Poems
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Craving some local poetry?
SMPS meets the 2nd Saturday of each month at 1pm. It's ok to just come and listen. See SMPS poems in the sidewalks at Riverfront Park and in Old Town Mankato (near Nicollet Bike shop) and on the poetry signs posted in the Mankato and North Mankato parks and trails for the Mankato Poetry Walk and Ride. Hear some of our poets reading their poems by calling 507-403-4038 and selecting stops 401 to 441. The stop numbers are for each of the poetry signs on the trails. Every so often, we challenge one another for a little poetry fun. At the Blizzard Poetry Retreat (January, 2008) we did a collaborative poetry exercise – everyone was asked to write a few lines about a place and then pass those lines to the person next to them – that person added to the poem and passed it on to be added to again. Each poet was only given a few minutes to write. Below are a few of the results. Steps, more steps, large blocks multiplying until my knees protest the torturous climb but ahhh! The view over Florence amazes… Red tiled roofs over whitewashed walls fit like magic tiles receding to the horizon. To stay here forever surveying the roofs and walls would be… ________ Sticking to the skin, the humid air draws our minds away from langquid palms that line the streets we only see in visiting a southern state for conference The sweating plams of northern poets held hostage by the heat, clasp together in silent prayer for cooler air conditioned atmosphere. Like the shirt adhered to my back, my words grip me and shift and cling. Why do they protest their birth? I sit, stinky and dumb with writer’s block. _________ Sunset’s glow lights the Big Cobb River turning the snow to fire and shadows to ash The wizened trees raise their arms black and frail against an orange sky. and a group of friends, relatives in spirit if not in blood, bemoan the too soon come end of a lovely day. ________ I stand on a rocky cliff 15 feet above Lake Superior listening to water murmur with the waves, lapping the stones below sliding off them silently as the loon floats with baby contentedly on her back in the rise and fall rise and fall a haunting lullaby of the North. __________ I have been to Austria Saw where “sound of music” was made patted heads of trolls and strolled through formal gardens. I have been to Mexico Saw the ocean and played in waves Patted heads of dogs and shopped in open markets. I have been to Oregon Waded in waves that wafted from Japan Walked till my feed were sore from plane to plane that magicked me from place to other place. ___________ The children beside the river caress blood-red jasper and hematite. But the stones remain silent as if they did not care whether the children have anything to tell them or anything to say to each other. ___________ Bells attached to a horse collar Jingle a tunless song as the dust barely rises fro the road trod over for ages. This is the way to somewhere forgotten where once strangers were welcome regardless. This is the sound and trust there will be a warm bed and hay and hot stew for you – even if home is miles behind. ___________ Sunlight filters over a sold, round rock reflecting off waves that jig across memory of lake the glaciers scraped away to set it here. My newness sets me apart from history both cold and warm, I look toward far shore, a coastline blurred by distance. ___________ Mississippi headwaters I waded across last summer bypassing the log the weak of heart used that spanned the birthing stream The father of all waters in his infancy tugging at my ankles, pulling about my knees and I feel tempted to let go let it take me far away or deep down under. ___________ Once, Derek Liebertz challenged us to, in only 90 seconds, write a little haiku about…tuna. These were the fun results: Flashes of silver Fled in search of cooler seas Now what will we eat –Jana Bouma Craving lunchbox love I slowly open the lid Fish smell breaks my heart –Yvonne Cariveau Schools of silver fish Flash through ocean depths, tuna Becomes silver cans. –Marlys Neufeld |
Poem by Yvonne Cariveau, Photo by Audrey Kletscher Helbling
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