Clouded

Memory, blue and

clear as summer skies, blackens to

angry thunderheads.

Survival of the Fittest

You've come a long way, baby,

Since the day you stood at the mouth

of the cave, club in hand, preying

for your next meal, your next mate.

You've arrived! Big man on

the corporate campus standing,

Blackberry in hand, surfing

for your next takeover, your next date.

No more face-to-face, Facebook me instead.

No more hand-to-hand combat, UAV's do the deed.

You've adapted "survival of the fittest" from biology,

applying it to commerce and humanity to justify

the -isms: racism, sexism, imperialism, capitalism.

You've evolved, homo sapiens, to a first-rate primate.

©2011 R.M. Talbot

This poem is from a prompt from Jingle Poetry site with an invitation to write on the theme of "Evolution, Environment and Survival" for their Poetry Potluck Monday series.

Remedy for Disaster

When life is in disorder and the house in disarray,

When the world implodes around me,

I don a pair of blinders and play the day away.

I start with the computer and hit the Tetris link

and line up all the tetrads, neat as they can be,

When life is in disorder and the house in disarray.

Once that corner is in order, it's time for me to think,

to blog about gardening and food on land and sea.

I don a pair of blinders and play the day away.

Then, I skip into the garden, blind to dishes in the sink,

Playing in the dirt among the critters and the bees

When life is in disorder and the house in disarray.

When the day is nearly over, before I have a drink,

I play with form and words and rhyme: a - b - c.

I don a pair of blinders and play the day away.

At last it's time to yawn, I'm at exhaustion's brink.

To play all day is tough--I'm as tired as can be!

When life is in disorder and the house in disarray,

I don a pair of blinders and play the day away.

©2011 R.M. Talbot

Just a little levity for a Friday afternoon. I generally shy away from meter and rhyme, but I guess I felt playful today. This is a light-hearted villanelle inspired by a friend.

Beneath Still Waters

Layers of color, of life, of power

Ebb and flow, obey the moon.

We stand ashore

Lulled by the sound of lapping waves

Enchanted by golden flecks of light

Riding the rippling surface

Mixing azure and gold.

So calm, so peaceful.

Waves of silver undulate below,

Reflecting and miming the dance above.

We drag our nets

Hand over fist over fist over hand

Taking all she has to give

And more--tuna, salmon, cod, and

More. Until

Like the hounds of hell, black fury

Rumbles and roars and pushes

skyscrapers of boiling, seething

water hand over fist over fist over

land, swallowing all that lies

in her path

before

retreating

with

her catch

to the

sea.

©2011 R.M. Talbot

Sadly, this poem was inspired by the second earthquake to hit Japan, footage of the previous tsunami from last month's quake, and my reading of Four Fishes by Paul Greenberg. The ocean is so beautiful, and we take it for granted, it seems, by over-fishing and polluting it. We forget it's power and fury. This poem tries to capture all of these elements.

Comet

Dancing, prancing through the potatoes,

Sassy Sasha is just getting started,

Revving up for a romp through the peas.

A streak of silver gray, a garden comet,

With a tail of destruction through the cosmos

blossoms squashed, squash stems snapped

in two, sugar snap peas flattened.

What am I to do?

©2011 R.M. Talbot

The Promise

one by one

by one

she placed hard

flint-like specks

in furrows

of soil,

dusted the tops

with more of

the same;

dreamt of the promise--

rich, red beets

sweet and crisp

©2011 R.M. Talbot

Rather than my usual fare of serious, morose verse, I seem to be caught up in this season of planting. I've not had enough time to really think and play with the words/ideas in my head, so I took this exercise from The Practice of Poetry, edited by Robin Behn & Chase Twichell. This particular exercise prompts the poet to pattern three poems after William Carlos Williams's cat poem. I did only one.

Clearly Misunderstood

I took the NaPoWriMo challenge: "Try writing a poem that responds to or riffs off of one of someone else’s NaPoWriMo poems." This poem is a spin-off a participant's blog title rather than a participant's poem.

Clearly Misunderstood

The masthead read, "Elegant Truth."

It is a lie. When is the truth

elegant? When first spoken, truth

rubs like sandpaper. To hear

-your baby's dead

-you've lost your job

-you have cancer

can all be true

but never

elegant.

Bespeak the truth with honeyed lips.

It is still truth. Whisper sweetly

words of dissolution, of death-

-she's in heaven

-budget crisis

-six months to live

though maybe true,

truly not

elegant.

Perhaps the writer of the masthead

meant to pen "Elephant Truth."

Truth tramples like the elephant.

Its power can coil round you,

constrict breathing

flatten spirits

immobilize.

Clearly not

elegant.

©2011 R.M. Talbot

April Snowfall

It begins in March.

Whirls of wispy white behind the window,

Delicate paper-thin pear blossom petals

Drift and scatter across patio furniture

As sugar-fine snowflakes had in January.

Then

like a blizzard

April explodes.

Drifts of dazzling white

Mound on the roadside, blanket trees and shrubs

In understated elegance--dogwood, azalea--

Thick as the snows of Michigan winters.

My Alabama blizzard.

©2011 R.M. Talbot

Moon Gardener

This poem is my first attempt at writing Sijo, a form of Korean poetry. It celebrates my rekindled love for the garden.

Moon Gardener

As the sun set, I remembered to forget your touch upon my skin,

Shutting out the sand-papery, earthy roughness that made me smile.

The moon rose; I planted a seed. Again, I feel you against my skin.

©2011 R.M. Talbot

Ode to April

(This is National Poetry Month, and everywhere people are beginning a month-long commitment to writing a poem a day. This is my first attempt toward that commitment, my April detour.)

April deafens

with boisterous

fuchsia-painted

azaleas

and

heralding trumpets

of daffodils

and

Frost's gold-green

leaves.

April deafens

with euphonious

dawn-breaking

birdsong

and

goblin-howls

of mating cats

and

growling purrs

of furrowing tractors.

April deafens

with sonorous

alliterative

consonant

metaphoric

voices.

©2011 R.M. Talbot

Update

Since previous posts, all of which I decided to eradicate, my detours have taken me many places: London, Paris, Provence, three class shy of coursework for a Ph.D. in English education, marriage, a quest to cultivate my beer and wine palate, hiking, foreign films, countless books, and a renewed spiritual quest. My husband challenged me to start a blog and to write everyday for lent. I've missed a few days, but I'm doing much better with Honey Bees and Locusts than I've done with previous blog attempts. So, even if short-lived, that has inspired me to put the an blog to death and resurrect it again with new content and a new look. I rather like the title, so I decided not to change that.

All of the above detours have left me wanting more--with the exception of the Ph.D. I want to travel more, read more, drink more (for educational reasons), and love more, especially my husband.

About a year ago, I told a colleague of mine that I thought I might want to blog about poetry and things spiritual. Maybe that's what I'll do. Maybe I'll use it for daily detours. The palette is clean and open to possibility.