It was another TweetSpeak poetry jam, and this one started with a few rumors. All of the prompts were taken from Rumors of Water by L.L. Barkat. And it’s rumored that quite a number of poems emerged during the jam. We’ll have to wait and see what develops. You can’t be too careful about rumors.

Here are first seven poems from the jam.

Rumors of a Blue Geography

By @llbarkat, @Doallas, @kellysauer, @pathoftreasure, @amberleepb, @RachelleEaton, @divyaasachdeva and @shewhodid. Retweets by @wichmans, @cathiejoy, @shellartistree, @KChavda, @Skookum86, @kruss984, @LaundryLineDiv, @EscapeIntoLife, @umeshnrao, and @CarlyRocks. Edited by @gyoung9751.

Rumors of girls in white dresses

I’ve heard there are rumors
of girls in white dresses
and a woman behind a lens
and a boat with no dress.
Float at your own pace,
fingers dangling,
catching the current.
If I tread the water,
will it weep?
And what of the woman
and the white dress asleep?
How will I write
the white dresses
and the boat
and the fingers.
Oh, I want to write
the fingers…
White moon in a white dress
and me wishing for the next dance.
Can a dress dance
alone?
And a dress:
can it have wings?

How will I write?

How will I write
how the color of your eyes
falls at dusk,
lighting my way?
If life has no symmetry
but the water has waves
the color of your eyes,
perhaps that is symmetry
enough?

She follows the moon

She follows the moon
and dances with the stars;
her fingers disrupt,
catch a wrong chord,
cause disharmony.

She says:
Catch me without disharmony
catch me at the chord
to the left of the little hollow
at the base of my neck.
Catch me alone
or with a purple moth.
I really don’t care
how you catch me
with or without cause
with or without story.

She says:
There will be a purple moth
in every chapter
wings bent as a page
where the story waits to be
picked up again.
At the base of my neck
you’ll find the point
where our story
once began.

The fingers are playing

The fingers are playing
with keys and with strings
and silk faerie strands,
the touch light,
as the moth’s wings
the shivery slide of a nail
against skin
leaving me
rumors of water,
or the touch
that echoes the wing
the memory of lightness
Nails, skin
again storying my dress
and its whiteness.

Pan does laundry, too

Pan could play a laundry cup;
he still knows how to play.
The flute is in the movement;
I will follow Pan,
play his notes again
to echo your message written
inside this laundry-soap cap
you twist and turn with no effort
Shivery slide,
caps glide,
a twist, a turn
you’ll learn my message:
that Pan might make music
to woo us
into the lightness of a bubble
ascending.
The cap flies, spilling words
on the white-winged dress.
In the bubbles
we could rise and
see the world
through rainbow eyes.
A stroke it will be
dear lady
to make laundry of our love;
Just don’t leave me
rumors of laundry.

Spilling words

Spilling words
spilling wings
all this spilling
and I am ascending.
Pool the letters into hands;
pour them into words;
drink them down.
Pool the letters
into my mouth
and my lips will
spill them sweet
to you again

Laundry love

Love is tangled shirts
the hem of a skirt
caught in the brass button
of your jeans.
We hang it out
to dry,
a line of words
glimmering
like those rumors
rising among night whispers.

Ascend to the moon, dear love,
ascend to the moon;
follow the eyes
leading the way.
Let them fly
snapping in the wind.
Laundry love on a line
Ascend to the moon
on a brass button;
ascend the hem
on a line of thread.

L.L. Barkat is a writer, editor, poet, columnist, speaker and entrepreneur. She is the author of Stone Crossings: Finding Grace in Hard and Hidden Places, God in the Yard: Spiritual Practice for the Rest of Us, and InsideOut: Poems. Barkat is Managing Editor at The High Calling and staff writer for International Arts Movement’s The Curator. She’s also a co-editor here at TweetSpeak Poetry.

This poem is taken from InsideOut: Poems, published in 2009 by International Arts Movement.

Foyer

Who looks
at the new straw
hat, remembering
Grandma,

how she beat
brazen rays each
day by sneaking
under a brim

like that. And who
notices the wrought
iron roses now
hung askew

on our cherry
coat rack; she
wrung pits
out of red fruit

too, swatted flies,
rolled tart sweet
flesh, juice into
crust, but that is

another story;
I am asking you
about the roses
broken, and a

missing screw,
but you are busy
arranging tailored
black wool on

a cool hook worn
brass blue, we’re
just in the hall,
after all, we’re just

passing through.

