Loss At Summer's End

for Courtney

The sirens called to villages all around.
"Send your fire trucks!  We've got
lives to save!  A house is ablaze!"
Brave men in yellow with oxygen masks and tanks
could do little except cool the cinders and cry.

As we struggled to accept this we said,
"...a good young woman."  "...a selfless soul."
"...died trying to save her grandmother."  "...so like her."
Her life ended with so much
for her to experience.

And the news reports say:
"Tragedy," "Loss," and
"Courtney Fischer, 19..."
And lots has been said about being shocked,
and lots has been thought about her absense.

As a high school student she often said,
"But Mr. Lentz, what if..." "I can't get it done?,"
or "I forget it?," or "I don't understand?," or "I get it wrong?"
The world will still be here for you tomorrow
to try again, to make it right.

Grieve as we must, we also must live.
"How lucky you were to know her. 
How sad for those who will not."
If we cannot revel in being alive on this day,
then we will likely never find a day to be happy.
-----
Go here to read Courtney's obituary:  http://juneaumessenger.com/2015/08/12/courtney-helen-marie-fischer-age-19-of-lyndon-station/
And here to read her grandmother's obituary:  http://juneaumessenger.com/2015/08/12/judy-fischer-age-68-of-lyndon-station/ 

Missy Marie

I always had the sense that Missy was seeing things we
humans couldn't see and that she couldn't understand.

In 13 years you never hissed
or bared your teeth, peace kitty.
And only in your last
days did you cry in pain.

As a kitten you had large,
rabbit legs (one of which
was orange and apparently
stolen from another cat).

The laser pointer was okay,
but you obsessed over plastic,
Coke-bottle caps.  Hand targeted
head-butts continued until you

had gotten enough attention
or resorted to a loud,
endearing mew.  You interrupted
when I least wanted, but most needed,

to set aside what I was working on.
And it was the rare minute that
passed in 13 years without your purr,
sometimes audible across a room.

As patient as you were demanding,
I could hold you when I cried and
you insisted on sitting with/on me
when I wasn't feeling well, doctor kitty.

You snuck onto the deck
a few days before you died
even though you never liked
being outside.  What did you

think of the sunshine that day?
Of the birds at the feeder?
Life is brief, philosopher kitty.
Your "goodbye" to the world?

She Said Yes - new poem "Victoria"

The reading went very well.  There was one poem, however, I didn't include in my earlier post.  Here is the poem I ended my reading set with.

------------------------------

Victoria

Victoria's ring was made by Sarah DeAngelo.

One day I walked into a store.

I wasn't buying; I was selling my bad poetry.

I left a book and left without much hope.

But I am the luckiest man you will ever meet;

I have had two loving relationships in my life.

And you, Victoria, aren't second; you are now.

What I didn't know is that this shop keeper

and I had things in common. Like,

we had both been looking for belonging.

Your life changed for the better.

And when we met again, you asked if I

would like to "chat about business;" I wasn't sure.

In a follow-up email you mentioned possibly

meeting for a "social thing." So, I

asked you to a movie; I still wasn't sure.

What I didn't know is that this marketing expert

and I had so much in common. Like,

we had both been looking and longing.

Two introverts on a date, yet

we found so much to talk about.

That one night would never be enough.

Neither was it enough when we "happened"

to meet the next evening; sometimes chosen

encounters are better than chance meetings.

What I didn't know is that this intelligent, brown-eyed,

nerdy, funny beauty and I had a lot in common. Like,

we had both been looking for the other.

Now, not only can I tell you that I love you;

I am telling you that I want to marry you.

Victoria, will you marry me?

Winter Festival of Poetry - Reading Selections

Today I will be taking part in one of the Winter Festival of Poetry readings.  Each Sunday in January and February the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets organizes a reading to showcase Wisconsin poets.

This is the first time I have ever taken part in anything like this.  I'm excited and nervous.  I'm looking forward to hearing a lot of poetry that will make me fell ashamed to be calling myself a poet.  But I also know that I will learn from this experience and make connections with others who appreciate good writing and storytelling.

