http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=4181796&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=ff0179&fullscreen=1
Moments from Venice, Florida from christine swint on Vimeo.
Some clips from the beach as a thank you to all my friends on the web. Happy Blog Reader Appreciation Day!
Blog Reader Appreciation Day is hosted at The OTHER Mother, by Robin Reagler.
I’m a three-speed Schwinn
And you are an Aston Martin, midnight blue,
on a solo cruise down the Autobahn,
your speed so crazy cliffs, trees, stars and moon
whip together in a frenzied banner
brushing your sleek lines.
Have you forgotten what the sky
looks like, even when your top is down?
When was the last time you stopped
to give someone a ride?
As the sun rises from a patch of spring violets,
you close your eyes in a darkened garage
and your engine no longer vibrates.
I bring up the rear, pushing my pedals on the open road
until my heart frays – tiny, untouchable threads.
***
I have to write one more poem or at least a rough draft (and really they are all drafts, at this point) to catch up with the pace of April poems. And I really feel like the bicycle in this poem – my energy is flagging a tad bit. It’s hard to churn out a poem to a specific prompt. But at the same time, I’m a ‘good student’ type, and if someone gives me an assignment I can generally rise to the challenge. So at least I’m writing.
This poem is based on a prompt I wrote for Read Write Poem about cars. Which means I’m writing to my own prompt. Student and teacher in one. I also included it in the Poetic Asides poem-a-day challenge in the category of objects.
Ninja Mama
The ninja sightings began
after I started watching
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
with my young boys.
But the ninjas stalking me weren’t
the jolly types who eat pizza
and break dance on their shells.
No, these shadows peeked
around the corners of the toilet paper aisle
at Kroger, trying to steal my coupons,
or they hid among the stacks of poetry
books at the library,
learning my line breaks.
Because of the ninjas
I learned to pivot on one foot,
kick my leg as high
as the top of a door frame,
wave my arms in figure eights
to confound my enemies.
They will never know what hit them.
I will whorl around like a spider monkey,
fly over their heads like a bat,
shower them with a spray of stars.
When my boys dress as ninjas
for Halloween, I will be one too.
They’ll be proud of me,
a mother who can kick ass.
***
I think I’m losing it a little bit, with this constant stream of poems! Oh well. This one is for Jill’s prompt about movies, and Robert Lee Brewer’s prompt about hobbies. It would be very bad-ass to be able to fly around like those Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon fighters, wouldn’t it? Except I wouldn’t want to do any damage, just pretend, and show off my skills. 🙂
The talented and energetic Dustin Brookshire has recently announced a new anthology he is editing and publishing.
Queens of Poetry: A Tribute to Bosselaar, Duhamel, Laux, and Wier is an anthology under production by poet and editor Dustin Brookshire. Queens of Poetry is split into four sections– one for each poet. Each section will contain poems written by fans, a question & answer portion, and a poem or two from the “queen” of the section.
If you are interested in submitting a poem to the anthology (in honor of your favorite queen) check out Dustin Brookshire’s submission’s page on the new site for the project, Queens of Poetry.
Because People in Africa are Starving
As Catholics, my family didn’t eat
filet mignon, pork loin,
or even roast chicken on Fridays.
We dined on breaded, baked cod,
broiled flounder, pan-fried trout,
an inconvenience for my father,
who abhorred fish, although looking back,
I think his distaste made
the penance all the sweeter for him.
Once I choked on a cross-hatch
of bones lodged in my throat,
until my father whacked
me on the back to save me.
From then on, at the six o’clock
Friday meal, I’d stall for time,
slip the tines of my fork
between flaky slivers of flesh,
ever aware of my father’s eye,
his rule that we clean our plates.
***
For Poetic Aside’s prompt to write about Fridays. I’ve got two poems to write, plus one for tomorrow, to catch up with the thirty-poems-in-thirty-days challenge. After driving 540 miles today, even posting this poem for Friday was a stretch, but I don’t want to get so far behind that there’s no hope to stay in the game.
I promise to come round and visit everyone on Sunday, 🙂
In the meantime, I’m working on ideas for a poem about a memory (aren’t they all?) from Poetic Asides, Carolee’s prompt about paradise, and Jill’s prompt about the fifty words. The last two exercises can be found at Read Write Poem.
Beach Rituals
At sixteen my son and his two friends
are cresting the first wave of manhood –
their arms and legs extend
from their torsos like freshly molded
coils of clay, and a glaze of down
glistens on their upper lips.
After slapping on a few dabs of sunscreen
they trudge across the sand, in the wake
of three Venus de Milos with dimpled hips.
Laughter trails away with the cries
of gulls and breakers. A breeze carries
the scent of salt, mollusks, and seaweed
to my spot under a lime-green tent,
where I’m sheathed in a long-sleeve blouse,
protected with sunglasses and a hat.
They bare their chests beneath
a sun nailed to the sky, poised to forget
that I’m in the background, waiting.
***
This one was supposed to be about routines, but I veered from the theme a bit. It’s hard to write or even think about routines when I’m at the beach.
From my vantage point on a bench outside the Venice Library there’s a giant palm tree, a live oak with a wide canopy,and a lovely sea breeze calling me back to the waves. I miss you all, but I’ll catch up when I return on Sunday. I have a few poems to write between now and then, since I’m a day behind with napowrimo!
Balanced On the Edge 