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Staff Picks for April 2009
April is National Poetry Month. It means its time to celebrate poetry. Hope you guys are penning a poem a day. If not, its not too late to start. Or else just celebrate poetry in whichever way you feel like.
We have an interesting mix of poems this time from poets who have not been showcased in our staff picks before. Check out these poets if you read something you like.
The first pick for this month is Maggie by Beloved49. "Four interlocking kus for a beloved pet. You can feel the care in this series" is what loisseau has to say about this poem.
Maggie.....
prancing in white snow
my Maggie once loved so well
to dance free and wild
deep in drifts she pounced
a red white tipped tail to see
her coat iced red flames
leash bowl now away
shadows in halls seem to grieve
beloved blue ball gone
snow flies in winter
yard remains bare of her prints
ice drops fall like tears
"A new poet, new enthusiasm, and a new way to look at life, I kind of like this poem." Crystalline by LestatDeLioncourt is anna9's poem for this month.
Crystalline
No one is listening;
now you may sing the selfsong.
as the bird does, not for territory
or dominance,
but for self-indulgence.
Let something
come from nothing.
Why do we dream? Dreams come from our subconscious mind. I always believed that dreams are about the dreamer and they represent some aspects about the dreamer. The only blog pick for this month is about dreams - 'Nightmare dream recollections' by darkblues
Nightmare Dream Recollection
a few years ago i decided to try to write down weird dreams i was having, this is the only one i could find...i don't bother trying to recall dreams anymore, the sub-conscious can stay there thank you very much!
I am coming in from the edge of darkness. I am at work, in bed trying to watch a Brazilian football match! Look over to a work colleague, must have said something. Look back, no Brazilian football match, “where’s the football”, shrug of shoulders. I step out, ‘anymore work I am thinking?’ Mental-head never seen before looked like an electrician, electricians and telegraph poles everywhere- underground!? Person says “wasted tonight, this is mental what has he done” another says “allsorts” I feel scared of all these new faces ‘what is going to happen?’ I walk past a works colleague who I know “hello” I say, he doesn’t acknowledge me, he’s distracted and sprints to a bloke, "he’s fallen off" he says “I thought you had fallen off” he shouts and goes to help. Other people I have not seen before approach. I looked at the injured he looks okay but high, “I broke my leg this time” he says grinning. He’s in a room and shakes his ankle it is broken and he is shaking it. I shriek and sprint away, I sprint past people they ask me what’s up “he’s broke his leg” I say “not another one” they say without emotion. I leg it further I glance into a room with loads of other people, broken arms and legs and amputations in progress.
Dark underground I start taking the boxes in, they keep piling up outside, more and more, I work faster and faster to keep up. There is something outside I am holding a torch, something is coming in my direction, I am on the edge of darkness. I sprint away in a total daze, light headed; I don’t know what is going on. I come around it is the early hours; see an old friend he is my guardian angel and feel safe. I see a fete (bouncy castles and stalls that sell marmalade) and then a hotel. Everybody I see I know but I do not know their names. I go into the hotel looking for a short cut. Around and around, over and over to get underground faster I feel intense must get there. “This girl fancies you” voice says, strangers saying hi, they knew me! I do not think I know them maybe.
I sprinted, went in to the hotel – made a scene hurtling tables and chairs. ‘Guests!’ where did they come from?! I am not at work I go down, the gate is locked I can’t get in; there’s a basket outside. I ask my friend what the time is he says a time to me, I don’t know what, must get back.
Going down hill as everybody leaves not thinking straight, people look at me a mystery. Suddenly all is quiet I’m all alone in a housing estate rows and rows of houses. I must get away from this place, scared and intense. Go one way then fake to go in the opposite direction. Who am I running from? More intense, still must get away. Railway crossing across the road everything is clear I can see and visualize everything all at once, wide railways more than one track, three. I can see a train as I approach it is coming from the right a smoking locomotive, I can’t slow down I am approaching the crossing from above, I swerve to the right hoping to miss it, my feet hit the tracks just before the train hits. I get an electrical buzzing sensation. I am stood on the track I jump off the track look to my right and see a stranger on the railway track coming towards me. I am trapped. Back inside the edge of darkness.
"Wow, this was just wonderfully done. You managed to mesh tragedy, love, religion, tradition and humor perfectly", is what Bogeyman has to say of his choice - The Amish Magnificat by sapphicmuse.
The Amish Magnificat
My body magnifies my master.
There is nowhere I can go
in the village to escape his love.
My skin, preserved like fossils, hidden
from rural society,
glistens bright, only in his presence.
He says that when I light the candles
to ward off the piercing dark,
my face shines with radiance, so I
bow my head and pray for humbleness.
I am blessed that he is right.
At times, our young girl wears the gleam too.
I am persuaded to come to bed
quieter than a field mouse,
so as not to steal the place
in my master's mind from Jesus Christ.
I am lowly/servant/wife.
Do with me as you will, kind husband.
Master says honestly, "Your beauty
glows like the moon in the sky
on these calm Lancaster Parish nights.
Never have I seen more fluid locks
flow like water in the well."
My hair shall bring the ocean to him.
Only one has seen the wonder of
this pulsating cave, sealed with
scripture, perfected when he puts his
Genesis 1:28 in my
Proverbs 31:30.
My submission glorifies the Lord.
He causes my mountains to rise up,
topped with pink hills for Master.
He causes my womb to swell with joy,
larger than the Allegheny Ridge.
On the delivery bed,
I sweat out the River Avalon.
