Ghost Ship at The Ekphrastic Review

Are some things real and imagined, alive and dead all at once? That's what this mystifying image by photographer Robert Dash made me start wondering. What can exist simultaneously?

nto the Mystic, photography by Robert Dash (USA). Contemporary. Click image for artist site.

Playing catchup with my poem publications. Am I simultaneously both late and on-time now?

Here's Ghost Ship, inspired by Robert Dash's haunting photo entitled "Into the Mystic." Thanks to Tim Green at Rattle for issuing this ekphrastic challenge, and to Lorette C. Luzajic for publishing it at The Ekphrastic Review.

Here's to all the Mothers - past, present and future!

Happy Mother's Day!

Panoply Magazine just published my poem "subterfuge" in which our heroine fiercely and subtly protects her privacy and dignity on a random weekday in high school.

If you are a nurturer of any kind, but especially the mothering kind, you are no doubt aware of the need to take care of yourself first. We learn this as we grow, regardless of sex, regardless of gender. But there are some very particular ways in which women learn; one of which is what our heroine does here.

I wrote this poem as a mother of teens, reflecting on the particular challenges girls face out in the world as they journey into womanhood. There are tangled, prickly primeval forests to navigate, and friends are not always as they seem. Girls must walk alone on some parts of their paths.

Many thanks to Jeff Santosuosso, Andrea Walker, and Ryn Holmes for publishing "subterfuge" in Issue 3 of Panoply, A Literary Zine.

Day 8: I, of the Grain—a quatern published in The Rat's Ass Review #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth

Demeter, Copyright 2013-2014 HoneyJadeCrab from DeviantArt

Happy to announce that on this Day 8 of National Poetry Month, my quatern about Demeter, goddess of the harvest, entitled I, of the Grain has been published in The Rat's Ass Review. Many thanks to Roderick Bates for selecting it. You can read it here!

Demeter is the food bringer, the law bearer, the mark of agriculture upon civilized society. She's not to be trifled with. She is in charge. I imagine her as a goddess who provides swift punishment if her strict rules are not carried out to her exacting specifications. Don't bite the hand that feeds you.

A quatern is a French form with a refrain. 16 lines of 4 quatrains. Each line is 8 syllables. The first line serves as the refrain and migrates to the second line in the second quatrain, the third in the third, and the fourth and last line in the fourth. There are no particular rules for rhyme or meter. Play with it, and post your results in the comments section so I too can enjoy the fruits of your labor!

Day 7: Order Up! —#NaPoWriMo #30in30 #NationalPoetryMonth

Mr. Breakfast Face

There is some ridiculously delightful pancake art out there.  So many faces! Some are intentional like this lovely Mr. Breakfast Face here. Others evidently are crafted to perfection through divine intervention, like when Jesus' face made an appearance on a California pancake (and also a piece of naan at a curry house in Essex. He gets around.)

This all got me thinking about what kind of pancake I would be, if I were so lucky.

Order Up!

I am a pancake in need of frequent flipping.
Leave me to cook too long and I 
burn and harden on one side
and remain soft and raw on the other.
With the proper amount of attention
I don't need buttering up.
I don't need any syrup.

Day 6: a diamante for my sister and her new baby—#NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth #30in30

Day 6: I have a new nephew today! My sister gave birth to a healthy baby boy this evening and in honor of them both, here's a little diamante. Congratulations!

mother

kind compassionate

nurture grow attend

pain laughter pleasure adventure

explore attempt lie

selfish innocent

child

Day 5: spring haiku #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth #30in30

Cherry blossoms at Lewis & Clark College, Portland, Oregon

Day 5 will be a simple haiku.

I know what you're thinking:

5—7—5

Anyone can write a haiku, right?

Yep. Right. Anyone can. But a good one?

 Did you know that haiku are traditionally written in the present tense and play with associations between images. They also contain a pause at the end of the first or second line as well as a kigo—a seasonal word that signals the time of year.

Here's mine for today:

sakura petals
carpet the pathway towards home
even in the rain

Haiku are simple, aren't they? Simple yet profound. Write one. Share it with me.

Day 4: Fickle Tease—my thoughts on April #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth

Salmon River Hike

In T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland," Eliot famously called April "the cruelest month." This might seem unfair to some, but I think it's spot-on. You can be cruel without knowing it. The NaPoWriMo Day 4 challenge is "to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why." I'm all too happy to explain it to you.

