2014 sneaks up on you

It’s been a while since my last post. Lots going on.

I have a new Facebook page – https://www.facebook.com/wayne.miller.3532507

I co-manage social media for the Red Wheelbarrow poetry group in Rutherford – https://www.facebook.com/RWBPoets, http://redwheelbarrowpoets.wordpress.com/, https://twitter.com/rwbpoets, http://www.youtube.com/rwbpoets

I’m taking poetry classes at the Hudson Valley Writer’s Center, and writing two poems a week – http://writerscenter.org/

I attend slams and open mics with the Suffern Poetry group – https://www.facebook.com/suffernpoetry

I’ve had a few poems published this year, and one short story (details on my Facebook timeline).

When I have a sufficient number of poems published, I want to create a chapbook and enter it into contests. I already have ideas for themes, designs, and photos.

I want to someday finish writing the short story that I keep picking up and putting down.

And, lastly, the Stone Soup Poetry video of my feature was eventually shown on cable in both Lowell and Cambridge. I have the video files and may do something with them.

Under The Rock

Rock_2

There is nothing under the rock
Empty

Just some dust

Synthesized in a supernova crushing a cloud of gas into a new star
Five billion years ago

Fossilized shell remnants from a nautilus
Five hundred million years ago

Flakes cleaved off of a boulder when a pebble hit it during a hurricane
Fifty million years ago

Gastroliths from a crocodile eating nearby
Five million years ago

Colored pebbles gathered by a bowerbird displaying for a mate
Five hundred thousand years ago

Hills ground down from the ice covering the continent
Fifty thousand years ago

Grime dropped from a shoe of a man hunting antelope
Five thousand years ago

Ashes from a fire the wounded men danced around
Five hundred years ago

Coal from a steam train passing nearby
Fifty years ago

Construction debris from building new condominiums
Five years ago

Carpet sweepings from an unhappy home
Five months ago

Smoke from birthday candles for a one hundred year old woman
Five days ago

Sand placed by ants excavating their nest underneath
Five seconds ago

Just look

See

Nothing there

Empty

Just some dust
Under the rock

  

  
(Under The Rock has been accepted by Turtle Island Quarterly for publication)

Wrap Her Voice

Rolled blanket

Up on the stage, she slowly waves her hands over her head
Her ethereal song lifting all those around her
Singing as an angel
An ancient spirit is upon her

Afterwards, the techs wrap her voice
In a large blanket rolled around and around
To tightly fit roadie case #15
For transport to the next venue

Unpacked fifteen minutes before climbing onto the arena stage
She tests her voice and prepares for her call

He said that they should not silence her melody
Her sound should flow as freely as the wind
So she can answer the birds outside
And sing to her children

He begged her to think about her sacrifices
He reminded her that her voice is owned by her and not by her manager

She glanced at him, and he knew, more than if she spoke a thousand words
Her dream and her destiny

On the stage, she looks at him standing in the front row as she sings of love
He looks back, mouthing his response
And she slowly smiles, as a woman, as an angel, as a star

Echoes of the Unsaid

Universe

 
A universe’s heart and edge
Move apart at the speed of time
In an endless solitary journey

The lonely center
Pulses outward, outward
Rhythmically

Sending yearning needs
Focused by a knotted vacuum
Towards a too distant past

Always curving
But never crossing
Its Möbius boundary

Endlessly straining to listen for
An answer from beyond
And to respond in turn

But silence
Is what remains after the sound fades away
And one still listens, listens

For a message
That can never be heard
Beyond the expanding unity

Of the one
Craving another
On the shadow side

The lonely center
Pulses outward, outward
Rhythmically

Forever, sadly,
Hearing only
The echoes of the unsaid
 

Four Friends

dead_tree

 
My leaves are dropping after the Summer solstice
I’m hungry
The Sun was too generous with his gifts
I had no place to put them
No way to take them
No way to thank him

My roots are shriveling after the Fall solstice
I’m thirsty
The Earth had blown her topsoil away
Left me alone with my dreams
No way to ask her
No way to tell her

My bark is falling after the Winter solstice
I’m cold
The Moon visited sometimes
Other times it was dark and I had no dreams
No way to wave at it
No way to love it

My branches are breaking after the Spring solstice
I’m dying
The Farmer looked at me each day
I gave him many apples since he was a seedling
No way to feed him
No way to touch him
 

The Poet

poet_2

The poet waits for an inspiration

Thunder as word sounds crash into each other
Lightning as rubbing visions causes sparks and ignition
Earthquakes shift bedrock perceptions
Volcanoes spew understanding too hot to ignore

Time stands still as the process unfolds
Until the last words are recorded
And the brow is wiped dry
   so that time resumes

     drink some juice

     walk to get a bag of groceries

The poet sits, pen in hand
Two or three images in mind
Flowing, mixing, ending here, starting there
How might it connect?
Not a puzzle, more than telling a story

Experiences accelerating and intertwining in the imagination
   create a world that never was, but that could have been

Ideas collide
Emotions friction and flow
Straightening edges, untying knots, perfecting the shape of thought

The poet’s hand paints the ink onto paper
Oil marks on dried wood pulp scored with lines that do not guide
Letters written at odd angles compose words ripped from an arm’s muscles
   driven by a brain telling a tale to friends and strangers

The poet compresses the core of reality
   to focus the energies of creation onto a single point

And then,
   from almost nothing,

A new universe inflates with power that cannot be measured by physics

Allowing deep understanding for all who reach in to
   touch the pure annealed crystal of a poem reading

      the experience of which catalyzes our souls,

         so as to change them,

            forever

Broken Circles

The sounds carried across the valleys
Infinite silence followed
Echoing
Left,     right,     left,     right
Rippling the emptiness

Dark quiet disturbs the sleep

Black sky, cloudless night
Eyes closed
Heart ripped
Midnight silent rage
Hands clenched, turn over

There are so many lonely stars up just beyond reach

We need to dull the sharp angles
Gather around
Neighbors and friends
Open our hands
Silently share sorrow

We need to mend the broken circles

Fix the church roof
Dig a community well
Remove the stumbling blocks
Bake loaves of bread
Reach out

We are a village

Slowly, slowly
Roots grow down
Supporting our weight
Drink in the rain
Drink in the dew

The hours pass

Slowly, slowly
Leaves grow up
Building a canopy
Drink in the Sun
Drink in the stars

The days pass

Breath

Breath

And again

And again