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Archive for January, 2010

Revelations: Only Five of Twenty-five or More

Posted in memoir free verse on January 27, 2010| 1 Comment »

Revelations: Only Five of Twenty-five or More

The first time I meet Annie
I bartered for a place in her class,
relief for the soles/souls of her feet,
my reflexology exchanged for reflective writing.

I had an adorable childhood
which means I should never be able to write,
but I am also stubborn

I often wish people would disappear
when what they say and how they say it
annoys me.

I ran away from home at 1 ½
and have been looking for
the way home ever since.

I bought a computer with company funds
hoping to learn which cords plugged into which slots –
unforgettable the dread that night
the long sweep of being found out –
before my 10-year-old came
to save me and my job
that morning in 1978.

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Hole of Whole

Posted in memoir free verse on January 27, 2010| 4 Comments »

Hole of Whole

Inside essential memory
images persist
some harmony
perceived
by you
by me
inside desire
retired sensation
as two once one lost
the internal memory of self.

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Time Beyond the Fall-Line.

Posted in free verse, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on January 15, 2010| 7 Comments »

Time Beyond the Fall Line

“I know it seems sudden but it’s not,”
her message loops and spools,
pauses only to loop again.
“I know it seems sudden but it’s not.”

How can she imagine he will feel her desire
For separation, to be gone, is sudden?
He’s known for days, or months, or
these minutes, time-trapped years.

His fingers grasp, clasp steam, a mug
holding warmth leaking through—.
emptiness an inch away—
Her warmth once electrified his hands
flooded through the whole of him
and her too – true, he knew.

He’d hold this surety,
the incontrovertible fact
of moment after moment
her presence the vibrant hum.

He knows that nothing about them
was ever sudden — each move
so slow, intentional, each word baked fresh,
morsel upon morsel of momentum, magnifying
fine, drawing two near, forever nearer.

Perhaps there had been one time —
a sudden flare in the dark, 
that hillside in the silence of what was parked,
the streaming whistle pushing into night,
long shrill call lumbering across a trestle,
high above swift currents
spilling over granite
smoothing eons on the way
rolling past the fall-line of all
they left behind.

Still he hears that rumble,
engagement pulling low, the load
the groan of steel and wood above
the stone, water rushing on and on,
like her voice, repetitious tone,
now gone from those years,
that day as well and this.

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A New Day – Tanka

Posted in mako and other shorts, tagged , , , , , , on January 12, 2010| 2 Comments »

darkness

dissolving in the face

 of light

showing off

again

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Haiku 2010 – Waiting

Posted in haiku/senyru/tanka, tagged , , on January 10, 2010| Leave a Comment »

 

elephants gathered

        wade round fresh water puddles

thick with waiting

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Disconnect

Posted in mako and other shorts, memoir free verse, Uncategorized on January 9, 2010| 3 Comments »

Disconnect

 

 …sitting
your feet upon
the desk. All neat, no work
going on just now. Relaxing,
and why not take a break,
waiting for me
to say

 

Do
this

 

Do
That

 

I
Don’t

 

…thinking
time’s come for you
to start yourself without
my directing any more. If
you push back, stand up
I’ll choose praise in
silence…

 

 

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Preparing

Posted in mako and other shorts, memoir free verse on January 9, 2010| 2 Comments »

 

–preparing for breakfast 
a daily affair
 
loving the beginning
 — again,

grateful
 — for this fresh minute–

 

©all rights reserved Jane Penland Hoover

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True North

Posted in mako and other shorts, memoir free verse, tagged , , on January 5, 2010| 2 Comments »

 

footprints

follow

me

 

I

step

along

 

leaving

my path

always behind

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At 31 After His Heart-Valve Surgery

Posted in memoir free verse, tagged , , , , on January 5, 2010| 4 Comments »

 

My twelve-hour wait ended
“You may go in for ten minutes.”

All five feet three inches of me,
thanks to four-inch heels,
clicked down the hall and into his room.
I expected to give him a big smile
say, “Well, how are YOU doing?”

Barely into the room
the door closed behind me.
Everything stopped.
Nothing anyone had said
prepared me for seeing him
motionless
tubes and wires threading through
connecting him
to machines, pumps, and other things —
I didn’t want to know. 
 
If I moved closer,
could I touch him?

I stood three feet from the bed,
 “Ron… Ron…”

He gave no response.
The noise — breathing machine
pulsing – pushing — swoosh –
— air into lungs — pause —
whoosh – sucking out —
again – swoosh.
His chest rose and fell
to the will of the machine.

In this gripping rhythm
I began synchronizing
my breath to his
– in – out – in – out – 
– anything – to
– remain connected
not allow this separation.

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If You Were to Ask I Would Tell:

Posted in memoir free verse, tagged , , , , , , on January 5, 2010| 2 Comments »

 

how he both stayed and left himself,
what had been his body,
his life, late that night when
stroke severed senses

how four of us, a few others
tramped along, pushed him,
we filling in,
filling up his silence, his awkward moves,
all wanting something to be different

how he saved his blue-eyed smile
flashed it broad and cheery, and
how we each returned the favor,
a bit of laughter when we could

And if you asked, I could go on and on
about copying, routines and how he delivered
the daily news, his two girls in the cart
riding high the pile, pointing out each door,

And how driving skills remained though words failed him,
how smiling and retaking one test and another and…
until persistence earned a road test, and
his driving skill, the smile of the stiff officer.

If you were to ask him anything, he’d brighten;

find a word or two
like fine or bad on long-time-ago, speak it
with slim shadow of emotion,
return to his book, his 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle,
or a TV sports event unless it’s time for dinner.

Then he’d release his chair’s footed rest,
move to get his jacket never grumbling
at the stuffing he must do to cram one
weak arm into a length of sleeve.

Us moving on, making one more day
remembering friends who stayed,
places we grew, a long road or two,
and those we yet hope to touch:

remnants for my writing pen and you, if you should ask.

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