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THE ELEPHANTQUAKE and other poems by readers …

Much to my delight there are seven poetic responses this week. Bravo, my friends! Five of the poems are responses to last Wednesday’s Writing Prompt:

“How do you generally receive the night? With joy, reluctance or fear? Do you sleep well or not? Tell us in poem or prose. If you would feel comfortable doing so, please put a link to your response in the comments section below – or, if the work is short enough – just include it there that we might all enjoy it. Responses to Wednesday Writing Prompts are published here on the following Tuesday.”

I was introduced to the multitalented (poetry, art and asemic writing) Sonja Benskin Mesher when I featured Rueben Woolley and his work.  Sonja designed the covers for his collections.  I’ve been enamoured ever since.  Sonja says, ” I have worked full time as a visual artist since 1999, and have spent those years exploring ways to communicate thoughts and concerns with my paintings and drawings. It’s not all you see on the surface, it goes deeper than that. The work goes back touched and collected. My present surroundings, here in Wales, and that of Cornwall where I spend much of my time, inform the work, and inspire the subject matter. Then with the work I remember, and try to make sense of it all.”

. vanta black .

‘ is dark at night, i lay here looking’

yes

‘ not totally black though,

i like the greys and shadow.

i like when the cars go by,

the lights go across the walls’

yes

‘ i do not think i will like very black,

not vantablack like anish kapoor’

said the bear quietly.

it is alright to say so.

© Sonja Benskin Mesher

I think Sharmishtha Basu – artist, poet and writer – has been blogging as long as I have, which would mean since 2008.  I’ve watched her grow her talent and expand her art and writing world into a small industry.  She illustrates her own poems, has sixteen blogs and self-publishes on Amazon.  From the tentative writer she was initially, she has grown strong and confident as a result of hard persistent work.  Visit Sharmishtha’s Gravatar Profile for links to her blogs.

PEACEFUL IS YOUR PRESENCE

Peaceful is your presence
Like losing oneself
In embrace of peace itself
Losing self awareness
for some certain moments
Turning away from worries
Frictions and tensions
That won’t leave wakeful mind.
Who says you invoke only
Fear, terror and darkness.

© Sharmishtha Basu

Renee Espiru (Just Turtle Flight) writes poetry and short stories and is adept at digital art, producing interesting illustrations to accompany her poetry.  She says she’s been writing from a young age and that her  ” writing is based on my life’s experience and my observation of life. I have been asked the question of where I come by my ideas … and have come to the conclusion that without life observed there would be nothing on which to base any writing at all.”  Over the years, I’ve always appreciated Renee’s willingness to take on any writing challenge thrown at her. Renee’s work is often featured in The BeZine.

A SIPHON FOR DREAMS

The night is a siphon for dreams
drifting thru stars & moonbeams

nudging in its’ turn each muse
igniting imaginations’ fuse

visiting angels night’s shadows
a lighting of a candles’ tallow

© March 2017 Renee Espriu

Gary W. Bowers (One With Clay, Image and Text) was born in California and lives now in Arizona. He is a poet and artist with a quick wit and a unique and engaging style. Gary’s creative specialties are acrostic poetry, portraiture, ceramic sculpture, Ticonderoga Black pencil drawing and, most recently, mixed media that includes oil pastel. Check out his blog. Inquiries about purchase of posted artwork, or commission of custom work including but certainly not limited to acrostic portraiture, may be made via e-mail to onewithclay@hotmail.com.  HERE is the artwork that Gary did for me.

nightie night

shutter lids o halfanearth
shadow has your number.
cue the creatures oer your girth
batten down n slumber.
slow the breathing ebb the sway
as the starscapes twinkle
and the dreams come out to play
and the brows unwrinkle.

© Gary Bowers

Gary’s poem in response to my baseball season kick-off with a poem – Line Up for Yesterday – by Ogden Nash.

Though life has its hashes
And reasons to grieve,
It gave us two Nashes:
One Ogden, one Steve.

(Steve Nash, one of the most brilliant of basketball’s Phoenix Suns, was the hardest-working player in the NBA, back in the day.)

© Gary Bowers

Paul Brooks’ blog (The Wombwell Rainbow) is subtitled “Inspiration. History. Imagination.” All true. Check it out.  I find his imagination charming and it’s something you can appreciate given his poem shared here today. Paul’s newest collection, The Spermbot Blues, his second chapbook is tentatively to be published by OpPRESS this Spring. Announcement pending. We’ll let you know.

THE ELEPHANTQUAKE

Elephantquake bossed a vast forest.
no rain, all lakes, tanks, ponds,
water holes arid. It thirsts
It searched for water.

It knows of a hidden lake
always full and goes there
to save itself. After five nights
it revelled and splashed in the lake.

Daily it marched upon moonhares,
maimed and wounded them,
on its route to the lake.

One day moonhares met
to save themselves
from the elephantquake
Some said “Abandon this place.”

Others “It’s our ancient home.
Let’s find an alternative.
Let’s see if we can scare off
rampage of elephantquake.”

Some of them said, “We know
of a trick that works
with elephantquake.
we need a sharp person.