April can be gorgeous. Just look at these pictures from a hike I just took with friends near Mt. Hood. How can I not be seduced by the power vested in spring? Oh, but April can be flighty and capricious! Difficult for me to accept and understand. And I won't even talk about taxes. What a let-down!

A trickle

Fickle Tease

April stinks of dirt and wet dogs
leaves blossoms on the ground like used gym shorts

April is too young to show his colors
to bleed petals and face all that the wind has in store 

April needs a hand to hold to tease
he doesn't yet understand his orientation

April texts you madly
then goes quiet

April says he'll be right over you take your clothes off and wait—
he doesn't show up

What's your "cruelest month?" Why? Share in the comments.

Day 3: tell me how you really feel— a concrete poem #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth

Today, my inspiration comes from The Daily Poet, a calendar year's worth of writing prompts by Kelli Russell Agodon & Martha Silano. I highly recommend you pick up a copy if you're looking for a prepared daily bundle of fuel to ignite your imagination.  Today's challenge? Write a concrete poem. Sometimes called pattern or visual poems, they are written and presented in the shape of the subject of the poem itself.

Even if you haven't heard of concrete poems, you've probably written one. They're a favorite form for elementary school teachers to introduce to young children in hope that the shapes will intrigue students enough to pay attention to their meanings. In 6th grade, my teacher had us write poems in the shapes of our Chinese zodiac symbols. Mine was in the shape of a pig. (Now you know how old I am!)

Here's mine for today. I never learned the Palmer Method, so I have provided a typed version below the picture. My daughter says it looks "like a box with a bunny nose" so I'm glad I decided to take a picture of it next to the object it represents. For clarity.

tell me how you really feel—a concrete poem by Amy Baskin

tell me how you really feel

 

goddamn this thin digital

piece of shit encased in a plastic box

is a vortex you slip through

a wormhole that exacts a monthly charge and

extracts

your attention from the now

—Amy Baskin

 The form has been around for awhile. Check out the poem above. George Herbert's concrete poem "Easter Wings" (1633) was printed sideways on facing pages so that the shape resembled angel wings outstretched. Not that there's anything "concrete" about angel wings. You can write about the ethereal, too.

Got an object you'd like to write about concretely? Share it in the comments!

Day 2: Family Portraits— 2 cinquains #NaPoWriMo Day 2

My grandparents, before deployment, WWII

 Look at this photo. The gorgeous knockout and that strapping young soldier are my grandparents.

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt challenges us to "write a poem that takes the form of a family portrait."

I wrote two. One for each of these people who are larger than life to me.

The thought of encapsulating all that they are and everything they mean to me in one poem is laughable. Instead, I offer up small, quick brushstrokes that only hint at the full picture.

One cinquain for my beloved grandfather who passed away with honor and dignity after his final battle with an unfair opponent: Alzheimer's.

Grandpa,
remember this?
Thick vats of chocolate fudge
we stirred each Christmas when you still
knew us?

And one for my grandmother, the delight of my life, who is 93 and underwent heart surgery this week. I spoke with her tonight and she sounded so good, if understandably tired. Before surgery, she mentioned to me that one of her children told her she has to stick around; she's the glue. With 7 children, 28 grandchildren, and 35 great-grandchildren, I know of no stronger bonding agent than Mary McBride. But I want her to lighten her load and unburden her with this wondrous truth:

Grandma,
recognize this—
you joined us together.
Showed us all how to be glue. We
adhere!

 Together, my grandparents taught us how to love each other unconditionally, laugh together, cry together, and sally forth no matter what comes our way. Through an act of grace and molecular physics, I landed in this united, adoring family. I could not ask for more. My cup is full. Thank you Grandma. Thank you, Grandpa.

My grandparents and their beautiful children

Day 1: Two lunes - #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth

Backyard cherry blossoms on this gorgeous April Fool's Day

It's April again–the month when this fool engages in public acts of exhibitionism. Beware! I like to skinny-dip in pools of words.

I'm daring myself to write at least one poem draft a day and am inspired by a private writing challenge and safe forum that poetess Jennifer Givhan has offered up. (I recommend you keep an eye out for her upcoming poetry collection, Landscape with Headless Mama.) The poems I work on there will remain secrets. Rough-hewn on the edges, I will tumble and polish them to my liking before I decide whether to share them.

