For Grandpa

This poem I wrote once for creative writing and it's kind of corny so don't laugh

I hop up to the examining chair
Left then right then left again
Through the lenses I sit and stare
The doctor stops and clicks his pen

He tells me with a serious gaze
That my life will never be the same
The remainder of my mortal days
I will spend looking through a frame

I notice first the little leaves
Their outline against the bright blue sky
How much I've missed, I can't believe
That all of this has passed me by

And after years of aided vision
My world all clear and bright;
I have come to the conclusion:
Without blindness, there is no sight

amor

I was reading through some of my old posts again, as that seems to be what I do for fun now instead of sleeping, and I came across this poem. I still really like it. I think Pastan hits relationships/love right on the head.


love poem
linda pastan

I want to write you
a love poem as headlong
as our creek
after thaw
when we stand
on its dangerous
banks and watch it carry
with it every twig
every dry leaf and branch
in its path
every scruple
when we see it
so swollen
with runoff
that even as we watch
we must grab
each other
and step back
we must grab each
other or
get our shoes
soaked we must
grab each other

3 Poems that I like

"Beber"
Gabriela Mistral

Recuerdo gestos de criaturas
y eran gestos de darme el agua.

En el valle de Río Blanco,
en donde nace el Aconcagua,
llegué a beber, salté a beber
en el fuete de una cascada,
que caía crinada y dura
y se rompía yerta y blanca.
Pegué mi boca al hervidero,
y me quemaba el agua santa,
y tres días sangró mi boca
de aquel sorbo del Aconcagua.

En el campo de Mitla, un día
de cigarras, de sol, de marcha,
me doblé a un pozo y vino un indio
a sostenerme sobre el agua,
y mi cabeza, como un fruto,
estaba dentro de sus palmas.
Bebía yo lo que bebía,
que era su cara con mi cara,
y en un relámpago yo supe
carne de Mitla ser mi casta.

En la Isla de Puerto Rico,
a la siesta de azul colmada,
mi cuerpo quieto, las olas locas,
y como cien madres las palmas,
rompió una niña por donaire
junto a mi boca un coco de agua,
y yo bebí, como una hija,
agua de madre, agua de palma.
Y más dulzura no he bebido
con el cuerpo ni con el alma.

A la casa de mis niñeces
mi madre me traía el agua.
Entre un sorbo y el otro sorbo
la veía sobre la jarra.
La cabeza más se subía
y la jarra más se abajaba.
Todavía yo tengo el valle,
tengo mi sed y su mirada.
Será esto la eternidad
que aún estamos como estábamos.

Recuerdo gestos de criaturas
y eran gestos de darme el agua.

(rough translation)


"love poem"
Linda Pastan

I want to write you
a love poem as headlong
as our creek
after thaw
when we stand
on its dangerous
banks and watch it carry
with it every twig
every dry leaf and branch
in its path
every scruple
when we see it
so swollen
with runoff
that even as we watch
we must grab
each other
and step back
we must grab each
other or
get our shoes
soaked we must
grab each other


"This Is Just To Say"
William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold