
––oratorio out of the ordinary
when solo rounds have company.
We confess from front and back seats
to know a thing or two about the weather
and whether our exchange is philosophy,
prophecy, or counsel as strangers
in an arranged ride. Outside, the wind
greets leaves with a shake and lets
them loose, an encounter that will color
sidewalks, curbs, alleys, forest floors
alike. Yellow, orange, red––more
ground to cover at each stoplight. 



~ LCMH