A moonhare has a message
for elephantquake. It says
“I come from Moon who doesn’t
want you supping lake as bound

there you kills and maim hundreds
of hares. Lake is forbidden.
Return to your forest home.
“But where’s this Moon, your home? asks

elephantquake “In this lake.
It consoles the survivors
of your rampage.” “Then, let me see him,” requests the elephantquake.

“Come alone with me, I will
show you.” Moonhare takes it one
night to shows Moon’s silvery
reflection in the lake, says

“Here it is, my home, the Moon.
Lost in meditation.
Move quietly, salute it.
Don’t disturb it and bring wrath.”

Elephantquake sees it as real,
salutes it, leaves quietly,
returns to its forest home.
Hares heave sigh in relief.

© Paul Brooks

U.K. poet, Juli (Juxtaposed, Subject to Change), responded to The Spoon Theory or How To Continue to Be Happily Artful Despite Chronic, Catastrophic and/or Life-threatening Illness with this treasure.

Spoons

When I wake to the day
And straight away
Feel bereft for the theft
Of my spoons in the night,
I must reset my pace
For the hours I face
And the fact I don’t keep
All my spoons in one place,
Is what lessens my plight
Though the day’s still a fight
And I grieve at the waste
Unless I stop pretending,
Surrender to fate and
Just focus on mending
And wait.

When I wake up renewed,
With all spoons am imbued,
I feel hope that I’ll cope
With the basics, at least –
Unless there’s a treat
Or appointment to keep.
I will try for an even keel
Mostly, unless I feel
Daring – spoons sparing.
And, if I succeed –
Which means no extra need –
I retire to bed with
A positive head.

My spoons are my wealth
For my life is defined
By the soundness of health
In my body and mind.
It is measured and treasured by
One simple goal:
That of having control
Just as much as I’m able,
But, oh! For a ladle
To hold in reserve that
Makes up for how much
I rely on my nerves.

© Juli 

“In politics being deceived is no excuse.” Leszak Kolakowski

Recommended read: On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century by Timothy Snyder. Left, right or center – American or not – it’s a must read for our chaotic times … and not just the list of lessons but Prof. Snyder’s commentary on each. This book is a rational enlightening little gem and a powerful wake-up call.

Lesson Two: “Defend Institutions. It is institutions that help us preserve decency. They need our help as well. Do not speak of ‘our institutions’ unless you make them yours by action on their behalf. Institutions do not protect themselves. They fall one after the other unless each is defended from the beginning. So choose an institution you care about – a court, a newspaper, a law, a labor union – and take its side.” Prof. Snyder

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LINE-UP FOR YESTERDAY… Celebrating the 117th Season of Major League Baseball with Ogden Nash

Federic Ogden Nash (1902-1971), American Poet of light verse, unconvential rhymes, author, lyricist and pianist
Federic Ogden Nash (1902-1971), American Poet of light verse, unconvential rhymes, author, lyricist and pianist

major_league_baseball-svgWho better to celebrate the beginning of the 117th Major League Baseball season in the U.S. than poet Ogden Nash? He was an American poet known for the unconventional and humourous expressed in rhymed poems. He made strategic use of misspellings and puns or twists on famous poems or sayings. One of my faves pokes fun at Joyce Kilmer’s Trees.  “I think that I shall never see/ A poem as lovely as a tree.” v. Ogden’s version, which switches “billboard” for “poem”  … “Indeed, unless the billboards fall / I’ll never see a tree at all.”

Nash was a prodigious baseball fan and wrote Line-Up for Yesterday, an alphabetical listing of prominent players he admired. It was published in Sport magazine in 1949.

A is for Alex
The great Alexander;
More Goose eggs he pitched
Than a popular gander.

B is for Bresnahan
Back of the plate;
The Cubs were his love,
and McGraw his hate.

C is for Cobb,
Who grew spikes and not corn,
And made all the basemen
Wish they weren’t born.

D is for Dean,
The grammatical Diz,
When the asked, Who’s the tops?
Said correctly, I is.

E is for Evers,
His jaw in advance;
Never afraid
To Tinker with Chance.

F is for Fordham
And Frankie and Frisch;
I wish he were back
With the Giants, I wish.

G is for Gehrig,
The Pride of the Stadium;
His record pure gold,
His courage, pure radium.

H is for Hornsby;
When pitching to Rog,
The pitcher would pitch,
Then the pitcher would dodge.

I is for Me,
Not a hard-hitting man,
But an outstanding all-time
Incurable fan.

J is for Johnson
The Big Train in his prime
Was so fast he could throw
Three strikes at a time.

K is for Keeler,
As fresh as green paint,
The fastest and mostest
To hit where they ain’t.

L is for Lajoie
Whom Clevelanders love,
Napoleon himself,
With glue in his glove.

M is for Matty,
Who carried a charm
In the form of an extra
brain in his arm.

N is for Newsom,
Bobo’s favorite kin.
You ask how he’s here,
He talked himself in.

O is for Ott
Of the restless right foot.
When he leaned on the pellet,
The pellet stayed put.

P is for Plank,
The arm of the A’s;
When he tangled with Matty
Games lasted for days.