I am the last to read today so that is even more intimidating.  Reading before me are:  Marilyn Taylor, Lori Lipsky, Gary Powell, Shoshauna Shy, and Dave Scheler.  If you clicked on any of the links, it is clear that I am out of my league.  But I am honored to be even the least amongst them.

For more about the event you can check here:  http://www.thedailypage.com/theguide/details.php?event=318130&name=Winter-Festival-of-Poetry

Below are the selections I will be reading.

------------------------------------------------------

Excerpts from “Colleen”

Colleen was the most unanticipated person

in my life.

Having given up on love years before,

I had no hope of finding someone

I did not want to live without.

I often just wanted to watch her because

she was so graceful and deliberate.

I came to love her when I realized that

most of her life was approached

with that same style, dedication, and insight.

Colleen never gave up on people.

She was friendly in the most stubborn way possible.

She greeted every person, every day.

If someone snubbed her, she made a point

of being friendly to them until they cracked;

sometimes it was just a warm smile, but she had changed a life.

People I would not have given a second thought to,

she saw the value in being kind to.

It wasn't a game or a matter of pride;

she knew that everyone was worthy

of a kind word and a smile;

those who cannot reciprocate need it even more.

Colleen did not mind hurting, suffering, and sacrificing.

At times holding her hands hurt her.

And so many nights I feel asleep holding her hand.

My love was honest unless it would hurt someone else;

I never knew how much she hurt or for how long.

On a Saturday afternoon in May, the doctors explained the situation:

An infection

they could not adequately treat had developed.

(and Colleen was always afraid of dying from an infection)

Aren't I too young to make this decision?

Aren't I too young to have to make it?

Isn't the doctor too young to know for sure?

"Will treatment cause her more pain?"

"Yes, it will cause her more pain;

though it might prolong her life slightly.

She is too weak to respond well.

Colleen likely has brain damage."

Colleen likely has brain damage?

Likely?

Yes, you will have to push a button every 15 minutes

to help ease her pain,

you will have to tell her

it is okay "to go" and

"I will be okay"

The last thing you hear her say (yell) will be

"Oh, God make it stop!"

In a few days you will have to hold her close

as her last breath is taken,

you will have to sit with

her dead body to wait for her lifelong friend

to come and say goodbye,

you will watch

as her blood settles and her skin turns alabaster,

you will be haunted by all you have seen,

you will often be alone now,

you will have to endure the "knowing" glances of everyone who knows

and the "ignorant" remarks of those who don't,

you will sometimes find yourself wandering around your
home looking for

something you can never find,

you will die some day too but you will be

far less afraid of death. 

How Do I Look?

Will
I make it
through the day
without my morning
blessing, "You look
handsome!"?

I
am never handsome
but I believed;
all that mattered
was what you
thought.

Can
I make it
through the day
knowing you are
not waiting for
me to come
home?

Do
I make it
through the day
without anticipation of
reward, returning home
for your love?
I guess I
"muddle through somehow"
as the lyric
goes.

The Mother Of Certainty

In Mother's home
there will always
be a hot
kettle for tea
on the stove
(or iced tea
in the fridge),
a peanut butter
jar on the
table, and dishes
of baked goods.

It may be
unwise to take
comfort in certainty
when life is
so unsure. What
else drowns out
our death clock's
ticking, winding down?

Grief stricken and
wallowing Mom said,
"Now you have
only to do
what Carney wants.
You have to
figure out what
you really want."
Wisdom mixed with
love, sadness, anticipation...

Mom's message is:
life is to
be enjoyed, beloved
are to be
held close, truth
is to be
accepted as a
vital first step,
choices are to
be doubted even
while moving on;
life is to
be lived so
it is always
worth being remembered.

Cleaning List

clear out junk cupboard
dump out catch-all drawer
give away poor fitting clothes
throw ratty sneakers
sell lonely guitar on Craigslist
cash in gold with jeweler
give away rock collection

You might find room for the unexpected.

burn old greeting cards
donate a box of random
isolate photos in one box
toss wilted bouquet
fling musty blankets
put empty vases aside
bundle papers for pulp

You might find room for the unexpected.
Life expands to fill every void.

un-bury secrets near tree roots
air dirty laundry
shake lose unseen pests
walk skeletons out of closet
sweep cobwebs everywhere
open doors for breeze
show fears the sun

You might find room for the unexpected.
Life expands to fill every void.
Anticipate all the newness to come.

