lizcommotion: typewriter on a table, faded (writing)
One of my favorite for-pay jobs was working as an amanuensis for a semi-retired poet, Norman Nathan. I was sort of a combination of administrative assistant (filing, typing, etc.) and assistive device (reading the poems out loud to him, which is really the best way anyhow) and poetic critic (providing literary criticism, which we both knew he could ignore at will if he disagreed). I went once a week for about six months, before Dr. Nathan's health started affecting his memory and my unidentified Lyme/POTS started affecting my ability to travel to work.

Some of his poetry was more, er, traditional than I liked. Some of it was less so. Some of it, though, was simply breathtaking.

This is the favorite poem he wrote while we were working together. He has others, published and unpublished, that are just as good scattered throughout a variety of literary journals, and one published book of poetry. He also has written some short stories, which are good as long as you realize that he wrote them before he stopped being able to see a computer screen or typewriter, so gender roles and other variables may be a bit dated.

And now, the poem.

Like Virtue

Like Virtue, the poem is
its own reward;
even if no one applauds it,
sees it, hears it, enjoys it,
the words nurture the growth
of the creator;

Shakespeare surely
wrote lines and threw them
into the grave of a friend,
as was the custom,
with a feeling too piercing
to be less than private,
while not buried in his mind
or lost to his characters.

-Norman Nathan
published in 2012 Tribeca Poetry Review

rest in peace, friend ♥
lizcommotion: A photo looking up at an autumn tree canopy (autumn trees)
A poem inspired by anniversaries and autumn and EMDR and, ultimately, PTSD.

What is it about autumn light?
by [personal profile] lizcommotion

tw: PTSD/anniversaries )

This work licensed under a Creative Commons share alike attribution non commercial 3.0 unported license.
lizcommotion: A Japanese schoolgirl overlooking a harbor and a figure with wings (Choice)
[personal profile] jjhunter has written an absolutely fabulous poem about feelings.

Why are you not reading yet?

It made my heart break open and spread wings.
lizcommotion: monarch butterfly on a branch (butterfly monarch)
by [personal profile] lizcommotion 

Twice today
in a fragmentary way
I felt like myself again
just a glimpse of happystance
before things snapped back
into shades of gray.

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

lizcommotion: typewriter on a table, faded (writing)
I write silly limmericks to cope when I am out of cope. Probably I should do this when I am not out of cope, too; this is something I am working on. Anywho, here's one from recent days:

There once was a boy, Harry Potter,
whose patronus was not weasel or otter;
with a brilliant stag,
dementors he did bag,
and Tom Riddle's army did totter.
lizcommotion: typewriter on a table, faded (writing)
In honor of NaPoWriMo, the first poem I've written in awhile. It's about, what else, spinning. I actually wrote it earlier, but I've polished it up some.

drop spindle
by [personal profile] lizcommotion 

  hair into yarn
 fibre into clothes
the spin leaps
 into the fibre
  jumps from my hands
   sculpting this living fibre
wool from alpaca sheep llama
 herbivores munching on plants
  raised by the rays of the sun's
    ever-pulsing energy
   energy shaped the spindle
  felled from a tree
shaped by a craftsman
  spinning like a top
    releasing energy--

    in a whorl of creativity

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.
lizcommotion: typewriter on a table, faded (writing)
Pro tempore

We hiked hilly holds for hours, hearts beating
time, forcing frigid air into frosty faces
no birds disturbed the chill air
as our footsteps set fallen leaves dancing,
pirouetting down crumbling crevasse walls.
You followed more slowly
savoring the stark still moments of winter;
I savored your touch as you helped hold me
steady on stone stair steps, slipping
your fingers into mine, holding tight
as the fading daylight chased us
home from the Fey world we had stepped into.

Creative Commons License

This work by cadenzamuse and lizcommotion is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

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Are you interested in writing collaborative poetry because it is FUN and AWESOME? Leave a comment and I'd be happy to write some with you (given allotments of time), or perhaps you can find someone else in the comment thread who would be interested. ^__^
lizcommotion: typewriter on a table, faded (writing)
Because collaborative poetry is fun and awesome, and it is cold outside, and also it is good procrastination. Perhaps too good...

Not eligible for the current [community profile] poetree   writer's challenge as I'm guest-judging, but if you are interested in writing collaborative poetry for that there are free dreamwidth points available for the winner(s). Just saying!


Wind Shear

winterswept wind-red lips struggle,
wind words between bitter bites
bitter tang of tears and sweet forgiveness
tears through tired torment, strafes sadness
through snotty confessions, union complete
of heart-self and snotty skin, rejoining
skin burned by wind, under winter's hesitant sun rejoicing
in hand slid in hesitant hand, holding
holding onto promises of spring

by [personal profile] lizcommotion  and [personal profile] cadenzamuse 

Open to: Registered Users, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 4

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lizcommotion: A leather journal (well-used) (journal)
Remember how I wrote that sacred poem etheree for the Poetree challenge awhile back? Well, folks suggested that I make it a double etheree (or whatever one would call it) to complete the wheel, so to speak. I finally got around to doing that, so here it is. Thought I'd post it in time for the Sunday Picnic over on [community profile] poetree .

What prompted this? Super not-so-secret plans to maybe make some sort of zine...probably available electronically in pdf and/or epub via donation with some/all of proceeds going to charity. There will be writing not posted online! And doodles/drawings! And maybe some knitting patterns! Who knows! It's exciting and deserves exclamation points! I have collected 19 printed pages of writing so far, and I haven't even gotten to what's stored on my netbook.

wheel of the year
by [personal profile] lizcommotion 

the first
ewe of spring
a fertile rite
of Brigid's warm hearth
the wheel has turned again
rejoice in Imbolc's promise
not long til the crocus bursts forth
not long til we dance round the maypole
not long til Midsummer, and nights grow long

Mayapples have faded, fruition bursts forth
now it's John Barleycorn's time again
Lammas, harvest, giving thanks
as leaves fade from trees, so light
again begins to fade
the Veil at Samhain
is thin as night

All poetic works by [personal profile] lizcommotion  posted here licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike Non-Commercial License unless otherwise discussed with me.
lizcommotion: an open road stretches into the distance (open road)
...and also [personal profile] jjhunter 's dare that I enter. This idea has actually been kicking around in my brain since Friday, and it turns out a poem was the perfect way to express it. The following is an etheree, which is a very fun poem to write.


pump up hill
keep beat with breath
don't stop, don't think just
feel body flow breathe in
still on the edge of the hill
mockingbird breathes its soulmate's song
warbling in time with legs' up down
crescendo and crest the hill, fly back down

poem cross-posted to
[community profile] bicycles 


lizcommotion: Lily and Chance squished in a cat pile-up on top of a cat tree (buff tabby, black cat with red collar) (Default)

September 2017

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