For now, I think I'll stick to amusing myself with fun form challenges such as this one from Maureen Thorson's generous

NaPoWriMo /30 Poems in 30 Days site. Her prompt today is as follows: 

"And now, our prompt (optional, as always). Today, I challenge you to write a lune. This is a sort of English-language haiku. While the haiku is a three-line poem with a 5-7-5 syllable count, the lune is a three-line poem with a 5-3-5 syllable count. There’s also a variant based on word-count, instead of syllable count, where the poem still has three lines, but the first line has five words, the second line has three words, and the third line has five words again. Either kind will do, and you can write a one-lune poem, or write a poem consisting of multiple stanzas of lunes. Happy writing!"

Here are my two attempts, both inspired by my view outside today:

cherries blossom and

petals bloom

too high for my grasp

and

clumps of flowers advertise health

summon the bees

dead branches obscured in lichen

Want to join me? Post your poems in the comments!

shed no drop of blood— published in NonBinary Review, The Zoetic Press Journal of Literature #BirdieSanders

#BirdieSanders

All leaders have known this for millennia:  there is skill in battle. (Just ask millennials.) Subtle nuance can propel a cause and fuel a movement or sink a campaign. Just talk with Howard Dean about his scream. Or ask Mitt Romney, "Who let the dogs out?"

I was thinking of this when I wrote a poem inspired by Sun Tsu's The Art of War, recently published in NonBinary Review.

Sun Tsu, the elusive military expert whose work has influenced diverse leaders ranging from Douglas MacArthur to Mao Zedong, explains the importance of  recognizing strategic opportunities.

In his fourth chapter, Sun Tsu focuses on dispositional tactics and shares a path in which true leaders avoid creating opportunities for their opponent. This requires reserve, strength of character, and the ability to pause and reflect.

Today, I could not help but notice that Bernie Sanders was awarded a strategic opportunity that landed on his podium and commanded the attention of the Moda Center and the world.

Here's the poem I wrote, entitled shed no drop of blood. Grateful to Lise Quintana and Ali Marini for publishing it.

Temporary—Sein Und Werden

Evelyn evolving into a microscopic Amoeba image ~ Rick Hutchinson

Happy to report today that "Temporary," a poem I wrote about a piece of me gone missing, is featured in the current Spring 2016 issue of Sein Und Werden. 

The theme of this issue is "Corpus: The body whole and the body dismembered, idolised and idealised. Replication... labour. The flesh of the fruit; the fruit of adolescence. The body as prison, as a vault for secrets. The body reclaimed and the body disfigured. The carcass, the new-born... the meat factory." 

Be sure to examine all of the viscera in detail. These poems leave no cavity, muscle, or blood unscrutinized. 

Nesting Dolls—featured at Mothers Always Write

The original matryoshka set by Zvyozdochkin and Malyutin, 1892

I'm grateful to Mothers Always Write for publishing my poem "Nesting Dolls" today. It's my reflection on all that parenthood contains as well as its outgrowths. Please check it out here and then explore the site. It's filled with meaningful accounts of what it is to be a mother from a talented assembly of writers.

The Rib —a fractured fairytale

Adam and Eve Claude-Marie Dubufe, 1827

I always thought that Eve got a raw deal in the Judaeo-Christian creation myth. She makes one misstep and is punished unduly with menstrual cramps and the pain of childbirth. Sucks, right?

But in retrospect, someone else may have suffered unduly from the start. Before the snake and the apple make their way into the story, did Adam have agency in any of his actions or decisions?

I don't think so.

What if Eden was less a garden of earthly delights and more a pen where God kept his tortured playthings under force? When I started questioning certain premises in this tale that serves as the foundation for much of modern western culture, I didn't like what I found. In a certain slant of light, the God in this story strikes me as an abusive, negligent parent. Like the kind of entity who shouldn't be allowed to adopt a pet from the SPCA, never mind design all life on earth.

It makes me feel sorry for Adam, Eve, and all of us, really.

I wrote a poem re-framing this myth. The Rat's Ass Review recently published it in their Love & Ensuing Madness series which features "poems from all points of view on the broad topic of love." My poem is entitled The Rib—a fractured fairytale, and you can read it here.

Runoff—a poem featured in The Gorge Literary Journal

Me and my son enjoying Hood River.

Time is slippery. We can't grasp it, will it to speed up, or force it to slow down. My son is now 6 feet tall and 14 years older than when this picture was taken. While I enjoyed that day and many others like it, I remember how slowly the hours crawled by when my children were in diapers. That the years have hauled ass in comparison makes no mathematical sense, but is a concrete fact, nevertheless.

