Moments from Motherhood: Bath Time

Run the water from the spout,
Tiny, clear bubbles erupt and pop.
Two squealing babies into the tub,
Splashing, playing, washing and rinsing.
I scrub the paint off their hands and knees,
And the peanut butter and jelly out of their hair.
I clean the sand off their little white bottoms,
And the dirt out from under their fingernails.
We rinse all of the soap away, and say "bye-bye"
As the dirty water flows down the drain.
Wrap them tightly in a fluffy towel,
Hear their giggles as they try to escape.
I help them brush their teeth and hair,
And dress them in their soft pajamas.
We settle down to read some baby animal books,
My little man is hanging on me, rubbing his hair,
Fighting sleep with everything he has.
In his crib, he flips, and tosses, and turns,
Sometimes peeking out, saying "hi."
Until he finally floats off into a peaceful sleep.
My baby girl snuggles up next to me,
She asks me to tell her stories about
Princesses and Princes, Queens and Kings,
Scooby Door and snapping crabs.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes, and I tell her
As many silly stories as I can think of
About royalty, cartoons, and where I grew up.
I tell her about how Daddy and I met,
And how much I want for all of us to go home.
She giggles, and falls asleep with a smile on her face.
I drift off to sleep, saying a silent prayer
That we really will be back there soon,
But, for now, I will just dream with my babies near.

The Windmill

Pure, white propellers 
Against the canvas of the sky and field.
You are a beacon of strength
Through every season, your days remain the same.
Turning, and turning, and turning
During wind, and storm, and rain.

But, I am nothing but a fickle leaf
Stuck to my home, my apple tree. 
Green, red, gold, and brown,
I never stay the same -
Blown from here to there by any whim or care
And, reflect the changing seasons like a mirror.
Shaking, and soaring, and falling,
For I am nothing but a fickle leaf.

W.H. Auden

From: "In Memory of W.B. Yeats"

...Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.

With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress.

In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountains start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.

When I was first introduced to Auden, almost two years ago, I did not immediately fall in love with his work. I did not realize the vast societal norms -- set by other poets like Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot -- he was working against and attempting to break open. I also vastly underestimated the impact he would have on my own self later on down the road.

The three-part poem above is Auden's tribute to W.B. Yeats, the Irish poet who fell into eternal sleep on January 28, 1939. Yeats masterfully combined Irish folklore with popular knowledge throughout his poetry. This, in part, is why he is still the Irish poetry giant. No one has since united the Irish people in the same way that Yeats was capable of doing. His poetry is powerful, sentimental and melancholy. And, whether you know it or not, his poetry has become the basis for many recent popular novels and movies.

Auden felt it was important to honor this poetry giant, much like Beat poet Allen Ginsberg wrote a tribute to Walt Whitman. However, Auden did not only honor Yeats, he honored the idea of the poet itself. He layed out the prescription for what he believed the poet's role should be in society.

It's a weighty thing -- hope. But this is the charge that Auden levels against all poets. If you began reading Whitman's free form poetry and continued through the post-modern age, you'd see the vast shift in temperament and the overwhelming sense that the world is falling apart around the 1910s -- right around the start of WWI. But, Auden doesn't emphasize the fragments, he looks for wholeness, for hope.

In the deserts of the heart

Let the healing fountain start,

In the prison of his days

Teach the free man how to praise.

It's Gravity, Baby

Tonight is the first night in an eternity

That I have spent without you.

With over a thousand miles between us,

I can still feel your breath as it 

Leaves your peaceful chest, heavily,

As you fall into the down-filled cloud,

Your body pulsating to keep you alive.

I await the sight of your face, your touch,

Like water looks for a path, and

Ripe apples search for the ground, and

Daffodils spread petals and leaves for sun.

I can still feel your warmth as it

Rushes through the monitor

Infiltrating my body like bacteria (the good kind).

Memories of us resurface like blue-rayed visions

Whispering to me, consoling me,

For stern as death is love, relentless as the nether world is devotion.

I hear your deep laughter,

As you sing my Song, infusing your selfless Eros into my heart,

Reassuring me that This too shall pass,

And I await the day that it shall.

Waiting

With over a thousand miles between us,

Tonight is the first night in an eternity

That I have spent without you.

I can still feel your breath as it

Leaves your peaceful chest, heavily.

I can still feel you fall into slumber,

Your body pulsing to keep you alive.

I can still feel your warmth that reaches

To my very center, my core.

I await the sight of your face, your touch,

Like a child lingers for her mother.

Memories resurface like blue-rayed visions

Whispering to me, consoling me,

All is not lost, nothing is gone away.

I hear your deep laughter,

As you softly speak to my heart

Reassuring me that This too shall pass,

And I await the day that it shall.