One Who Loves Me Must...

idolize my ugliness

and be turned off by my vanities.

tolerate my gloominess,
remembering my smiles.

be fulfilled in us
though made vulnerable by sharing.

admire my focus
while ignoring my stubborn ways.

despise my distant moments,
seeking renewal in my affections.

love me
as much as one could loathe me.

To reverse any
above would make
hate, not love.

Too Right To Be Scared

The last woman in
my arms was dying.
Now, your response
to my touch reawakened
the joys of mingled flesh.

I feel vulnerable, but I'm crying
happy tears.
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

Met you months ago and
never thought we'd be here.
Now, being in each others'
arms seems inevitable. How
lucky to have this chance.

I feel exhausted, and I'm writing
weepy poetry.
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

That you are possible and real
is why I stayed up all night.
Now, I have memories of
you trying to sleep and of
how close we can be.

I feel anticipation, and I'm saying
"Thank You."
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

new poem - Christmas 2013

--for Victoria

For our first Christmas together, we exchanged ornaments.

Winter windshield reflections
distort the present,
tell possible futures.
I stop snow
shoveling, ignoring cold
body parts to
dream.

They are noise
without order, yet
seductive enough to
distract.  The snow
erases my work;
leaves me all
alone.

From behind me
she calls, "Early
thaw this year?"
Reflections are gone,
sun set, and
shovel empty.  I'm
set.

Brown eyed beauty
wraps arms around
mine, pulls me
from winter work,
and we dig,
planting the world
anew.

new poem - The World Needs More Mirrors

I can't
change the world;
I'm barely
able to change my mind.

But I
can change
    where I stand. 
And if someone chooses to
    stand by me,
        two worlds have changed,
        two new ways of seeing
    are created. 

We can,
if we are skilled enough
or lucky enough, get our students
        to stand with us at the
            edge of the
            reflecting pool,
                kneel down, and
                        look deeply
                                into themselves.

What they see
    is more true than
        anything said about them.
What they see
    is undeniable and
        needs to be accepted.
What they see
    can be shaped,
        cleaned, and polished.
What they see
                    is okay.

No, dear ones,
you can't
change the world;
    but we can change where we stand. 

    And if we each hold a mirror
            we might convince
                    the whole world to
                                take a deeper look.

-----
This piece was written during the Greater Madison Writing Project Summer Institute this past July.

new poem - Concert On The Square

"...old couples emboldened with swinging harmonica vibrations
lean into each other."

--photo is of Robert Bonfiglio, who performed
at a concert on the square in Madison this summer

Young girls twirl and old couples
emboldened with swinging harmonica vibrations
lean into each other.

We all could.

Maybe you prefer to sing a child's song,
making up a new language, and
leaning to reach the most demanding notes.

We all could.

After the music fades, some might choose to speak
a verse that moves the crowd to
lean closer, feeling the whispered sadness.

We all could.

The reflected sun shifts though the crowd,
lands on faces, and makes them glow;

we all could.

-----
I started writing this piece while attending the Greater Madison Writing Project Summer Institute this past July.

new poem - "Opportunity Awaits You Next Monday"

"On next Monday, we'll
    solve all our problems.
Next Monday, we'll
    end all our longings."

On next Monday, I'll
    win that award.
Next Monday, I'll
    bust down the door.
Next Monday, I'll
    finish my novel.
Next Monday, I'll
    learn about loving.

On next Monday, you'll
    have to choose.
Next Monday, you'll
    be the one to lose.
Next Monday, you'll
    see how it feels.
Next Monday, you'll
    be crushed under our wheels.

On next Monday, we'll
    solve all our problems.
Next Monday, we'll
    end all our longings.
Next Monday, we'll
    find space in our life.
Next Monday, we'll
    forget who is right.