Once my son was dependent upon me for everything, and he didn't mind it in the least. Now he's dependent upon us for much, and it irritates him to fess up and admit it. This is only natural and good. I would worry if he seemed content being waited upon. He neither needs nor wants hand-holding now. He often makes it clear that he'd prefer if I made myself scarce. I thank him for his honesty, tell him that I believe him, and also softly suggest that while this may be the whole truth of the moment, it may not paint a picture that accurately characterizes our entire evolving timeline. Occasionally he still needs me. Sometimes he still likes me around. And, perhaps as important, I depend upon him and am grateful each day that he is part of this world. With time and maturity, I imagine he will come to see these factors as self-evident. Wondrous, even. I have.

I wrote a poem reflecting on the circuitous route we take towards and away from our family. And back again. Many thanks to Julie Hatfield and John Metta at The Gorge Literary Journal for publishing it. You can read "Runoff" here.

Drunken cinquain for the Kentucky Derby

Trigger warning: vegetarians, humor alert!


after
two mint juleps
American Pharaoh
would be downright yummy in a
burgoo

So strange that a gorgeous animal such as this would be sponsored by Yum! Corporation. V. Espinoza looks tasty, too. In a polka dot kind of way.

Hikers

The view from my secret vantage point

What better way to usher in the month of May than to hike to hidden waterfalls with plein air painters? I shinnied up trees, scaled boulders, and shuffled up scree slides just so I could spy on my friends from above. I watched handfuls of hikers take in the view and they inevitably took pictures of the artists and their easels the minute they noticed them. No one saw me hiding like a mountain goat behind boulders above. That made me feel downright giddy like a 12 year-old. "They can't see me!" I thought to myself, as I started to observe the varied hikers and the range of clothing styles they selected for their adventures.


Hikers

some folks must wear brighter colors
so that search parties can find them
if they veer feet off the trailways

others bravely don their khakis
covered up against mosquitos
blending in with their horizons
futures dressed just like their pasts
stick steadfastly to their guidebooks

An undisclosed waterfall

writing notes within their margins
taking pictures, leaving breadcrumbs
so they never will go missing

Some go naked, skinny-dipping
in the pools of icy water
playing like they never crawled out
on four feet from underwaters
to the banks of land and airstreams
they imagine they are fishes
flopping, flapping out of rapids
rushing, crashing further downstream

Not bad for a morning's work

The Reluctant Homeowner, 4Amys and two haiku—#NationalPoetryMonth

 Happy Poem in Your Pocket Day!  (Yep, it's a "thing." Click on the link for more official details.) Judi Korpi Webb and I have some sweet little pocket-sized haikus just for you. Or if they're not your style, I suggest you write your own and carry them around in your pocket. Better yet, write a bunch of your own haiku on different scraps of paper and #poetrybomb the pants pockets of clothing at your favorite retail outlet. (You did not hear this from me.)

 For now, we'll round out this experiment with Judi's reflections on friendship and mine on the month of April. This time, let's start with Judi's poems for a change. Judi's first is a haiku which she wrote for her friend who always requests haiku for his birthday. She wrote this one and sent it to me to post presumably on his birthday, April 21st.  I've stockpiled Judi's poems and am only getting around to this now. (Shout out to Judi's friend! Happy belated! Keep aging!)

On sun-warmed cement
Walking barefoot in the dark
I think I'll join you

-Judi Korpi Webb

Here's one of the haiku I wrote this month. I have a bone to pick with spring and the way the sun shines into tricking me that it's warm outside when it's really not.

Beauty in the Dogwood. Her toes are not cold because she is not sedentary like I am.

sun seeps through windows

dogwood blossoms beckoning

still, my toes feel cold

-Amy Baskin

 I love haiku. Most people think it's just a 17-syllable verse consisting of three syllabic lines of 5-7-5. But haiku is much more than that. True haiku must symbolize or imply the season in which the poem is grounded. It has to be anchored in a season. In Japanese haiku, there are other rules which do not clearly transfer into the developed English form, but the essence of haiku is that there are two images or ideas juxtaposed together, and a "cutting word" or "kireiji" that draws attention to the two ideas and sometimes serves to draw a parallel between them. English poets often, but not always, use ellipses or dashes to separate and/or unite these two images.

Now, Judi has overwhelmed me with a tribute poem to me and three other friends of hers, all named Amy! Judi, you've definitely turned up the fireworks for the finale today. This poem, while larger than her haiku, could still fit in a pocket if you're crafty and not opposed to folding.

