Spring in Gainesville, FL

~verses~

Honeysuckle hugs
brick and oak
magnolias meet
summer's dream

I wish you could smell

the salt on my skin

and breathe in all 

my femininity 

light snack,

grassy feet,

short nap.

Where is tomorrow

amongst today

hiding beneath

somewhere in the Pacific.

Cancel your lists,

throw the clock 

off the horizon

or into the sea

Run into the sunrise

Run with me.

3 years later

It is a shame that I have not maintained this blog since I began university in the fall of 2015. No doubt, most adults know that time gets away from you while in school and especially as you grow older; my writing has fallen victim to this disease of busy-ness and time. 

Even though I do not write as often as I did when I started 1000 Paper Cranes, inspiration strikes me on occasion, as it did on a recent rainy day. Here is a poem inspired by walking my dogs, as I daily do, after a downpour.

"Bougainvillea Scatterplot"

pink bougainvillea

scattered across the sidewalk after rain

with weak correlation 

pink bougainvillea, 

not unlike freckles,

thoughts,

or stars --

scattered across space

with weak correlation

pink bougainvillea 

like freckles,

thoughts,

and stars,

are beautiful, 

random things

pink bougainvillea

scattered across the sidewalk after rain

a treasure

Today I visited Resource Depot, a place for artists that are three-dimensionally inclined and people like me, who make treasure of old junk. However, from stacks of home editions of medical encyclopedias and Scandinavian travel guides, I found a surprising jewel. To be honest, I grabbed it merely for its name: Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle. I did shriek when I read the spine and waved it above my head in exultation. A second shriek escaped when I read further ...and other modern verse. Oh, thank you, Universe!

It turns out this ridiculous collection from the mid 1960s is a treasure chest. In the past hour I have scanned it through, smiling and smirking and experiencing the sort of catharsis only modern verse can induce.

I didn't notice at first but the compilation sneaks big names like Ezra Pound, Langston Hughes, and William Carlos Williams. However, their presence does not dominate, and I think the joy of these pages is their sundry nature. Here is one poem about trains (which I love), by Philip Booth:
http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/philip-booth/crossing/

Six-Word Memoir

I feel older than everyone else.

Whitman Blacks Out

DRUM SONGS

O songs

stretched

How she     gave the

superb! O

hour      truer

sprang—costumes of

opera music            and

you led to

my        parading

of this teeming

city,

amid

clinch’d

electric

daybreak

a smaller crane

pale
erect
carrying a
title

Arm'd
struggle
mental love

No
music

Wednesday crane

turbulent
pensive

old Manahatta.

red
welcome

an arm'd race
     business

begin
all
guns
  and
           frown


sing it well!

arming
limber
service