L.L. Barkat, a co-editor here at TweetSpeak Poetry (and a lot of other stuff, too), is interviewed via podcast at Becoming Who We Are. She talks about writing and poetry, a little of her background, how her daughters are becoming talented writers themselves, and some her own work.

The podcast has introductory music for about the first two minutes, and then an introduction to the interview. The discussion begins at about five minutes into the podcast.

I met L.L. Barkat because I had a bike crash and broke several ribs. It took a few days to figure out that I had broken bones (and a partially collapsed lung), and leaving a few nights later for the emergency room, I grabbed Stone Crossings: Finding Grace in Hard and Hidden Places from my “to read” pile so I’d have something to do while I was in the ER. I got to spend the night in the hospital (first time in 35 years) and, hospitals being what they are, stayed awake and read the book straight through. It was a great reason to lose sleep. When I got home, I checked L.L.’s blog and left a comment, and today we’re co-editors of this TweetSpeak space with Eric Swalberg.

And then there’s her poety. She published InsideOut: Poems in January, and I am a fan. They’re simple yet deep, containing unexpected layers of meaning and evoking unexpected layers of thoughts. Or you can read them for the sheer beauty of the words.

***Poetry Giveaway***

We did a poetry giveaway here in February, one a random drawing and one an editor’s pick for the best 100-word answer to “Why is poetry important?” For National Poetry Month, I’m doing another giveaway for InsideOut. Just leave a comment (your name or a simple “hello” will be sufficient) in the comment section between now and next Monday evening (April 19 at midnight eastern time). We’ll pick a name at random – and that person will get a copy of InsideOut.

For National Poetry Month, here are three poems by L.L. Barkat, from her InsideOut: Poems.

Evening Prayer

Alone tonight, beside
an open window.
I hear trees moving,
whispering to wind.

Would that in my dark
places, I could lean in,
let you tender move and
make me whisper too.

You

move me
with
your sorrow, I
open my mouth
and it is like
the promise of apples,
honey fragrant
on air,
a barely there
wish. I swallow
emptiness.

In Lieu of the
New York Times

If words were
clovers,
I’d pluck mine
and lay them
at your doorstep,
retreat to shade
of oak,
watch you become
a child again,
poke past purple
spikes, nip tender
white tips with
teeth, freely sip
raw sugar, lick
your lip.

Related: The International Arts Movement continues its celebration of National Poetry Month by posting L.L. Barkat’s poem “Porch” from InsideOut.

Postings and News Updates:

The Poem a Day from the Academy of American Poets fopr Tuesday was “December Moon” by Brenda Hillman.

See “Steingraber the Poet” by Maureen Doallas, about author and ecologist Sandra Steingraber.

Read “The slave soul” by Justinian at Delight and Glory and Oddity and Light.

“All the Real Dudes” – one of poetry’s fastest growing movements looks for new friends. Article by Paul Constant for the Poetry Foundation.

“How to Write a Sonnet” by poet John Lavan.

Bruce Bond’s “Wake,” new post at How a Poem Happens.

Actress Tyne Daly read W.H. Auden’s “But I Can’t” for Poets & Writers Magazine.

We’re down to the final two contributions on “Why Poetry Matters” that were submitted for the poetry and wine giveaway last month. The randomly chosen commenter received a copy of L.L. Barkat’s InsideOut: Poems, and the winner of the 100-word statements on what poetry matters received a copy of the poems and a bottle of Sineann wine.

From Bonnie at Being Transformed:

Why Poetry Matters

I teach literature to a high school tutorial and also have done workshops at the Childlight USA Conference on Poetry.

I think about Billy Collins’ saying in Introduction to Poetry : to hold it to the light, drop a mouse into it and watch him probe his way out.

OR Wendell Berry on How to be a Poet: Make a place to sit down. Be quiet. There are only sacred places…

And John Keats with “Truth is beauty and beauty is truth” from “Ode to a Grecian Urn.”

Luci Shaw from “Breath for the Bones:” Because beauty matters.

L.L.Barkat’s poetry book does that.

And from Nancy at 75 and Sunny:

Why Poetry Matters

Rooted in our shared human experience
In this created space, articulated into being
By holy Words,
Are the empty arms of childless Mothers,
Falling buildings, rising suns,
Hummingbirds and hammered nails,
Corpses lying under rubble,
Dreams realized
and dashed,
Sunsets and mine fields and eyelashes,
Despair, elation , hope, cowardice.
And when human emotions stretch within these fleshy skins
And surge past the walls that we, in our fragility, cobbled together to enclose them,
The animal which escapes its cage is Poetry.

