To Do. Hannah Gerber

You will now attempt,

(No, you will do more than try, you will

just do)

You will, in fact, summon what little maturity

you have garnered over the years

and you will

create stability.

And even though the cacophonous circus

may never cease, not entirely,

no matter.

You are not ambitious enough as to care

and that is very very good.

That’s very human and sweet and fallible;

your lack of ambition to be a Buddha,

to be the best,

or at least one of the ones

who can sit in mindless bliss.

You are forgiving, of widened heart

and spacious outlook.

The time has drawn near.

So. Now.

Don’t try.

Do.

The mantra is your own to compose

so please try not to make it

‘Shut The Fuck Up’ though it feels most natural.

‘Fully Conscious’ is perhaps the Way to go

or you can be as candid with yourself

as possible and repeat the only truth,

the one that’s impossible

to wholly grasp and impossible

to lightly ignore

which is

‘Now.’

PoetMoms seeking new works!

We are back to publishing and collecting for the forthcoming hardcover book, The Diabolical Poetics of Motherhood.
Please send your work to hannah@bukowski.net for the time being.

My next personal collection will be released and for sale through Amazon.com etc, by mid January.

The first day of pre-school by Hannah Gerber

I don't think I've ever been as happy as I am today, right now.

A few hours ago I was kind of

psychotically ecstatic, thats worn off, thank goodness

but this is a really spectacular day

and I'm so grateful for everyone involved in it.

The decent hearted drivers,

the teacher's with their welcoming grins,

the gal at the thrift store register,

whoever made this cranberry juice.

The smell of the brisket cooking,

whoever invented the crock-pot,

the chilled wine waiting,

the people who created Sesame Street,

and of course you, for giving me this day

and all my days, my mother.

It's my mom whom I thank

with every breath today

for helping me see

the beauty in absolutely everything,

for even though she thinks

she doesn't even like poetry,

what she doesn't seem to know

is that she is poetry

and that makes her even prettier

and my day even more perfect

as it draws to its rather satisfying end.

Wonderful new work from Nikki, click image to see larger.

By Nancy Lerman

Most days he’s there in the coffee shop

Most days he smiles hello

And I smile back.

One day he introduced himself

And held my hand just a bit longer

Than necessary.

The next day I looked away

But not without wondering,

Just for a moment . . . .

The next day I walked past

Without looking at him

But I held my stomach in.

The wild woman I was

Would have slept with him by now.

I felt the wildness bubbling up –

And so, the next day,

I gathered up my children

And using them as shields

I walked past

Flashing the talisman of my ring

Willing him to let me be

For the sake of the ring

And the children.

Poem by Carmen Tracy

When the falling leaves
sound like water
in the wind
and you can feel
the hollow sounds
of ocean waves

change is coming

Fear Not by Carmen Tracey

Out of the Nothing
the dark
unknown

Comes form
and definition
vision

Without the invisable
the unseen
unheard

We would not smell
or see
music

The bag I carry by Hannah Gerber

The bag I carry

No metaphor here,

I’m actually talking about the bag I carry;

far heavier than it needs to be,

terribly large, making my shoulders throb.

The bag I carry all over town

has the word ‘poetry’ on it,

and an image of a Pegasus,

and you must know

how much I like that.

Plenty of dimes and nickels

but no real cash,

a bottle of water for me

and a sippy cup for you,

three notebooks, gum wrappers,

hand sanitizers, crayons,

happy meal toys,

lip balms, sunglasses

and bags upon bags

stuffed full of cheddar goldfish

and vanilla wafers.

I also carry all that empty space

heavy with cumbersome wishes,

the absence of objects

we could pick up on beaches,

the heady possibility of mountains.

These things,

like invisible elephants

in the universe of my tote,

like play-dough cut-outs

of things we cannot yet touch.

Candy Land Photo and Poem by Hannah Gerber

I can hear the tap tap tap

of the tiny Dora and Boots
as they walk
over the Candy Land board.

The rainbow path
from start to finish
must be travailed
like life itself

and as they move

from square to square

I can hear Boots whisper to Dora
through the mouth of my child

to watch out for deceitful foxes
lurking behind trees
and trolls with no sense of humor
or love for children
under bridges, scowling at laughter and song.

And don’t forget big red chickens
as large as houses
who might crush you
with their thoughtless heft
before even learning
your name.

Photo and poem by Beth Freeman

I lean on you

You absorb my weight and I am safe

I trust you

You will never betray me

I tell you my dreams

You listen and believe in me

When you are old

You will lean on me

I will absorb your weight and you will be safe

And together we will watch the setting sun