Curse, Cure, Care

To you, insidious syndrome, silent killer;

Ultimate liar, portrayed as colleague,

Spreader of toxins, illegitimate hybrid;

Bringer of unspeakable pain;

To you, who attacks weakness,

Breaks down pathways of defense,

Shatters cells and carcasses from the inside out;

Burn and scar life-giving tissue;

To you, father of all poisons, cancers,

Marrow-robbers, brain-fuddlers;

To you, mother of all apathy, anxiety,

Collapse, despair;

To you, my silent curse; my body,

I pledge my disobedience.

Te Amo Mucho, Mi Amor

In the palm of your hand,

Amidst the deepening vee -- 

Te amo mucho, mi amor,

Spawning rivers, ever-extending

Cavernous pathways -- and the indigo

Microscopic vessels bringing life-blood

To the tips of your fingers, and me.

Te amo infinitamente.

I fit there, between the weather-beaten knobs,

And that scar just below your left ring finger's knuckle.

You hold me firmly there in your palm, 

As you peel the sheets from around my shell

Laying me bare, exposed, before your eyes

Whole and beautiful; broken and flawed.

Te amo mucho, mi amor, 

Te amo infinitamente.

Thanksgiving Day Morning

Inside her laughter and squeals of joy

Little bugs crawl inside my skin

Covering my arms to my fingertips,

My painted toes up my legs, to my central button.

My pale, squalid shade only indicates

The vivid, flooding unconscious memories

Leading to that beating organ, keeping me alive

Barely. I laugh and squeal, without her joy

Battling these visions before my infected green-eyed

Oracles. Wondering, always wondering.

Our four-year-old selves, my lost innocence

Hers still unbroken, undamaged, whole

       Still protected. Mine never defended

       Initially infected, never my choice

Abscence

I cannot remember. No, 

I cannot help but remember

The swinging seat that creaked

Its assent; the way the sun streaked

Vapid lines across your face

Illuminating the salt drops that would not stay -- 

That same vacant glance, your eyes did not understand.

No. You do not understand, 

but my jaded, jagged, joyful soul

longs for you to. I long for your community 

in our shared sufferings, joys, and lives.

But even this, to your daughter

You will not give. No. 

You cannot share.

Bread and butter only account for so much.

Laughing, crying, screaming, dying, and your touch.

I long for your touch. But, you do not move. Your vacuous

glance appeals to my core, begs for me to shut my mouth, 

and act like this rejection -- your rejection 

does not mean so much. You beg me to not remember.

But the way the yellow bubble illuminated the maple tree,

I cannot help but remember that placid, tranquil day

when you took the blame for abandonments 

you did not impart, when you ignored my

confession of my knowledge of our shared suffering.

It is not that I cannot remember. No. 

I cannot help but remember the warm wind skipping

through my hair and across my face telling me to be free, 

To fly south like the finches. But I cannot be free

Bearing these crosses of acceptance, and forgiveness, 

A love engendering...

It is a beautifully, 

[wonderfully]  

 b r   o --  k e  n    

life. 

In (brick) bubbles, we try to

Intimately i.n.t.e.r.t.w.i.n.e.

Leaving breadcrumbs that we epoh 

Someday, t'geth'r, we may find 

As long as my ..heart beats with

Y.O.U. this beautiful,

Wonderful, b r  o -- k e   n  life   will

be perfectly, whole and new.

Asphodel, That Greeny Flower

It was the love of love,

the love that swallows up all else,

a grateful love,

a love of nature, of people,

animals,

  a love engendering

gentleness and goodness

that moved me

and that I saw in you.

-Selection from "Asphodel, That Greeny Flower," by William Carlos Williams

William Butler Yeats

When You Are Old

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true;

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars

Murmur, a little sad, From us fled Love;

He paced upon the mountains far above,

And hid his sad face amid a crowd of stars.

Once Upon A Time

There was a time when
I had a dream worth living.
Believing that he loved me,
His presence still convincing.

But it came to pass,
That he was only a silhouette --
A nonexistent influence
Merely a shadow presence.

Snow

Under thick white covers
Concealed and forgotten,
Like two young lovers
You promise me protection.

Falling slowly, revealing only
The perception of perfect purity
Renewing the life concealed inside
That is living a seasonal dream.

Fire

We watch the scene from bird's eye posts
With the smell of wood-smoke in our noses
And the guitars playing in the background
And the congregation's gath'ring round

We run, and scream, and laugh, and sing
And make our memories within this ring
For in the morning there'll be nothing left
Of this destructive harmony of death

Dreaming Next To You

Turn off the lights and close your eyes
So you can feel my heartbeat rise.
Lie next to me and pull me in
I want to feel our connection.

We drift between two unknown worlds
And together they become unfurled.
Rising and falling, we move together
Sensing only the presence of the other.

And, my silence is full of the only words I can speak
I'm not very good with words, you see.
So say forever you'll be true to me
And I'll do my best to learn to breathe.