A bit of prose and a poem: here are contributions No. 11 and No. 12 on “Why Poetry Matters” that were submitted for the poetry and wine giveaway last month. The randomly chosen commenter received a copy of L.L. Barkat’s InsideOut: Poems, and the winner of the 100-word statements on what poetry matters received a copy of the poems and a bottle of Sineann wine.

From Anne Lang Bundy at Building His Body:

Why Poetry Matters

Ernest Hemingway said, “Prose is architecture, not interior decoration.”

But I contend that when poetry is captured in prose, they dance; they become what neither is alone, like a couple who’ve long yearned to be together and discover in their union something new and beautiful.

And from Laura Boggess at The Wellspring:

Why Poetry Matters

Because…
the earth shakes
mountains fall
people die
and tears collect
like oceans.

Because…
hearts need
lines
to link together;
strings of words
interlocking souls.

Because…
in looking
for words
we sometimes
find
what truly matters–

it keeps us
looking out
looking in
looking up.

Because…
this fallen world
needs beauty.

that
is why
poetry matters.

Here’s contribution No. 8 on “Why Poetry Matters” that was submitted for the poetry and wine giveaway last month. The randomly chosen commenter received a copy of L.L. Barkat’s InsideOut: Poems, and the winner of the 100-word statements on what poetry matters received a copy of the poems and a bottle of Sineann wine.

This is from Missy Kemp at Daily Portion, and this one was the winner of the 100-word statement:

Why Poetry Matters

You read it aloud in the darkened room, your lamp the center of one pool of light. From another bulb’s halo , the poet sent the words out to you. Held in the vowels and caught on the consonants, somehow, is your own story written by a stranger. Truth unknown before now falls on you from the uneven ends of the lines. This moment of recognition is as ancient as the cave paintings we shine our flashlights on, deciphering our story from the shapes and tracings of another’s, the one with the courage to pick up the colors.

Here’s contribution #7 on “Why Poetry Matters” that was submitted for the poetry and wine giveaway last month. The randomly chosen commenter received a copy of L.L. Barkat’s InsideOut: Poems, and the winner of the 100-word statements on what poetry matters received a copy of the poems and a bottle of Sineann wine.

Reading this one, you’ll see how I struggled with determining the best contribution. From Jim Allman (the scop) at diatribalArts:

Why Poetry Matters

I walk around as though I’m welcome here—as if I know this place; only to discover I haven’t been looking closely enough. It is an Elfland world with giant beanstalks and straw spun to gold, of wicked stepsisters and witches with a taste for children. There are monsters everywhere and only magic can challenge them. Poetry is flush with this type of magic; it defies monsters but also helps one to recall those too infrequent moments of waking wonder. Poetry is necessary because we must all feel out of place here, and because we must survive it—thriving—too.

Here’s contribution #6 on “Why Poetry Matters” that was submitted for the poetry and wine giveaway last month. The randomly chosen commenter received a copy of L.L. Barkat’s InsideOut: Poems, and the winner of the 100-word statements on what poetry matters received a copy of the poems and a bottle of Sineann wine.

This is from Monica at Know-Love-Obey God.

When Poetry Speaks

When poetry speaks (whether I am writing or reading) . . .

. . . colors are brighter, my vision is clearer, and I hear sounds I would not have heard.

. . . I read the Bible more carefully, more thoughtfully.

. . . my emotions have an outlet, and I do not explode.

. . . communities build.

. . . writer and reader make connection.

. . . I am more sensitive to and considerate of others.

********
Related (where I mention other benefits of poetry): Scientists Are Poets, Too!

Here’s our fifth contribution on “Why Poetry Matters” that was submitted for the poetry and wine giveaway last month. The randomly chosen commenter received a copy of L.L. Barkat’s InsideOut: Poems, and the winner of the 100-word statements on what poetry matters received a copy of the poems and a bottle of Sineann wine.

This is from Helen at Random Musings.

Why Poetry Matters

Poetry is an artistic presentation of words which show a depth of emotion. Like other art forms, some styles of poetry trigger a response in some and not others. Poetry gives us an emotional bridge to both the past (Chaucer) and the future (Lady Gaga). When Adam was asked to name his helpmate, he felt such a depth of emotion, he responded with poetry. Man has also responded to the awesomeness of God with poetry. So long as we respond to anything with words, there will be poetry, and if we believe our response matters, then so must poetry.