You may be familiar with my Poetry Marathons – I’ve done them since January, 2015. I take a week, several times a year, and devote it to poetry – writing, editing, all poetry-related activities.
This year I have decided to do one segment of a Marathon each week. Two to three hours set aside for poetry, outside my regular life. It’s called the Installment Plan Poetry Marathon.
For more background information, look here. And if you want to read previous posts in this series, search this blog under the term Installment Plan Poetry Marathon 2017.
On July 27, I returned to Logue Library at Chestnut Hill College. A cool cloudy day, welcome after our spell of hot weather. The campus remains very quiet.
T walked toward the stairs to the upper campus and I checked on the squash vine. still looking good!
Here is a look at its environment:
As you can see, the plant is growing from between two granite stones in the wall, the mortar having dropped out; since the wall is built into the hill, soaked-in rainwater filters through the earth to the back side of the wall and through the crack. This is how this little guy is surviving. I pointed it out to a man walking up the steps as I was taking the pictures. “Tenacity”, he said. Tenacity, indeed.
I took a moment to enjoy these crepe myrtle bushes next to the reading room’s windows. As I watched, a hummingbird swooped in and among the blossoms, its wings whizzing.
I went inside and checked in. The two librarians were discussing something about keys and opening the library. It sounded confusing. I went on my way. Here is a photo of how the bushes look from inside the library. A silent scene of beauty available all day long, just for the effort of taking a moment to look.
I set up at my desk.
I decided to take a turn around the room. Today I was interested in all the little items that do a job on this floor but never get a moment of recognition. I am remedying that lack, right now.
There. Now you have seen more of the room where I spend so much time.
All right. Today’s poems.
The crepe myrtles made an impression on me.
Perfect row of crepe myrtles
in dark pink bloom
standing on long slim legs
I mean trunks.
A haughty look about them
stuck here along the side of the building
think they ought to be around front
Like a crowd of fashion models
waiting curbside for the bus
if such people
rode the bus
which they don’t.
they take the attentions of the paparazzi
I mean a hummingbird
putting up with the buzzing and flitting around
cool as fashion models
sneering on a magazine cover.
The crepe myrtles
strike a pose.
I snap a photo.
I’ve been reading Trollope’s Can You Forgive Her? and have just met Lady Glencora. On such slight acquaintance, the thoughts expressed in this poem have come to me. Maybe I’ll assess her differently as the book goes on, but for some reason, I felt I wanted to make a note of things.
If only she could get over
that ill-advised attachment
throw it into the back of the drawer
that holds all the things
that need to stay forgotten
with what enjoyment
could she throw herself
into this life she occupies
Wealthy and waited on
Amiable relations and friends
very pleasant company
here to visit any time
Chocolate cake every day if she liked
and no need to make her own bed. Ever.
If only she could let go
of her attachment to
that ill-advised attachment
where there is no need to suffer
suffering is precious
It goes in the other drawer
where the cherished things are kept.
Next, vignettes, formerly known as handwriting snippets but now having their own name, and thank you to everyone who made suggestions. “Vignettes” was the most popular one, and it fits well. I read the word is from the French “little vine”; I do like that term as well. I may convert to it. “Little vines” twining through my thoughts…anyway, I did a lot of these today. Here are some selections.
tell the truth and it will make no difference
you will float downstream face-down
no matter what.
which one is the decoy
Let’s split up and search the back yard
It’s not what you thought but something
I fell flat on the floor
Three days in the hospital
weak, drunk, and suffering from a full-body rash.
The new prescription isn’t helping.
I’ve been told
a nice little operation might do the trick
and no card was enclosed.
worn down like old shoes
forced down too many rough roads
Until next time. Thank you for reading.