Circus

Be a poet-acrobat.

Let the words balance you
into a handstand
roll you swiftly, gracefully
across the expansive mat.

Let the words swing you,
parallel, uneven
from arms of sky.

Let the words toss you
from rings into ring.

Keep moving to the music.
Your heart and your words
connected to the motion,
the breath of the earth.

(c) 2010 Cecilia Reid Driscoll

Because of the Infinite Possibilities

i go from link to link
opening, discovering
new things of beauty.
tonight, birds
chords of a favorite song
Shakespearean rhyme,
photographs from travelers.

i traveled once or twice
was lost, and found a different way.

yesterday when they asked
what i wanted for my birthday
i said: something hidden.
something to open. a surprise.

(c) 2010 Cecilia Reid Driscoll

Cooking and Cleaning

A poem is a pot

to mix metaphors in.

Dangle a preposition

if it helps the rhythm.

Stretch your grammar,

but not past comfort.

Listen, lean and learn

to bring the rhyme closer.

Look at the images

through a telescope,

a periscope,

a magnifying glass,

a prism.

Throw them up in the air.

Try to catch the bright ones,

the right ones when they fall.

At first, you planned a stew,

words simmered slowly

over the burner of deliberation,

until all the ingredients

embraced and held

and learned to love each other.

Warm and rich and wholesome.

But today, you decide on a salad,

where every image, every word

can shine and slide with

the oil of connections,

yet keep the tang

of its own salty sweetness.

And it'll be ready fast.

Take that pot off the stove.

Toss everything

into the open bowl on the table.

Eat immediately with your bare hands.

Don't forget to lick your fingers.

(c) 2010 Cecilia Reid Driscoll

Thanks to all of you who made it here to read this poem today! I am adjusting my life to the work-a-day world and finally happened to fit in some of my own writing. I am wondering if my priorities are in order...of course they are! But I so appreciate having writing in my life.

By the way, I am becoming a (fairly) faithful daily reader at Poem Farm - such rich food for the heart and soul. Thank you, Amy!

One to Two, Just Asking

Today is 10/10/10 day.

I don't know what to do.

It should be something special.

It should be something new.

Three perfect tens, three bases run,

so many ways to see.

Or if you speak "computer,"

Three twos, in binary.

No matter how your brain's arranged,

One-zero's in to play.

We could be triple-magical.

So hey-what do you say?

(c) 2010 Cecilia Reid Driscoll

Life Riddle

If fun was work

and work was fun,

would you want to

get work done?

Frustrated folks

may envy you.

Would you mope

the way they do?

Or would you care

and share the light?

Keep the promise

in your sight?

Life always gives -

time, treasure, skill.

And simple choices.

As you will.

(c) 2010 Cecilia Reid Driscoll

Ode to Stone

Open your eyes.

Look closely.

Open your ears.

Listen through my years.

I am the older brother,

the grandfather,

the man-in-the-moon.

I am the railroad track,

the sled runners,

the highway.

I am the sturdy roof and walls,

keeping out intruders,

wild animals,

heat and cold.

I am the hearth,

the circle that holds the fire,

the circle around which you gather,

with marshmallows and stories.

You mine me for my best qualities,

refine me,

put me to work where I am needed.

Heat and pressure and time

often make me more beautiful,

stronger, more complex.

For the most part, I am quiet.

I am rarely perfect,

but crystal glories may hide inside me.

When I am older, broken, small,

children pick me up from streams,

find me in fields of green and gold.

Sometimes they tell me their dreams.

When those of short lives carve me,

or make their mark on me,

I am still who I am.

I am here to serve.

I am red, I am beige, I am black. I am gold.

I can build or break down.

I am the source of mountains and mighty legends,

living giants, teachers, protectors of the North.

I am the path and the cave,

the foundation, the crust,

soft at the ultimate core.

I am the bridge and the wall.

I am here to serve.

(c) 2010 Cecilia Reid Driscoll

Midnight Pantoum

When the writing's so exciting
it's so very hard to sleep.
Thoughts like seabirds keep alighting
flying high and diving deep.

It's so very hard to sleep.
Mini pen with flashlight tip
flying high and diving deep -
taking notes at rapid clip.

Mini pen with flashlight tip
the most necessary tool,
taking notes at rapid clip
as kids learn in middle school.

The most necessary tool -
take an open, quiet mind.
As kids learn in middle school,
words would flow as stars aligned.

Take an open, quiet mind.
Thoughts like seabirds keep alighting.
Words would flow, as stars aligned.
Then the writing's so...exciting!

(c) 2010 Cecilia Reid Driscoll

Ode to the Road

Open and free
congested and rowdy
multiple lanes of confusion
I find myself where you are.
My life navigates
on your surfaces and edges
some pitted and rutted with wear
others comforting as velvet.
By signs and numbers
under stars and streetlights
you guide and welcome my way.
Your maps are metaphors
crisscrossed like synapses
and layers of memories,
layers of mysteries.
I roll along on your hills
where the bottom drops out
along stretches where I can see clearly
to the shimmering horizon ahead.
I sip with you on coffee and smoothies,
sing and pray with many voices.
You take me where I choose.

Deer do not understand you.
Skunks are drawn to you.
Mosquitoes are surprised.
You accept 18-wheelers and baby shoes
deluges and rainbows just the same.
I try to be patient,
extend your compassion
to other lost travelers.

