November 2, 2016

She's all that gold and glitter
At the mic. Sequined dress
Catches the moon just right.
She's all that gold and glitter,
And they throw tomatoes.
Spring for the exit now.
A woman has no place. Here.

This poem, #191 in the Poem Almost Everyday Project, strays from the writing the poem first thing aspect of my experiment because it was born out of a “poetry game” I play with students as a way into writing in poetic form. As a class, we determine the “rules” of the game: number of lines, syllables per line, the verb _______ in line ______ , the color _______ in line _______, a poetic device in line _______, and repeat lines _______ & _______.

These are the rules for this one:

  • 7 lines
  • 3 iambs per line
  • sprint in line 6
  • gold in line 1
  • a caesura in line 2
  • repeat lines 1 & 4
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November 1, 2016

Watery eyes and blurry world
And an excuse to do nothing.
Not a paper can be graded,

Nor a chore completed.
Baby blues have done me a favor.
Allowed me to sit without guilt

On the couch and screen Halloween
Movies beyond an ethereal layer. Work will wait.
For now, another day at home,

The medicine's effects not quite
Complete. Drops in the eye
In a pocket to save for another day.

This is Poem #190 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

October 31, 2016

Charlie Brown, we are always looking
For that savior to swoop in
And bring us a bag of treats -

Candied apples and Peanut Butter Cups.
We spread a plaid, felt blanket
Next to the cool, stone wall,

Wait in wonder for a specter.
Is this the basis of all war?

"A pumpkin as no legs,"
You claim. "He will never
Saunter in, like Santa the hero
Of Christmas, laden with toys
For good girls and good boys."

Take a knife to his face.
Give him the expression
You deem he craves -

Frightful, happy,
Ridiculous triangle
Eyes and nose.

Light a candle to burn
Inside the cavern
Where you have removed

Guts and seeds and stringy
Insides. Cook soup.
Warm your tongue.

Bob for apples and seek
A spirit who may never come.


This is Poem #189 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

October 29, 2016

Stained glass in Trinity Episcopal Church, Tilton, NH
The whisper of you
Is in everything
I do. How can the world

Continue when your shadow
Has left the side of walls?
My hand lays cold

Without the grip of yours.
Grabbed in the violence
Of night terrors,

When you visit,
Quiet, but behind
The veil of the other side.

Bump in the night.
They say it is how
It happens.

I sink to the wooden floor
Of the vestibule in grief,
Gripping for you in angst.

I have never known
Pain as this. Even
The window casing

Crashing down and blackening
My fingernails
Cannot compare.

Yet, I cower in the dark,
Under the blankets, and knowing.
You will visit again.

This is Poem #188 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

October 27, 2016

Stupidity abounds. Cynicism
Without critical thinking, is never
A good means to an end.

Fuckers with Second Amendment
Envy and no sense of their own
His tory threaten revolt.

They cannot face the idea
Of Girl Power and competence.
They fear

They are afraid
They are afraid of the wrong
Things. Now, we

Are fearful of them.
Some of my heroes from US History: Congressional Union for Woman’s Suffrage, National Summer Headquarters, 128 Bellevue Avenue, Newport, R. I.

This is Poem #187 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

As the 2016 election neared, things were heating up. I wrote this poem after reading about a group of male supremacists who were proposing that the United States should “appeal the Nineteenth Amendment.” It made me realize how tenuous everything is.

October 26, 2016

Sleek through the house,
He glides between the others,
Picks at treats on the floor.
(Stealthy paw swipes.)

He climbs the furniture
With his scissor paws.
(My hand a testament
to their effectiveness in battle
or at play.)

Rescued from stones
In a barn - his loud
Meow a beacon
For his saviors.

Now, he is ready
For Halloween as he notices
Homages to him

Around the house
In snow globes, on towels,
Knickknacks on the walls,

Candle holders
And stuffed animals.

All the black cat,
The harbinger of candy
And ghouls.

This is Poem #186 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

In October of 2016, friends rescued a tiny, feral kitten from the foundation of an old, New England barn and delivered him to us. Just in time for Halloween, Ziggy Stardust joined our family.

October 25, 2016

We rescued him at Halloween,
A dangerous time for the sleek,
Ebony feline. Cruelty can

Abound in rituals and pranks.
He hops around - almost blue -
Those round, saucer eyes.

Oh, kitten, trapped in the foundation
Of an ancient barn. Mother gone.
And sister starving in the hayloft.

Tiny and too young, we nursed
You and named you after an icon.
Ziggy Stardust, black

As the October night sky,
Ride on my broom with me.
Be my familiar purr.

This is Poem #185 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

October 21, 2016

When they do not talk 
About you, it is
Like you were never
There at all. In the past

Only white men did
Anything of importance.
The rest of us hid,
Apparently, in the closets

Of history and picked up
Their messes. They are trying
To do it now.
But how

Do you erase the black
President or the woman
This close to it
From your books?

Smear their names
With the media
You own and sit

Back. Let the repetition
And lies do their work.

This is Poem #184 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

#readwoke

cicelythegreat

Read Woke is a movement.  It is a feeling.  It is a style.  It is a form of education. It is a call to action;  it is our right as lifelong learners.  It means arming yourself with knowledge in order to better protect your rights.  Knowledge is power and no one can take it away. It means learning about others so that you can treat people with the respect and dignity that they deserve no matter their religion, race, creed, or color.

Parents across the country are having to have “the talk” with their children about ways to prevent the police from seeing them as a threat because of the color of their skin or because of the way they are dressed. Families are being torn apart and deported to countries of which they know nothing.  I was inspired to encourage my students, friends, and family to read in…

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October 17, 2016

The front page of The International Cryptozoology Museum’s floor map.
Sasquatch roams quietly
Through the dark and dank
Woods; his home deeply shadowed.

Some claim to witness his long
Stride around boulders
And the speckled forest

Sun. Why do we always assume
That the one we see is male?
When a mother is the one

Brave enough to risk being
Seen as her tall, furry legs
Take her to her children's meal.
This is Poem #183 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. 

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