Q is for Don Quixote
Cornelius Mack;
Neither Yankees nor years
Can halt his attack.

R is for Ruth.
To tell you the truth,
There’s just no more to be said,
Just R is for Ruth.

S is for Speaker,
Swift center-field tender,
When the ball saw him coming,
It yelled, “I surrender.”

T is for Terry
The Giant from Memphis
Whose .400 average
You can’t overemphis.

U would be ‘Ubell
if Carl were a cockney;
We say Hubbell and Baseball
Like Football and Rockne.

V is for Vance
The Dodger’s very own Dazzy;
None of his rivals
Could throw as fast as he.

W, Wagner,
The bowlegged beauty;
Short was closed to all traffic
With Honus on duty.

X is the first
of two x’s in Foxx
Who was right behind Ruth
with his powerful soxx.

Y is for Young
The magnificent Cy;
People battled against him,
But I never knew why.

Z is for Zenith
The summit of fame.
These men are up there.
These men are the game.

-Ogden Nash

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Poetry as Prayer … a little inspiration from Robert Lax …

Everything that exists
can turn to prayer;
even the water,
even the air.

– Robert Lax
A Song For Our Lady

If you are viewing this post from an email subscription, you’ll likely have to link through to watch the two short videos included today.

“And in the beginning was love. Love made a sphere: all things grew within it; the sphere then encompassed beginnings and endings, beginning and end. Love had a compass whose whirling dance traced out a sphere of love in the void: in the center thereof rose a fountain.”

– Robert Lax
from his renown poem, Circus in the Sun (about the circus of creation), it was read at Lax’s funeral in New York

“I think it’s a metaphysical concept
starting with Aristotle and flowering in St. Thomas
that God is pure act and that there is no potentía in him
…. Almost everything else in the universe is potentía,
it’s on its way to being pure act”

An excellent – award wining – biography – of Lax

Robert Lax (1915 – 2000) was an American poet who converted from Judaism to Catholicism. He has been called “saint,” “mystic, “one of the great enigmas of American poetry, “a pilgrim” and “a prophet.” His poems where innocent, ecstatic and even whimsical. Over time they became more and more minimalist … one simple word or strings of sounds stretched into long narrow word-cascades that sometimes stopped here and there to puddle.

“Robert Lax’s poems [prove] yet again that the gift to be simple is the gift to be free, that less is more, and that least may sometimes be most.”—John Ashbery

Photo credit: Lax’s Amazon author’s page.

In addition to his poetry, Robert Lax is know for his friendship with the writer, poet and Trapist monk, Thomas Merton, also a convert to Catholicism.

Lax went to school with John Berryman and was mentor to Jack Kerouac. He was friends with and appreciated by the Beats and one of my fave writers, James Agee (A Death in the Family and – with photographer Walker Evens – Let Us Now Praise Men). Denise Levertove and e.e. commings numbered among Lax’s friends as well. He was also close to the artist Ad Reinhart.

In 1962 Lax began his travels in Greece, settling into life as a hermit on the island of Patmos, seen by many as a sacred space. Patmos is the alleged site of the vision of and writing of the Christian Bible’s Book of Revelation. Because of that connection, the island is a destination for Christian pilgrimage.

Although Robert Lax lived quietly in Patmos and did nothing to promote his poetry or himself, people – including the Beats and other poets – came to visit him. He always welcomed his visitors and purposeful or accidental students. He was mentor to more than a few.

If poetry as prayer is a topic of interest, you could do worse than to explore Lax’s life and work. A light read and good introduction to this poet is The Way of the Dreamcatcher: Spirit Lessons with Robert Lax.  It was written by San Francisco writer, S.T. Georgiou (Greek Orthodox), who went to Patmos in search of some spiritual answers. As good fortune would have it, he met Robert Lax, became friends with him and visited often with him on several trips back to Patmos.  Subsequently, after Lax’s death, Georgiou wrote The Way of the Dreamcatcher, a book about this adventure in friendship, mentoring, the sacred and poetry.

Robert Lax received the National Council of the Arts Award in 1969.

Books by Robert Lax include:

“because yes – he likes to ‘write’ – but to ‘do’ – to do a particular thing – perhaps on paper (perhaps on canvas – perhaps in stone – perhaps, perhaps in a musical score) – a thing that will stand, a thing that will bear (that will sustain) repeated contemplation: a thing that will sustain long contemplation, and that will (in a ‘deep’ enough way) reward the beholder.”  Robert Lax, Love Had a Compass: Journals and Poetry

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but not the night, a poem . . . and your Wednesday Writing Prompt

dusk has fallen
near bereft of light
much to sorrow for
but not the night

– Jamie Dedes

“I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.” Sarah Williams, From The Old Astronomer (To His  Pupil)

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

How do YOU generally receive the night? With joy, reluctance or fear? Do you sleep well or not? Tell us in poem or prose. If you would feel comfortable doing so, please put a link to your  response in the comments section below – or, if the work is short enough – just include it there that we might all enjoy it.  Responses to Wednesday Writing Prompts are published here on the following Tuesday.

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This week’s recommened read.

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