Returning Home

 

Returning Home

 - for Dr. Michael Anthony Ingram

As all children do

he returns home as an adult

suitcase heavy with decisions

not from the past

but for the future

The porch light welcomes him

shadows move behind pulled curtains

He is not ready to open the door

so he sets the suitcase down on the steps

and walks to the end of the driveway

where the night sky is clear

He ponders if the constellations know their names

He wonders if anyone is gazing at the light shining from his home

For a moment he feels like a little boy again

wrapped in his mom’s arms

playing ball on the driveway

hearing his parents say they love him

A shooting star breaks across his vision

His head is flooded with a thousand shining moments

a galaxy of life

he begins to name the constellations

forming in his heart

He stands up

mumbling words of poetry

sending them out to the universe

to let them find their way

between the stars

He smiles

as he turns to see

that the door is open

Fourth Day MVICW Conference

 

The morning session for Martha's Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing Writers' Conference was titled, "Who's on First? The Persona Poem at Play". The session was parallel to yesterday's session, but had unique aspects that expanded my understanding of the persona poem.  Again, these poems were done during the open writing time, so they will probably be revised later.

 The first writing prompt was centered on a fictional character. I chose the very hungry caterpillar on Saturday morning.

“In the Park”

Hmmm,

There should be a song about Saturdays and parks

What a lovely day

I almost don’t feel the fear of why

I am so ravished with this hunger

It seems as if my very soul is empty

For days I’ve been searching

Enjoying delicious fruits

Walking in your rays

But each night, I fall into a troubled sleep

Stomach hurting

Feeling myself expanding

Each morning

When I see you

This hunger drives me farther from my home

I need more

Huhhh

What is this red and white thing on the ground?

 

 

The second writing prompt was centered on a historical event before we were born or during our lives.We were asked to take the perspective of someone at the event that wasn't a main figure. In the Love Poetry session yesterday we read the first ever recorded love poem, "The Love Song of Shu-Sin". I considered how a servant might have been there.

 

“The Love Poem”

I remember how much time it took

    Sun moving through the sky

I would bring her food and drink

She barely touched them

Her hands working the sharp reeds into the wet clay

The pile growing smaller as the edges became dull

I could see her mouth move

    Repeating words

    Verbal kisses she transcribed onto the clay

I don’t remember what she wrote

I was assigned to prepare for the wedding feast

Before she was done

The next time I served her

    She was queen

 

The afternoon session was focused on prose poetry, "The Pliable Prose Poem".  We had a number of writing activities that helped the attendees understand the form. With one of the exercises, our instructor shared info on the Blue Lake Rhino Cave.

“Blue Lake”

We’ve lost more than our names in the waters of today. The echo of us is in the caves formed in our lives by time and trouble. We must take a deeper breath than ever before. Dive into the lake that once created a cave from the death of a rhino.

Third Day MVICW Conference

 

 

The morning session for Martha's Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing Writers' Conference was titled, "The Masks We Want". The session was about writing persona poetry. We had to list four historical figures and four fictional characters as the first step. Through other steps we decided on one of the eight figures.  I ended up writing from Yoda's point of view just before Luke arrives on Dagobah. Again, these poems were done during the open writing time, so they will probably be revised later.

“Train or Not Train”

Tired, I am

Hmmmm

Unsure, I am that I can train the son of Anakin

For years a lightsaber I have held not

Ready to fade this crude matter is

Too young, yet too old is he

Tainted his mind is

Of this war

Between soldiers it is not

Hmmmm

For the Force he must have courage for

Past the emotions he will have to find his way

Hmmmm

Tired, I am

Responsibility to fill, I know I have

Do what I must, I will

Train, I will

A path, I will show

Tired, I am

Hmmmm

A Jedi or his father’s side choose he must

Hmmm

A disturbance in the Force, I feel

Arrived he has

Train, I will

Train, I will

Hmmm

Tired though, I am

Second Day MVICW Conference: Morning Session Love and Loss

  

 

The morning session for Martha's Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing Writers' Conference was centered on love and loss. Again, these poems were done during the open writing time, so they will probably be revised later.

The first part of the session was looking at how love is displayed through ordinary moments. It made me think about a somewhat joke that my wife thinks I'm sexy when I clean, so I went with that idea to a degree with the following poem.

“20 Years”

After 20 years together

She’s heard every line I’ve used in college

We’ve danced in bars

    And around the kitchen island

I still play my CDs loud in the minivan

    My six offspring 

    Moan as I sing to the 80s on 8

But we are all silent when she sings

Her first name is odd on my tongue

Her hairstyle changes 

    With the time left in the morning

We fall asleep too early

    Yet stay awake until the teens come home

This love was built on late night whispers

    But it is sustained 

    In the clean rows left on the carpet

    After I vacuum.

 

 The second part of the session was diving into loss through those ordinary moments. The poem I wrote is based from something my half-brother said after he lost his partner.

"Silence"

 

The hallway 

    Our pictures in your favorite frames

The kitchen

    Too much coffee sitting in the carafe

The patio

Sunlight reflecting off the flower pots

All is silent

    It feels like it will stay this way forever

Just yesterday your voice echoed off of the picture frames

Bounced on the table settings

And sank onto my skin like the sun

    As we sat drinking lemonade

I feel the air

    Still and unwavering

An emptiness

    Filling the space we shared

I am drowning in it

    Lungs burning

    My heart in a panic

    I am blinded by more than tears

If I open the door I know the world will be swamped

By this silence

I move slowly through the aching silenced

    of all the times I won’t hear you say

        “I love you.”

 

 The afternoon session was an ode to joy, but was broken into different elements, like food, a body part, a moment. This poem isn't joyful, but that is OK.

 

“My Shoulders”

My shoulders hurt almost all the time

    A quick movement

    A different angle

    Will bring a jolt of age to my teeth

I’ve carried so much over the years

Thousands of circles soothing my children

    Father and daughter in orbit with the moonlight on the floor

Moved my whole home into a house overnight

Piggybacks

Parental expectations

    I’ve shouldered for decades

My shoulder hurt almost all the time

The world seems to have lodged a spur

    Into my collarbone

I can’t lift my arms up

    To hold back the onslaught of its icons

I cry tears of pain

    Of frustration

Holding myself up against the door frame

    Fearful of the weight my children

    Already carry on their shoulders

        As they dart down

            The front steps

 

Poem from the MVICW Conference

 

Today is the first day of the Martha's Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing Writers' Conference. I thought it would be fun to share the works I create during this week. These works may be revised after the conference is over.

"This is a Moment"

This is a moment

    The one between the lighting strike

    And the thunder

Like children counting Mississippies

    To know when to cower

    In fear of the storm

The window panes

    Rattling the historical pain

    Of every tornado

    That touched down in our fields

    Of dreams

Tearing up the newly planted crops of stories and poems

    That could one day feed the souls of this Earth

This is a moment

    Filled with backward steps

    Mental debates

    Like standing on the high dive in June

Your dad watching

Your mom’s hand resting on his shoulder

The water looks so far away

    And the teenagers are getting angry

    At the bottom of the ladder

This is the moment

    This is the sentence

    This is the word

    That allows us to crawl out of the covers

        To play in the rain 

        12 feet above everyone