Storyteller
She wove tales
Of blue-green oceans and pearly shells
Of magic
And mermaids
And dreams
Of living underwater
In a castle made of coral…
Her words breathed adventure.
They smelled salty like ocean spray
They felt warm like pure-white grains of sand
In the sunshine
They painted a brilliant sunset
Over the Caribbean Sea
They sparkled under a moonless sky
Just as the water itself sparkled
That night we first encountered
Lady Azusa.
© 2011 Jessica Baldwin
Disliked
That night
They remained
Their fate
Preordained…
Alone
Neglected
Unwanted
Rejected
Untouched
Refused
Abandoned
Confused
On a plate
Of chicken and cheese
Nobody wants
the peas.
©2011 Jessica Baldwin
Greedy
The afternoon sun was low on the horizon
And Luquillo Beach was empty when we arrived
My sisters took to the waves on their surfboards
While I sat with my son on the beach next to my parents
And my husband splashed in the shallows
With our three-year-old daughter
As we celebrated our first day in Puerto Rico
Listening to the sound of the sea
And as the waves lapped against my toes
I delighted in my daughter’s laughter as her daddy held her
While they jumped over the surf in waist-deep water
Only then it wasn’t waist-deep
And it was just their heads
And the waves seemed louder
And stronger
And I saw in his eyes
The panic
And I realized
He was treading water…
Treading water
Getting deeper
Trying to hold her up
But it was hard
And his head bobbed under
As he desperately tried
To keep hers up
Treading water
And the arms of the rip current
Continued to pull them out
Further into the ocean
Which now had transformed
Into something angry
I cried out for someone – anyone to help them
But the crashing waves drowned out my voice
My sisters were too far away
I knew I could not swim out there
But my father was determined to try
He swam with fierce determination to them
But the ocean was too strong
He could not help like he wanted
I found myself watching the three of them
Being overcome by the hateful deep
Which hungrily promised to take them all
I stood helpless
On the beach
With no one else around
And I cried out to God to save them
Then a miracle of divine appointment
Suddenly brought my sister across the terrible water on her surfboard
Within yards of my drowning family
Who, with their last bits of strength
Seized the floating vessel
And the greedy ocean did not win that day.
© 2011 Jessica Baldwin
This poem had to be about two inanimate objects having an argument. I chose shoes. :)
Uninvited
You make me sick, lying smug on the floor,
Smudge marks and scuffs blemishing
Your perfect crimson exterior…
Why are YOU her favorite?
You give her blisters!
You don’t offer support!
Sure, she might wear you all day…
But look at you! Plain white sides,
No heel to speak of,
No shine or color or style.
I make her look amazing.
What do you have to offer her?
I would be a much more suitable choice.
I protect and cushion all day long.
Is it your ripe cherry color?
Your stupid pointed heel
Poised to strike the floor
Like a javelin when she dances?
You don’t impress anyone,
Except perhaps her trainer at the gym.
But later that night, she will put ME on
to go out with him,
While you lie alone in the closet
Uninvited yet again.
By Jessica Baldwin
© 2011
This week I had to do a poem that took some sort of physical shape. I decided on doing a tree...
Silence
The
silence
of
the
early
morning
just before
their footsteps
clamber down the
flight of stairs: Soon
they tear into the bright
colored packages of red and
green while exultations of unbridled
joy echo against the garland-strung walls.
Someone will turn on the music
now, and we all join in on the chorus,
reminding ourselves that without a doubt
the most important part of the day is spending
it with the people we love. Hugs and kisses freely
exchanged with the people who traveled from far away
and everyone is smiling, everyone is happy, everyone is loved.
And still, throughout the bustle of the season, my absolutely favorite
moment is the first one. That perfectly silent one
where the house hasn’t yet realized the time. The treelight
flickers warmly, reflecting off the shiny wrapped boxes below,
holding treasures yet to be discovered. All the children safely nestled,
as the poem says… and while they dream I have a chance to relish in the quiet
calm that doesn’t last for very long – but long enough for my lungs to fill with the
breath and
beauty of
Christmas
morning.
Jessica Baldwin
©2011
Demoted
I am a student of low-affect living
edged with self-deprecating irony.
I exist on the edge of nowhere.
Since 1930 I had been part of the club.
I had always attended meetings,
and I (usually) knew my place in line.
I am bigger than New York City,
yet somehow they rejected me as too small.
Who is this "they," anyway, determining my fate?
So what if I am cold-hearted, or I have a stony exterior?
So what if I follow a different path?
(Who said mine's even wrong?)
I am just as important as the other eight.
I mean, really -
Now what is My Very Energetic Mother Just Serving Us Nine of?
I'll tell you one thing: it won't be Pizzas.
Who'd want a "dwarf" pizza, anyway?
I don't feel like a dwarf.
Well, maybe compared to Jupiter or something.
Perhaps it was all that self-deprecation?
I wish I were a planet again.
By Jessica Baldwin
© 2011
this one was just a free-write prompt of a poem up to 40 lines. "Mzungu" means white person in Uganda.
Sleep in Uganda
Stifling heat forced the mosquito net
Against my sweaty skin
The whirring fan stopped again.
No matter. It didn’t help, anyway,
Other than to muffle the sounds
Of the men at the mosque on the hill
Wailing into the night.
Sleep would not come,
Not yet.
My eyes closed
And their faces appeared again.
The darkest children I had ever seen
Marred by poverty and disease
And war and death and suffering,
Who smiled the brightest banana smiles
To the mzungu girl with a camera
That came to help them when they feared
No one ever would.
The faces of the rejected
Were etched into the backs of my eyelids.
The widow who purely needed a reason to hope...
The youth a promise of a future...
To simply believe
That there was more to the world
Than the stench of the slums
In which they live.
Sleep would not come,
Not yet.
I finally understood Pure and Faultless Religion:
“look after orphans and widows in their distress.”
And I realized that coming here
Was more than a photo opportunity.
It was the seed planted
That would ultimately transform my heart.
So that this mzungu girl must return
To this Godforsaken country
That inexplicably took my soul hostage
Through the smiles of orphans in Uganda.
And in making my decision to return again,
Sleep finally came.
© Jessica Baldwin
02.05.11
the beautiful lost return again to
smoke and sound and sweat on a sticky floor
color and cologne mingle too closely
as the girl wraps herself around a stranger
who consents to break his vows
© 2011 Jessica Baldwin
