Unripe Fruits of Labor

Whoa. What happened to April? Where did it go? How are we already at the 24th? Here I've been scribbling away, going to work, going to the beach, you know, getting on with living, and the month of April has just been whizzing on by. So let's comb through this month's haul and see if we can find some decent gems. I admit, it's been hard for me to keep up with writing every day, and there have been a few days here and there (outside of the being sick days) where I just couldn't come up with anything to write down. My challenge has definitely been trying to come up with something new to say every day, because my usual process is not to bother writing until I've seen something I want to capture, or I have a particularly strong emotion I want to get down, etc. Starting without something specific to say makes it difficult for me. But here are a few tidbits I've come up with and liked so far.

The final plea from my poem about cold remedies from the day I was so sick:

Here, oh, crowning glory:

tiny perfect snacks, life-giving,

palm-sized, sweet, seedless, and juicy

Ojai Pixie, six artisanal fruits,

one pound (16oz.) (454g.) of

ojala que­­–

I hope that–

oh, I pray that–

I will be better tomorrow.

And a glimpse into how that "getting on with living" thing is going:

Here among the moss-hung trees,

the stray cats, the slow mornings, and the longer nights,

the pecan groves, and cotton fields,

the antique furniture in preserved houses,

and graceful park fountains – I have made a home.

Here I drink mint juleps on the porch

and take weekends at the beach.

Here I walk to work and we laugh

at the fussy corporates,

while still getting our jobs done.

Here I take each day slow as it comes,

and yet they seem to add up too fast,

so suddenly it has been months

since I’ve seen you

and the hole in my perfect southern home

is unbearably deep.

A haiku from a lunchtime when I was very hungry (is writing only one haiku that day cheating?)

Lunch break wolf thoughts

Running, tearing, devouring

Hunger monster filled

A few lines I like from a poem I tried to write twice, but neither of them came out quite right as whole poems:

Let me out of the house

into the early morning.

We all want to drink from the wet grass,

to praise our birth mother.

And something I wrote while literally falling asleep (which, coincidentally, is also what I am doing in attempting to put this post together...)

dream on

dressing dolls

ivory gate

stumbling delirium

crush meaning from oranges

crude, crass, cracker

confetti

at the New Year's party (you were) dancing

magne* types tights

now I can't put it back

cry out

gate of horn

close the doors

don't let in the thieves

*I think maybe I meant "many", but I definitely wrote "magne". Not that any of it makes any sense, so it may as well be "magne".

There will be some full poems cognizant soon; it was just too much to fit into one blog post, and some of them need a little more clean-up that I was willing to put in tonight. Not much longer to go now!