I hear the cry: "It's a boy! It's a boy!"
I wish to stay and raise him,
but I feel my energy draining.
I will not survive this, but I rest
knowing I have honored my
promise to love, made so long ago.
I was twelve with soap in my mouth for
a comment I made during
'The Talk'. "Why do you and daddy not
do that anymore?" Her skin blanched white
with guilt, but I can die with
peace, since love has shown its face again.
One more poem from the same poet
I'll Just Keep Walking
I envision the sorrowful tale
of a mother eyeing bars of steel,
picking up the phone which serves
as a line between her and the kids.
The mother of five weeps in sadness,
reminiscing on how she got here,
how she allowed young Alanina
to chop up her dolls and fill their
severed heads with tiny
balls of leftover cornmeal.
How Johnny secured his
passage on an Aegean
ship, telling not a soul.
Between intake and outtake,
summer is so not even-
Steven still bathes with Jen
at sixteen. No one stops them.
I have seen the fateful day
when the five tortured souls
were taken away from
mommy dearest. She has her
own place now, safe from danger
and safe from herself.
Mommy hears the voices
scraping like fingernails
across fire-red skillets.
Her kids are no longer her own,
but the truth still stands like
a lady encased in white
who sprinkles petals on
every failure, and will say,
"I cannot tell a lie..."
Her children are the ones
that wear the orange suits.
I close the morning news
and walk out the door.
I do not stop when I
reach my car. I keep walking.
Everything I know
is wrong, and as God is
my witness, I swear,
I'll just keep walking
until I touch land's end
and the water starts
walking inside of me.
My poem for this month is In the Working Jewish Suburbs of Chicago,Early 1950s by butterflyzrfree. "This narrative piece reads more like a script for a play. The dialogue is neatly done without sounding over dramatic. The layout and the narration is unique. I admire butterflyzrfree for trying out something different, breaking from the usual style."
In the Working Jewish Suburbs of Chicago,Early 1950s
--Is there a reason she shouldn't be pleased-- says Auntie Sophie with a satisfied smile and a nod towards me.
--His family is a little this and a little that--says Aunt Rose,--If you know what I mean--With a nod of her head
--The father makes an honest, decent living at the factory.--says Mother--He is always at the Shul, always at Shabbat, and always for the mingnon--
--But no Menshe, by a long shot--replies Aunt Esther, sarcastic, and old, as usual
--The boy is a catch. An educated man. He reads in both Hebrew and English!--Mother replies to the group
--What kind of a catch? A fish?--Aunt Esther of course, amidst a few soft chuckles
--He works at the publishing house--
--Whose house?--
--Rabinsky's prayer books--Mother
--Oh!--says Rachel, the youngest married woman, impressed
--And what does he do?--says Aunt Miriam, curiously
--Mop the floor?--Aunt Esther again, This time there is great laughter.
--He checks the manuscripts--I cry, close to tears.
--Aunt Esther, that was not called for--says my mother sternly. She is my mother's Aunt too, very old.
--Rivke is right, but still we had hopes that such a fine young girl, so beautiful, well raised, and with good training, would catch the eye of a doctor, a lawyer, someone with investments!--pipes in Aunt Etta, the quiet one, quite passionately.
All around me people were speaking of my fine qualities, how wonderful I was, while I barely heard, holding back the despair crawling into my heart.
--The decision will be made by Saul.--says mother firmly, and right on cue my father shouts from the TV room
--I have heard all of the kibbitzing over there! What are you discussing?--
And, also right on cue, the ladies quickly, and finally, depart.
--Saul, I was intending--
--Stop with the intending! There will be no intending in my house!!--said Father, who has drank a bottle of Manischwitz.
--And your opinion?--said mother quietly.
--There is no opinion! I have made my decision!-- I waited, hiding behind my mother a little even though I was sixteen and ready to marry.
--We have no money for a big fancy wedding to a doctor, or a lawyer, or a big fancy investor! She will marry the poet!-- and he stomped out
Mother and I exchanged looks, and smiles, and a big hug, but no words, we did not want him to hear.
That night, in my room, I made a long prayer to G-d, thanking him for his wisdom, his generosity, and for giving me such a cheap father, a kind man, but so cheap, that he will allow me to marry my beloved, my one and only, my poet.
Mother Rivke, in her parents bedroom, also gave a prayer of thanks, to the fact that everything with her husband has worked exactly as planned...
The only haiku/senryu pick is Laundry ku by synkronyze. "I read this and liked it so much" says RZS of her choice.
Laundry ku
I'll see you later!
the clothespin screamed to the shirt,
as shirt falls unloved.
Due to time constraints, our curator Rio has been unable to choose the best critic and young poet for this month. We shall be back with it next month.
Submitted by mamta on Sunday, April 05, 2009 (08:01:39) (1209 reads)
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| "Features: Staff Picks for April 2009" | Login/Create an Account | 3 comments |
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Re: Staff Picks for April 2009
(Score: 1 )
by mamta on Sunday, April 05, 2009 (04:04:39) |
Congratulations to all the poets chosen. 
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Re: Staff Picks for April 2009
(Score: 1 )
by Melly on Sunday, April 05, 2009 (12:44:04) |
Congradulations to all picks for all the wonderful penning.. Happy poetry month.. Melly
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Re: Staff Picks for April 2009
(Score: 1 )
by realrhoda on Sunday, April 05, 2009 (17:20:28) |
Congratulations to all of the excellent writers here.
And Happy Poetry Month to all!
Rhoda
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