another daydream

another daydream

Thursday, May 28, 2020

First Reading

Poetry readings are non-existent or virtual as we stay safe at home. I'm missing two scheduled poetry readings during this time, so here's a throwback to my first public poetry reading. This was held at the Strathmore Mansion in Maryland, with live music accompaniment. The event honored veterans and family members as well as the healing art of writing. I was the only military spouse to write and share a poem, titled "Countdown from Deployment." This poem hasn't been published anywhere (not for lack of trying...), and I hold it close (to continue trying...). You're welcome to have a listen––and hang in there, because the audio is soft at the outset, then the sound picks up:

https://youtu.be/UAOss5KgbOo



Wednesday, May 6, 2020

"Spring Sequestered"

Spring Sequestered
––after William Blake

  
for the hours perusing
my backyard 

while we cannot traverse
the world,

lilies of the valley profess
a governance of air

from a square below a bay
window

along a slope beside lopsided
slate stones

meant for stepping
––hours that have stooped

interminable, I see eternity
in a flower


~ LCMH


Saturday, April 11, 2020

"Disappearing Ink"

Disappearing Ink


I stopped writing when I became the poem.
I stopped writing when I became the poem.
My arms and legs carried the phrase without reason.
My arms and legs carried the phrase without reason.
My reason stopped when I carried the poem.
I became arms and legs writing without the phrase,

while all that happened faded from view.
While all that happened faded from view,
the page of another morning was beginning.
The page of another morning was beginning.
Morning happened while another page faded
from view. That was the beginning of all.

The ground speaks of my visitation.
The ground speaks of my visitation
and story spores spread in mossy fruition.
And story spores spread in mossy fruition.
Mossy spores of my visitation spread ground
and the story speaks in fruition.

Another story stopped without reason when
my arms and legs faded from the page. I carried
mossy spores while view of morning was spread
in fruition. All that happened became the beginning. 
The poem speaks of the ground writing my visitation
and I the phrase. 


~ LCMH












Monday, March 30, 2020

The Poetry Shift

We are all coping differently in these uncertain times. Poetry, by its timeless nature, and its ability to sustain the spirit with an almost (if not actual) mystical perspective, is a good place to spend some time. I find that reading a poem provides a welcome shift from reading news or absorbing information. Give yourself permission to wander into and through a poem.

And, try the random act of reading, which is how I opened a book to this page––a poem by Mirabai of the 16th century:

    


Blessings, dear readers.

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.]