Poem: Tuesday

tumblr_n5co8qNGoD1tboj6ro1_400
Happy is the heart
That thinks on love
Measuring the value of emotion
Feeling the presence of its girth

Your worth to me is more than flesh.
Consideration, admiration of
the thrusting in this world
Carefully selected conversations
meant to keep me a gentle-lady

If you come through the door
And bring an offering
It will be welcome
Friendship preserved

Consider love
Warm love

Its time to sleep
I’ll dream of you tonight

Poem: Girl Chases Hat

girl hat

Late night keys dangle in the wind

clouds move along the sky river

wind swirls low to pick up anything

not tied down, not held down

 

There goes her hat!

 

The thing that will keep her warm tonight

stomped by feet of shoppers, rejected as trash

her hat, made for one head.

Rain wets it.  Street oil soaks it.

 

She crosses into traffic, leaps toward the gift knitted

a story just for her. Grandmother’s poem rings

as fingers reach for the flying  thread

as long as a blood vein

 

by

-Shannon P. Laws

#

 

 

 

 

Poem: Graduation


Graduation

The average person gets 432 haircuts in their lifetime
For you I wonder- too many, or not enough
Regardless, you will not like most of them

Every seven years your skin is completely renewed
From scalp to toes, a new birthday suit is knitted

You will use at least 150 toothbrushes
from baby teeth to wisdoms,
and swallow just as many spiders
or so the legend goes…

How many haircuts until you find yourself
How much skin must be shed before
it’s thick enough to stand up in battle
How many spiders swallowed
before humility stains the lips

Your eyes will know the answers.
That day your heart will ring
As bells echo in your mind’s
cavernous landscape

We graduate many times, not just today.
Celebrate each one 


Poetry: Whispers

My ears itched the other day
voices caught up with me
traveling the speed of wind
words skip across 
time like stones
sidarmed into ripples
a beach full of onlookers
feet crunch atop the pebbles
casting a stone
planting a seed
growing a flower
pulling a weed
karma may be as gardens
tended by the faithful
producing understanding
catching up to us all 
gifts in hand
***

Poetry: Moon Dial

MOON DIAL


The moon speaks to me through my window slit,
curtain and blinds open just enough for fresh air
to relieve me in the night

     The moon speaks to me announcing it is 3 o’clock
     it chatters away for 20 minutes about plans, loves, problems, recipes
     Please be quiet and let me sleep, I say in moon-speak
     Wake up and love me, it replies

Meanwhile, car headlights in the drive below
mark the return of my car-pooling bar tending neighbor
she is tired at the end of her shift, dinner and bed will come quickly

She tossed drinks and mixed spirits all night 
for others, now the stars put her to sleep

     I toss and turn awaken by the commotion of conversation
     between heavenly bodies and earthly

Please do me a favor moon, put me to bed, send me to sleep
till the sun rises, tuck me up in sheets of silver beams, warm 
me in your glow, watch over my spirit when it jumps out 
to dream, be my Guardian tonight and…
just shut your mouth!

Moonlight Through Window,
watercolor by Vinderburger
For more information about Vinderburger:


     


Village Books Poetry Group: P.I.P.

VBPG site title photo artist DONA REED:
Hand-pulled Relief Print, “Squabbling Ravens” Please visit her site: http://www.rainshadow-arts.com

Village Books Poetry Group is a fine place to bring in a PIP = poem in progress.  Last Thursday I shared this new poem “PEW” with my group.  One line in the poem started an interesting conversation.  The line is  “Mid service she wiggles like bacon in a hot pan”.  Some thought it didn’t fit, others said it was “an incredible turning point”.

Being apart of a writing group helps you to think outside the work.  Your writing friends can give you a new perspective on work you maybe too deep into to notice.  I find it a most helpful tool.  Whether you write, non-fiction, fantasy, novels or poems, I encourage you to seek out a writing group.  If there isn’t one in your area, start one.

Here is my poem in it’s original form:

PEW
She sits still at first
Coat on, legs crossed, hair in place
I do not know her name
her smile properly friendly
as she shares the peace
Peace be with you-
-and also with you
Mid service she wiggles like bacon in a hot pan
Her focus moves about the sanctuary; forward, then down at her lap,
the back of the pew, left toward a noisy toddler, then at the ring on her finger.
The ring receives the most attention
the corner of my eye catches repetitive moment
her hand out atop her knee, twirling the ring
round
round
her thumb and forefinger
again
again
Finally, her thoughts become action
Arm reaches for the spine
of  a hymnal laying on it’s back
gone sideways from first service
with a quick flip she corrects
it upright, front forward
Her fingers now at rest,
she turns to smile
This was something easy to fix

If you live in the Bellingham area, or would like more informaiton about how to start a writing group in your area, contact me:  splawssji@yahoo.com

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/VBpoetrygroup/
www.rainshadow-arts.com

Poetry: Ghostly Eyes

Waking up always
Same time on the clock
Walk through my house
Steps on an unchanging track
I see you
A solid mass
Your feet touch the ground
grasp the earth
My specter form floats by
Unperceived by the blind
Ignored by the angry
Forgotten by the busy
I remember what living was like
I see you all
From my ghostly eyes
Orbs of mist
And compromise

~A spooky poem from my 2010 collection
S.P. Laws

Poetry: Puppeteer

Puppeteer
You turn me
Like a camera setting
Normal to negative
With a click
My voice modulates
To your ear
High tones dialed down
Pitch bent skewed
You hand me a script
Q and A for the party
Lists topics to avoid
People I may talk to
How do I look?
You look me over
Black evening dress
Hair up, heels high
Proper posture
Oh, you forgot these…
I touch my ears,
Barren of drops, and smile.
You turn to reach inside a drawer
And pull out strings.
“Marionette Series” Oil on canvas
by Sarah Dixon

Poetry: Him

HIM
When she thinks of him she smiles

When he stands in front of her 

She sees him as an old man

Still standing there
That look in his eyes
In front of her, smiling
“Could he stay there, with me, that long?
Could I know him ‘till he goes gray?”
Sometimes I wish I could tell him “I love you”
But it’s still too early, only SUMMER
Instead I say “I was thinking of you”
Everyone wants to be thought of
I want to sleep with you!
The bed warm
I want to wake with you!
The next morning
Like the couple I think we could be
Is it too early to feel this?
Yes, it’s only FALL
Time continues hearts come closer
As the snow hugs the earth
Conversation over a meal
Sitting quietly watching a movie
Lying next to you listening to you breathe
It’s only WINTER and this life imagined…
In a year I’ll try to say “I love you”
Like a woman tries on a blouse
Like a young bird trying its wings
Like a child stacking blocks
Building a house, needing a home
I LOVE YOU
…and I’ll tell you in the SPRING

****