CPITS 2011 Symposium New Writing

The fire lilies were thinking of you

all in their crimson splendor

they turned toward the sun

The heart knows what it wants

the way the foot knows the path to the barn

the horses all waiting

each one knickers in welcome

helping us load the hay into the feedbin

and how in early morning we rose

sneaking out before the dawn

to saddle up for the trail ride

the sky streakes with carmine and gold

the horses eager, snorting with each breath

anticipating the day

the lomg glide of woodpeckers from pine to oak

raucus musicians laughing in deep woods

as I imagine you now

your olive eyes flecked with green

(revised)                            —for Stephanie Stone

The fire lilies were thinking of you
aflame in their crimson splendor
as they turned toward the sun
like horses in the stable, tracking the hay

The heart knows what it wants
the way the foot treads on the path to the barn
the horses waiting, eagerly nickering welcomes
helping us to load hay into their troughs

I remember how, in early morning we rose
sneaking out before the dawn
to saddle up, the sky streaked with carmine & gold
our mounts eager, snorting with pleasure
each step, each breath, niggling at the bit,
dancing, they could barely contain themselves
such was their joy

But the long glide of woodpecker's wing from oak to pine
and that raucous laughter in deep woods
reminded us that we will never pass this way again

Too soon you left me at the starting line
racing toward that distant horizon
from which no traveler returns

You will never know the ache of old bones
the failing of eyesight
nor the fading of memory
that slow erasure of the past
nor the parting of childhood
but all that came of the new-mown doubts
the shifting of psyche

I am left with is the sudden silence of the woodpecker
the way darkness ate at your bones
devouring the marrow until the shone
with the ephemera of catscans and isotopes of hope

9/9/11

Steve Kowit's workshop   Recall one incident, find the emotional charge, conjecture about their fate. The real task is to write a mourning poem, a poem that will move the reader (transformation). Use assonance/dissonance, metrical patterns, repetition.  15 lines  (OK so I sucked at the 15-line part).