Voice by Zechariah Lange

14 May

I have another guest poet today, Zechariah Lange, has graced us with this lovely poem, Voice. I encourage poets of all ages to send me their poems for the possibility of letting me share them here on my blog. Email lauralascarso(at)yahoo(dot)com  Viva poetry!

Voice

Here stands a human being,

Gazing through a glass wall.

Some time now he has stood peering,

Waiting for his turn to take a step.

 

Searching, craving, yearning,

He stands using different tools,

Tools that were not of his own creation.

Understanding now the purpose of this wall.

 

Searching now within, the conjuring

Yields a force that is all his own.

Constructed of a love that is

Signed with a personal signature.

 

In world of universal truths,

He prioritizes these ingredients

With his own sense of worth.

Finally, this wall is a road.

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A Poem for Archers

6 May

A target pinned and solid-seeming
but mine is all in motion
I draw the bowstring back
and farther back
Were I to let it fly would it sink deep?

But now my muscles shake
fingers torn against the string
velocity all misaimed
I cannot decipher which target is my own

Can I split this arrow with the force of my own wishing,
shower the sky with a quiverful,
live out each peculiar path?

Or must I choose now
release my hold
wide-eyed or blindfolded
poised or hamfisted

Should I lower the bow?

Anonymous, May 2013

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Poetry Contest Winner

1 May

Congratulations to Paula Osborn who is the winner of a signed copy of Counting Backwards. Thank you to all those who submitted a poem during National Poetry Month, and to those who have been following along.

I hope you all will consider submitting poems to me throughout the year. Your verses will always be welcome here. Viva poetry!

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What I Found When I Shook Out My Kitchen Rug

30 Apr

My beloved great grandmother, for starters,
She was baking a ricotta pie
A pair of My Little Pony skates, circa 1985
Seven lizards, minus their tails
An irrational fear of falling down stairs
250 hand-written sentences on responsibility
Blue chalk dust from a four-square court
Clair de Lune on flute.

The harder I shook, the more that fell—
The pursuit of perfection
Paired with a compulsivity to count
One cup of black coffee—no sugar, no cream
A Pentax camera with a lens flare
An application to Princeton, unsent
A long-term experiment in not caring,
hypothesis correct.

You’d think by now, it’d all be out,
That subject-predicate habit
A tendency to smile and shirk
The insatiable need to scratch till I bleed
Rushing through the downhill
To climb the mountain again
Unmatched silverware and unmade beds
Beginnings without endings
And one friend request from my father, still pending.

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Dust

29 Apr

Today I’m excited to present a guest poem by Paula Osborn! Paula is a compulsive reader and YA writer who lives in Colorado at the base of the Rocky Mountains. Thank you, Paula, for your poignant expression!

 

Dust

 

Exhausted, straining to inhale a sliver of breath
I lie buried in the dust of another day
Desperate for the desire to crawl forward
Toward the rushing stream
With its promise of refreshment and desire
To smile one more day
Without trying

 

Tomorrow will be the last day of poetry month, and the winner of our contest will be announced May 1. Thank you to all those who’ve been keeping up with my poetry posts. I hope to extend this practice in the coming months. And, I welcome your poetry submissions year-round. A verse is the gift that keeps on giving!

 

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The Art of Imperfection

26 Apr

Only 5 more days to submit a poem for a chance to win a copy of Counting Backwards…email it to lauralascarso(at)yahoo(dot)com

 

The Art of Imperfection

 

Practice imperfection

Until you get it right

A word misspoken

A moment too late

Revel in your mistakes

 

A lapsed deadline

An unpaid bill

Like fruit collecting flies

How quickly they multiply

 

A house unkept

a yard to neglect

There’s only so much you can do

Broken dish, unfed fish

So many rely on you

 

La Boheme

Follow your dream

Your words, your words

They’ll eat your words

But it’s rice and beans for you

 

Your worry stones won’t help you, girl

Your stress ball days are through

Pick yourself up off the floor

Imperfect yourself anew

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Do Us Part

20 Apr

Bury me in a burlap sack

Facing southern light

Let the worms devour me

And make food for the plants

 

Mourn me

As I will mourn you

And after some time

Take a lover

 

We have met before

And we will meet again

When we do, it will be

as if we were never apart.

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Dog Time (in 24 Lines)

18 Apr

This is a lovely submission by my friend and poet, Christine Poreba, who specializes in many arts, among them, dog poetry. Enjoy!

FurryFriendCropDog Time (in 24 Lines) 

What need do dogs have for time?

The day like a living room rug

where moments of sleep, clean, rise

to the bark of a neighbor dog

pile up like toys.  Add the sound

of you coming home and the pack

is back together again.  Better

squeak that toy; it doesn’t matter

the hour.  Something deep

in their furry chests has been waiting

for this moment,

though words like waiting

and next and I’ll be back soon

mean nothing to creatures

who never know where the car

they’re put in is going, chances

being equal for the doctor,

the woods, a friend’s house,

or on a short vacation to different

ground entirely.  Because there is no

command for I’ll see you soon.

Count the days off on your paw.

There’s only now, with something

missing, then that joy again.

Would you like to be entered to win a free, autographed copy of Counting Backwards? Submit your poem to lauralascarso(at)yahoo(dot)com during National Poetry Month (April) for your chance to win!

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Found Poem

16 Apr

ProposalEmily Hunt

 

I knew you had a flair for the dramatic,

Emily Hunt,

Because of the beret you wore to calculus

Back in the fall,

When berets were not popular,

And even slightly post-boss,

Not to mention your shredded tights

And mismatched Converse

Surely that pairing was not

Accidental.

 

Your friends tell me too

That your sandwiches always have something

Unexpected

Hummus with cilantro, peanut butter and maple syrup,

Egg salad with hot sauce

Clearly your palate is as discerning

As your ability to calculate derivatives

 

Because of this, I knew the classic

Stuttering, sweaty-palm, thudding-heart approach

Was beneath you

Social media was, well, too—

Impersonal

Only a public proclamation would do

A gesture as unique and theatric

As you

 

I had to pull a few strings

My mother worried about my reputation

Should you reject my offer

My uncle wanted to advertise

A special on free toner

But after a very thorough pro vs. con debate

A conclusion was made

 

And so I present to you,

Emily Hunt,

My proposal

 

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I Find Comfort

15 Apr

I find comfort

in the warm embrace of loved ones.

Kind words from strangers

to remind me of our human bond.

 

I thank the heroes

who answer willingly

and without hesitation.

They are our best.

 

I pray for the victims

and their families,

that they may be comforted

in their pain and sorrow.

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