-----
This is a piece I started for a write-in during this past summer's Greater Madison Writing Project Summer Institute.  It was inspired by a fortune cookie slip.

new poem - Cleaning List

clear out junk cupboard
dump out catch-all drawer
give away poor fitting clothes
throw ratty sneakers
sell lonely guitar on Craigslist
cash in gold with jeweler
give away rock collection

    You might find room for the unexpected.

burn old greeting cards
donate a box of random
isolate photos in one box
toss wilted bouquet
fling musty blankets
put empty vases aside
bundle papers for pulp

    You might find room for the unexpected.
    Life expands to fill every void.

un-bury secrets near tree roots
air dirty laundry
shake lose unseen pests
walk skeletons out of closet
sweep cobwebs everywhere
open doors for breeze
show fears the sun

    You might find room for the unexpected.
    Life expands to fill every void.
    Anticipate all the newness to come.

Grateful Today For...

Love's return;

she is great to be around
though she often brings her
bitchy friends, pain and confusion.

Crow calls
and snow flurries
over a peaceful field
that remind me my senses
are sources of beauty.

Friends who
make demands of our time
which we welcome because
we know they will answer
when we too are in need.

Thinking, creating
and wondering;
my often over-active mind
is the tool I use
to sort, experience, and
use the world around me.

Family can
sometimes help with
a cliche phrase like
"It will be okay"
when I am
most confused.

My healthy body;
I never know when
this will change.

-----
Note:  I gave one group of my students a prompt yesterday to write about what they were grateful for.  I think of gratitude as being more significant and deeper.  Thankfulness denotes appreciation for what happened because it was expected or appreciation that what was feared didn't happen.  Gratitude is about being appreciative of what you are given/have regardless of whether it was expected or not. 

Yesterday I didn't have the time to sit down and write this out with my students like I wanted to.  I'm actually kind of glad for that because I definitely need to remind myself of all of the good things in my life whether I expected them or not.  I also like the idea of being grateful because since it takes our expectations out of the equation it is an act of letting go of our illusion of control.

The way I explained it to my students is that you can be thankful for warm fuzzy slippers while what you are grateful for should be the things that bring a deeper meaning to your life and add to the richness of your life.

New Poem - When Can I Say?

    Afraid to, even though
    in this moment I'm tempted.

When is it no longer too soon?

    Caring about someone means
    giving up control, while
    being wanted gives strength.

Do I wait until after Thanksgiving? 

    After you've met family,
    understand more, and
    still choose me.

And what about your family?

    I can get away with telling you
    "I'm falling" and "What if he's
    madly in love with you?" 

But why bullshit ourselves?

    We know it now; so, we can say
    it when we choose, say it when
    the words will mean something new.

Is that on Christmas day? 

    Our lives might be without precedent
    for such a situation but
    life is full of examples.

I think the world is patient enough for that?

    Our new year could start with
    a new phrase in our relationship.

New Poem - Too Right To Be Scared

The last woman in
my arms was dying.
Now, your response
to my touch reawakened
the joys of mingled flesh.  

I feel vulnerable, but I'm crying
happy tears.
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

Met you months ago and
never thought we'd be here. 
Now, being in each others'
arms seems inevitable.  How
lucky to have this chance.

I feel exhausted, and I'm writing
weepy poetry.
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

That you are possible and real
is why I stayed up all night.
Now, I have memories of
you trying to sleep and of
how close we can be. 

I feel anticipation, and I'm saying
"Thank You."
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

New Poem - One Who Loves Me Must...

   idolize my ugliness

"One who loves me must
tolerate my gloominess,
remembering my smiles."

and be turned off by my vanities.

   tolerate my gloominess,
remembering my smiles.

   be fulfilled in us
though made vulnerable by sharing.

   admire my focus
while ignoring my stubborn ways.

   despise my distant moments,
seeking renewal in my affections.

   love me
as much as one could loathe me.

    To reverse any
    above would make
    hate, not love.
-----

I wrote "The Birth Of A Poem" about writing this piece.  You can find this here.

Six Word Novel - Second Way Of Looking At Me

 

My second "Way of Looking at Me" that I had to have ready for the GMWP summer institute.  Trying to write a six word novel about your own life is much more difficult than you might think.  I went through something like 30 variations some with completely different themes the the one I settled on.

