When the world
grows too bright
with clock faces
and bottom lines,
fluorescence
and no shadows,
Poetry closes
in on itself,
tail tucked
over eyes,
waiting
for the world
to turn off those
bright barred lights,
to go back to daylight
moonlight,
table lamp,
candle
so we
can see
again.
Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems
Waiting For The Light
Puff Of Smoke Poems In Print
Finally. The full first year of Puff Of Smoke Poems in print, with a luscious green cover. Blogs are all well and good, but a book I can hold in my hands—that’s something altogether special.
Want your own copy?
Contact me at puffofsmokepoems (at) gmail (dot) com to order a beautiful hardcover for $25.00
Orange Change Agent
This one was fun— A Word Chain Poem, from a prompt in The Crafty Poet: A Portable Workshop, by Diane Lockwood. You should go buy it. Immediately. This prompt is on page 55. Buy it, try it, let me know how it all turns out.
Nothing rhymes with orange
and isn’t that strange?
Nothing in our huge array
of words, of sounds ranging
along the tongue, not one
not even changed
or smashed sounds banged
into new shapes, arranged
None soar
nor
spark with the same tang
as Orange.
Reality At Its Finest
Okay, I know I’ve got to stop. But here’s another found poem, from another set of Trader Joe’s ads. Originally these praised and strongly encouraged the purchase of bacon and daffodils, artichokes and pine nuts, cheese and tomatoes. I don’t know why, but these words leap (leapt?) off the page and caught me.
Take the wager.
Call this the miraculous season.
Look at this—they are grown.
This intense era of your important role—
Patience and presence your treasure
You, supplier of every fork and knife
Every meal, every year.
All day, you served these up.
Did you think they’d stay?
What is it with you
And this reward business?
At the end of all this
Don’t be pulled apart.
Admit, sometimes you want that old world
Perhaps you need, perhaps you lack,
Perhaps you desire.
Don’t be pulled apart from
All you’ve forgotten.
Take the wager.
Call this the miraculous season.
Call Now a Treasure. Try it.
Just think of the possibilities.
Fearless, Out Of This World
A found poem, comprised of lines from a Trader Joe’s sales flier.
Fearless,
out of this world
Go—
You’re not quite done.
No, you need
one that stands up
but never overwhelms
every night.
Look no further than
every night,
every night.
Months on end,
not in a hurry,
you’ll find it.
And then, simple,
Spoon sweetness
with anything you desire.
Shopping Spree
If the world throws cheap sweaters
and ten dollar comforters
into your path, checkbook collision
is inevitable as a crash.
Your closet reinvents itself,
dresser drawers line themselves
with lavender, giddy anticipation
for anything made of silk.
Merriam-Webster calls this
“An unrestrained indulgence
in, or outburst of an activity.”
as if you burst into song
in the middle of the street,
turning round and round
in that new skirt,
the pink one that twirls.
A temporary madness.
Ever practical, the bottom drawer
reminds you to stop dancing
and buy some socks
Quickly
before the fever passes.
Use Your Words
“In the course of acquiring all this so-called knowledge, I’ve lost something. I’ve lost contact with something that I had. I wonder about myself now. I haven’t shouted ‘Hallelujah!’ for a long time, you know? Can I do it once more? I would like to believe that.” ~Athol Fugard, South African playwright on NPR’s Morning Edition
Every day, I hear something fading in and out
I must remember.
Today, it’s NPR on my way to work.
Static and the road don’t matter.
I copy this down—
a South African playwright
in the business of words since before apartheid
Says, “I haven’t shouted Hallelujah for a long time
Can I do it once more?”
The question always before us.
Of course, he can. He does.
Today will swallow me whole,
nagging details, brilliant smiles, meetings,
nothing on the order of saving
a country’s soul with my words.
So I write his down with frozen fingers
Eyes on the long straightaway
One shining sentence to stand for this man
who I won’t lose now,
even in the deluge of the day.
What Life IS Like For Some Of Them
Stay tuned for more on that story,
says the radio newscaster.
Sip your cappuccino,
examine How They Live
from the comfort of your commute.
Congratulate yourself
for being so sensitive
for noting their Existence
on this spinning planet.
No Contest
Which will blossom first,
clutch of daffodils in their brown pitcher
or you?
Together, whispers that voice
outside the windows
Lift your heads and blossom
to This World
Conversational Nature
Trees whisper flying dreams
to the blackbird against the
blue sky, the still-furled branches
folded wings waiting for a sign
Listen for the trees to
breathe out, Bloom.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 