We have five poems in this group from our recent poetry jam on Twitter. There are still a few to come.
By the way, Erin at Together For Good has reshaped some of her contributions to the poetry jam and published them as a poem, “Of Nonsense and Butter.” Check it out.
Poems from the House of Memory – 6
By @KathleenOverby, @doallas, @llbarkat, @mmerubies, @mdgoodyear, @TchrEric, @PoemsPrayers, @monicasharman, @mxings, and @togetherforgood; edited by @gyoung9751.
Decisions
Decisions can be final in
ways you never did anticipate.
Decisions can change tomorrow in
ways that make your soul deflate.
I put my face in the bucket of
your heart; licked it like a beggar.
When things are not right
between he and I
things are simply not right
in the world.
I can weave my words into
a mask and hide behind it.
I can weave my words into
a bucket and catch you when
you fall.
Tin Cup, Walls, Roof
Tin cup, walls, roof. A hundred
years old,
still bearing the pattern
but bent, this way and that, and in
pieces, scattered.
I stole him
with my body and then I stole
my body back
like a tease, and now I cannot
somehow please anyone at all.
Seeking What I Could Not Find
Seeking what I could not find
in words knit of love,
with long crochet hook, I catch
the strands of your thoughts about
me, and I make them exactly what
I want them to be.
But mostly the skies spin me, a
weaving in reverse, whip clouds,
fold mountains in twos ,
stand high. We can change the
pattern into peaches on cream
with a ceiling of blue.
I can do things—
fold, whip, stand
break strands and mend,
unraveling what was done
to help me see
where I am.
Is there truth there
in the unweaving?
I fall apart.
Will you catch my
raveled pieces?
On a Good Day
On a good day, I can do anything I like.
And I like to make love to the rain clouds
and whisper my secrets to willow trees.
On a good day, I am more beautiful than
Eve and more tempting that Delilah holding
scissors and wearing sheath.
Where Is My Friend?
Where is my friend? What wheel does
he spin at, what sky?
He’s here, somewhere.
I was looking for him, too.
He is here
raveling, unraveling,
churning, turning
holding words
like butter to his lips.
He sits quietly,
back against the far wall,
observing,
calculating,
ruminating
on words well spoken.
- Poets and Poems: Alfred Nicol and “After the Carnival” - May 8, 2025
- Poets and Poems: Kelly Belmonte and “The Mother of All Words” - May 6, 2025
- An Anthology on Reading and Writing Poetry - May 1, 2025
Heather says
These include some of my favorite lines from the bunch – mine and those by others.