New Poem - Pink Plastic Scooter

At the far corner
of the lawn
it stands alone.
    And where did
    your mind go?
The white and pink
plastic tassels
flutter in the wind.
    But why do
    you think so?
The river is high
across the street, and
the boats of foam float
down stream.
    So, now you
    think I'm unfair?
A little, yellow car
rolls by; the driver
ignores it all.
    And who are
    you to judge?

Tomorrow all the toys
will be gone
from the yard.
    And do you
    know why?
The hydrant will
be painted and the curb
will be swept.
    But you need
    to know more?
Perhaps some boy will
walk down the street
singing a song.
    So, the story
    is resolved?
The lawnmower
sits idle in
tomorrow evening's sun.
    And do you realize now
    it is all in your mind?

Marks - Poem With Photo

Click the image to see it larger.  It is interesting that I had to up the "clarity" on my shoulder to make the marks as visible in the image as they are to me.

New Poem - Marks

Beaches after the ocean has receded,
        my striated shoulders marked
                    by the surging of the waves.

Once so fat, I now have stretch marks
        on my shoulders, a record carved by
                    the flow of tears. 

These are the least grotesque remnants
        of an old self; they are beautiful
                    as reminders. 

No tattoos, but I have these. 
        Not the results of artful choices but
            the consequence of bad decisions,
                    scars.

I rub ink on my body and press it to paper;
                    the story is one of regret.
-----
For the Greater Madison Writing Project Summer Institute, I have to show up with three different genre pieces that show some aspect of who I am.  I think this might be the poem I use.

For The Class Of 2013

I'm glad to
see you go;

    it is time.

Because I'll be
as happy for
your return when
the distance of
time and the
    experiences of life
    can allow appreciation,
rather than loathing,
of this place.

I'm waiting for
you to gain
    wisdom, to return
with thoughtful critiques,
to help make
this place better.

I hope you'll
    bring your experience,
    appreciation, and wisdom
back to town.

When it's time,
I'll be glad

    for your return.

So many are
off for an
adventure. Your lives
    will require courage
I'm not sure
I have; there
will be much
you can teach.

Perhaps you'll find
that courage in
a rigid sense
    of dedication. or
    in quiet optimism
that says, "This
isn't so bad."

When your travels
bring you near,
stop and share
    your adventures and 
    the courage, dedication,
    and optimism discovered.

    The future awaits;
I'm glad to
see you go.

New Poem - The Illusion of Perfect Symmetry

"Now my heart breaks
        when my beautiful sister (left above)
tries to turn her right side
        away from the world."

When I try to feign wonder,
    I become Spock saying, "fascinating."
No face is symmetrical;
    mine is just more obviously uneven.

My left face and neck is mostly slack;
that eyebrow
    has never moved.
When I smile or
    look surprised
            it is obvious
                    to me.

People say, "Oh I never noticed that."
    I feel they are full of shit,
while knowing they are telling

                    their truth.

My sister's cancer reduced the right side
        of her face to a similar lifelessness,

                    except
she also has no sense of touch and
        has scars on her neck.

Now my heart breaks
        when my beautiful sister
tries to turn her right side
        away from the world.

I fret over a gift of
                    my birth,
        while
she has shame over
        a sign of her willingness
                    to endure.

We view the world through
                    unhappy slackness.  

Roger Ebert contemplated a face transplant
        after his own, even more severe,
facial disfigurement;
        he concluded that it was still his face,
                    he knew it and
                    loved it.

We too must own our
        half perfection;
the illusion of perfect symmetry
        is only ever accomplished
                    in our minds.

New Poem - Forgotten Poem

Together
on the cheaply upholstered hotel couch
the long day reaches it whispering end with us
hand in hand.

My feet
ache; so, I kick off the black, leather extra-wides. 
This is the first time you have seen me
sock footed.

I have
a notion that coolly sharing gross physiology is intimacy. 
So I fight shyness and keep my feet
exposed.

You
watch me with a devilish grin as I yank off my socks;
it is time we become more than
lovers.