Protected: June Cleaver Has a Dream, Wakes Up Still Wearing Her Blue Slippers

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Protected: Another poem against suburban decline

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Protected: After reading “If the Lena River courses north” by H.L. Hix

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Protected: June Cleaver Tries for Exotic, Settles for Ugli Fruit With Iceberg:

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Protected: This poem insisted on being written

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poem – the website: redux

Last year, Carolee and I decided if we couldn’t get enough poetry pals together in real life to discuss poetry, maybe we’d try a virtual poetry group.  This is how poem was born. 

It was a great time.  Each month, we worked week by week with a poem by an established poet.    First we read and discussed.  Next, we worked on our own poems “in the style of” or inspired by the poem, then we took some time to comment/critique each other’s work.  The last week is always a free-for-all, you never know what might happen.  This time around, we’re hoping maybe, just maybe, our poets-in-residence will grant us an interview!

Well, we took a summer break.  That break extended into the fall, and on into winter… but now we’re back!

Join us this Sunday as we begin a month long discussion/examination/effort to imitate be inspired by a very cool poem by Denise Duhamel.  You’ll have to stop by to find out which poem!

Oh, and if you’d like to be an honorary member (no secret decoder rings, sorry!), just send an email (jillypoet@verizon.net) with your web site/blog address.  Can’t wait to poem with you!

June Cleaver as Snow Bunny

When you see a snow monster

in June, it’s time to put the mug down,

slosh the java on the table, two-step

away from your devotion.

 

The monster is not in trouble

your ring finger is aching

from so much diamond

 

and pearl, pearls are not the solution

although what harm in accepting (shame) harm-

 

less baubles from short, blond (or not) strange men?

Strange men make good bed fellows

at least I’ve heard they thrust neat

hospital corners.  When you find yourself tucked

 

in a tight bed, sheets (sins) pressing you into the mattress

consider stripping.  Rid the clothes.  Cotton, silk, polyester.

 

Skin breathes better en plein air.  Rumor has it

Monet and all his friends painted their impressions

naked, out in the fields while bored cows

chewed cuds, dreamed of taller haystacks.

 

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I wrote this after reading Barbara Hamby’s Who Do Mambo.  She really plays with language, so I tried to write from the first thought that popped into my mind, a sort of free-write, stream-of-consciousness thing… You can read more playful poems at Read. Write. Poem.