4 Amy

Of all the Amy’s, you were the first

We’ve supported each other through our worst

Your enduring friendship is always true

Vast is the love I have for you

Our first meeting was a jolt out of the blue

Heartbroken when I had to bid you adieu

So luminous, curious, full of cheer

Delightful contentment when you are near

Unbelievable the life you have lived

Too many years where joy was elusive

To see you becoming, a delight it has been

Coming out of the shell you didn't know you were in

Throughout this month you have bared your soul

Some poems chilling, some quite droll

So many ideas and forms to explore

I was thrilled to answer when you knocked on the door

-Judi Korpi Webb 

The last poem I'll post this month reveals just how much I am given to remaining an object at rest, and how much I have to force myself to enjoy the gifts that spring has to offer. I've written this exposé in blank verse, which in this case means no rhyme, but in iambic pentameter. I wrote it while watching a landscaper renovate and enliven our neighbor's garden across the street. I enjoyed it all from a distance, under my blanket on the couch, with a cup of coffee. I'd carry this poem around in my pocket if it weren't already stuck in my noodle.

The Reluctant Homeowner

How good it feels to watch the gardener work!

He looks so happy plowing up the sod.

And bending over holes between his feet

while dirtying his fingers in the sun.

How wonderful a life of handy labor!

How grand it seems from windows in my house.

One day I, too, will plant a flat of starters—

learn satisfaction from a job well done.

-Amy Baskin

Yeah, right!

This whole #NationalPoetryMonth thing really got my brain percolating. I would have trudged on solo for 30 days straight, bearing the burden alone, had it not been for my steady poet companion, Judi Korpi Webb. Judi, you've played Sam to my Frodo for all of April! (Sam is my favorite character, by the way. Please don't take that as a slight. A slight would be to call you my Ed McMahon or something. You are no sidekick. Unless you're thinking Andy Richter. Then I'd be your Conan. But I digress.) The long and short of it is this: I've been so grateful for such good company. Judi, I've enjoyed all of the poems you've contributed this month and I hope that you keep sharing your work with me. Could we turn this gig into #NationalPoetryYear?

If you have any poems—any poems at all— you'd like to share with me before this month wraps up, then by all means, please do! You can even share new work with me when the clock strikes 12 and it is no longer #NationalPoetryMonth. I just like poetry. That's all!  Thanks for reading.

FLOTUS Shoulders World Opinion at Japan State Dinner—free verse #NationalPoetryMonth

I've got all kinds of time for Michelle Obama. Her light is bright and only seems to grow more radiant the more she shares of herself. Whether she's helping service members, youth with education goals, or getting kids to move, she puts herself out there with passion and unharnessed joy. Most First Ladies have looked overly practiced, careful, guided and guarded, but not Michelle.  Her hyper intelligence, compassion, and humor are completely disarming. Her carriage reflects her confidence and willingness to reach out to others. The fact that she's a knockout and can rock a frock is, for me, the least interesting thing about her.

And yet—
when I saw this picture today, I needed to give her props for her visible achievements.


FLOTUS Shoulders World Opinion at Japan State Dinner

Over fifty years since
Jackie wore a sleeveless shift to Jack's

One of these people is doing her own thang. Photo credits: NBC.

State of the Union speech
folks still debate whether
Michelle has
the right to bare arms
doesn't she know the
Japanese find naked shoulders
provocative?
her skin is too accessible
just like 
the price tag of her evening gown
in the hundreds, not the thousands
where is her self-respect?
where is her respect for the nation?
She carries it all
in those sleek
strong
sexy
sinuous
strapping
natural
arms.

Blackout poem in the style of Austin Kleon #NationalPoetryMonth

 I'm not sure when the author/artist Austin Kleon created his first poem by redacting words from random text. But I do know he published his first book of these poems in 2010, called "Newspaper Blackout" which I learned about after having purchased and read his creative manifestos "Steal Like an Artist!" and "Show Your Work!"

Yesterday, I stumbled upon an invitation to create my own blackout poems. The Hollywood branch of Multnomah County Library offered patrons pages of old books and the use of a permanent marker to redact words of our choice and highlight the messages we find within.

Here, I was thinking about the myth of infallibility and the notion that even the best of intentions can serve to drive a wedge between people.

even God
doubts
he could do no wrong.
He exposed himself
on     the great cross
and
was troubled to find the distance
between
Jews
had become
his career.




Got a crappy book you'd like to tear apart? How about your favorite book that's already in shreds which you can immortalize in verse? If you put your scissors and markers to good use, share the results with me here!