Sometimes I hear poems
through the rhythm of the tires,
the beat of the street.
Sometimes I am saved by angels.

You take me to unexpected
trials and delights.

You raise more questions
than you answer.

(c) 2010 Cecilia Reid Driscoll

and you are watching

sometimes I think I'm mortal
when things are happening so fast
my life is changing
and I find you standing
behind every tree around every corner
I notice you
because you keep greeting me
handing me gifts
in plain brown packages
tied with wires of gold
and as I keep unwrapping unwrapping
circling the gold around my fingers
I find I never
get beyond the paper
the unwrapping is the gift

I look up and you are watching
with your unbelievable smile

(c) Cecilia Reid Driscoll 2010

Broken Morning Pantoum

A yard may be a private paradise

a rural moment in a city day

when neighbors are still rubbing sleepy eyes;

the children haven't tumbled out to play.

A rural moment in a city day

heart's sanctuary; quiet spirit sighs.

The children haven't tumbled out to play,

creating small new worlds with brave cries.

Heart's sanctuary; quiet spirit sighs.

Caressing breeze, waves of cicada song

creating small new worlds with brave cries.

Expect this refuge not to last too long.

Caressing breeze, waves of cicada song.

Ignore the random slams and engine roars.

Expect this refuge not to last too long,

a brief escape through open, friendly doors.

Ignore the random slams and engine roars.

Clear choice: reside in close community.

A brief escape through open, friendly doors

where leaves and shadows dance, a sip of tea.

Clear choice: reside in close community.

When neighbors are still rubbing sleepy eyes,

where leaves and shadows dance, a sip of tea

a yard may be a private paradise.

(c) Cecilia Reid Driscoll 2010

Loose Daydreams Pantoum

Let them have their moment
you might say
the visions of old loves turn before you
in the bedroom of your day

you might say
on a sultry afternoon
in the bedroom of your day
in the atlas of your mind

on a sultry afternoon
memory travels its own lost roads
in the atlas of your mind
away from fading light

memory travels its own lost roads
where words are always kind and sweet
away from fading light
away from spirals of realities

where words are always kind and sweet
in a constant time
away from spirals of realities
away from deeps and highs

in a constant time
the visions of old loves turn before you
away from deeps and highs.
Let them have their moment.

(c) Cecilia Reid Driscoll 2010

Immaterial

It isn't what you produce that makes you a poet.

It is the writing at nightstill, dawnburst, dayrush, sunslide, unveiling of stars.

It is the writing for which you forgo sleep, and other such pressing business.

It is the writing which calls you first, which you tend and serve.

It isn't the boxes of journals in the attic,

books with your name in the corners of libraries,

pressed onto shelves of family and friends.

It is the mindspark heartmotion handflow.

The ink appears and disappears.

It is the writing that creates your life.

(c) Cecilia Reid Driscoll 2010

Beachcomber's Pantoum

Everyday I calculate the tides
Adjust the planned activities in store
An open gaze reveals what nature hides
Rolled from the sea collection to the shore.

Adjust the planned activities in store
Exciting walk that promises surprise
Rolled from the sea collection to the shore
To find and catch with quickest hands and eyes.

Exciting walk that promises surprise
A perfect fan or spiral, white or black
To find and catch with quickest hands and eyes
Stripes, patterns, curls congregate in sack.

A perfect fan or spiral, white or black
Uncommon whelk or scallop burnished red
Stripes, patterns, curls congregate in sack
To fill the dreaming basket by the bed.

Uncommon whelk or scallop burnished red
An open gaze reveals what nature hides.
To fill the dreaming basket by the bed
Everyday I calculate the tides.

St. Augustine Beach Pantoum, Revisited

Secrets in code at the edge of the sand
Dreams dragged deep by riptides
Shark approaches stealthily; dolphin leaps
Ocean accepts and moves, waves shape the shore.

Dreams dragged deep by riptides
Each island holds a mountain, summit show.
Ocean accepts and moves, waves shape the shore.
Island hides in time beneath the tide.

Each island holds a mountain, summit show.
Moon and stars rise along the road.
Island hides in time beneath the tide.
Moon stretches earth's vast liquidity.

Moon and stars rise along the road.
Heartstrings plucked, shimmer tune.
Moon stretches earth's vast liquidity
Big Dipper tips into small leading star.

Heartstrings plucked, shimmer tune.
Shark approaches stealthily; dolphin leaps.
Big Dipper tips into small leading star.
Secrets in code at the edge of the sand .

Dog Days Pantoum

Low eyelids, Mona smile, shine and glow
Fluffy flops in corner table shade.
Lemonade and cards, move cool and slow
All drawn into the one room AC made.

Fluffy flops in corner table shade
Moist oppression fills the atmosphere
All drawn into the one room AC made
To seek some comfort, the warm-blooded share.

Moist oppression fills the atmosphere
Three more days forecasted in this town.
To seek some comfort, the warm-blooded share
Body, spirit, mind slow rhythms down.

Three more days forecasted in this town
Counting to the thunderstorm ahead
Body, spirit, mind slow rhythms down
Too much work to crawl in garden, bed.

Counting to the thunderstorm ahead
Pace into the days of dogs and roses
Too much work to crawl in garden, bed
Patio pansy wilts, dahlia dozes.

Pace into the days of dogs and roses.
Lemonade and cards, move cool and slow.
Patio pansy wilts, dahlia dozes
Low eyelids, Mona smile, shine and glow.