Help me choose
love, not ego.
Sharpen my mind
to question.
Strengthen my soul
to abide.
Guide my choices
toward balance.
Open my heart
to listen.
Open my eyes
to injustice.
Increase my wisdom
to discern.
Fortify my courage
to act.
Amplify my voice
to speak.
Quicken my spirit
to rejoice.
Soften my will.
to accept.
Help me choose
love not ego.
Victoria Hendricks
Friday, December 31, 2010
New Years Prayer
We've had wonderful visiting and everone else got tired and went to bed early. I'm not surprised as late talking has kept us up through the nights and I'm hte only one who has slept in. My Dad, bless him, would be proud of us because we are following two of his traditions for luck. We got the Christmas decorations down today and will be eating black eyed peas tomorrow.
I had the treat of having a knitting lesson from Mary Lee tonight. Learning feels difficult but possible. I have barely started on a soft gray, VERY EASY winter hat for liam, who collects and adores hats. I want to try more things that are new to me this year, especially creative projects and skills.
On a more serious note, 2010 was a tough year for our family, lots of change and loss, which created anxiety and doubts in me. I can't know 2011 will be any easier, but I found myself crafting a prayer of resolve for the new year. No matter what happens, I can handle it better.
Prayer of Resolve - 2011
Help me choose
love, not ego.
Sharpen my mind
to question.
Strengthen my soul
to abide.
Guide my choices
toward balance.
Open my heart
to listen.
Open my eyes
to injustice.
Increase my wisdom
to discern.
Fortify my courage
to act.
Amplify my voice
to speak.
Quicken my spirit
to rejoice.
Soften my will.
to accept.
Help me choose
love not ego.
Victoria Hendricks
anuary 1, 2011
.
__,_._,___
I had the treat of having a knitting lesson from Mary Lee tonight. Learning feels difficult but possible. I have barely started on a soft gray, VERY EASY winter hat for liam, who collects and adores hats. I want to try more things that are new to me this year, especially creative projects and skills.
On a more serious note, 2010 was a tough year for our family, lots of change and loss, which created anxiety and doubts in me. I can't know 2011 will be any easier, but I found myself crafting a prayer of resolve for the new year. No matter what happens, I can handle it better.
Prayer of Resolve - 2011
Help me choose
love, not ego.
Sharpen my mind
to question.
Strengthen my soul
to abide.
Guide my choices
toward balance.
Open my heart
to listen.
Open my eyes
to injustice.
Increase my wisdom
to discern.
Fortify my courage
to act.
Amplify my voice
to speak.
Quicken my spirit
to rejoice.
Soften my will.
to accept.
Help me choose
love not ego.
Victoria Hendricks
anuary 1, 2011
.
__,_._,___
2010 in poems
January 2010
Sobering month.
Pulmonary embolism
we mistook for asthma,
barely treated in time.
You could have died.
I could now mourn,
close my first widow year.
Instead, we plan road trip
through Civil Rights sites,
update our bird lists,
wake in each others' arms.
Each day I remember January
and give you an extra kiss.
February 2010
Last winter's babies
turn one, chase in park
on strong little legs, laugh.
Scruffy Duffy dog wags
wiggly into family hearts,
funny, furry. Still I worry
if family has strength, hope
reserve, forgiveness to thrive
as winter warms into spring.
March 2010
Redbuds bloom.
I hold on,
hope against hope,
for new energy
to face old problems.
I hold on,
deny inevitable force
of winds of change.
April 2010
Your son naps beneath mural of Grove of The Patriarchs,
on hot Texas afternoon, sweaty sleepy, post park,
You nurse him on his own big bed, kiss damp curls,.
in the room that was yours until you made it his,
the room I decorated with rainbows for you
before you were born, the room from which I rescued
you at three from raging midnight flames, the room
whose furniture you rearranged so many teen age nights,
the room in which "You are My Sunshine".still echoes.
in the voice of your father, dead before memories settled.
You left at seventeen, started college early, found love,
made a home, made art, longed for babies, cried, laughed,
built strong marriage, took your husband to your sanctuary,
of cool misty air, soft filtered light, life rising from life.
Grove of the Patriarchs on slopes of Mt. Ranier,
took off your shoes and lay, silent, vulnerable, still
within ancient circle of holy trees, barren among
nurse logs, You lost a daughter, gave birth to a son,
brought him home to your grove within his own room.
Your son naps beneath mural of Grove of Patriarchs.
May 2010
anxiety rises
heart races
hands shake
no monster threatens
no deadline looms
no illness dooms
nothing external
justifies fear
anxiety rises
on her own terms
monster enough
June 2010
One foot in front of the other,
when best efforts fail.
One foot in front of the other.
when love fails to heal,
one foot in front of the other.,
when prayers ring empty,
one foot in front of the other.
when protection fails,
one foot in front of the other,
when fear clouds reason,
one foot in front of the other,
no matter what demons,
one foot in front of the other.
July 2010
I recognise the hollows. I did it too,
managed impression, with both of my parents,
let them believe I cared about getting the PhD,
scrubbed the baseboards before visits, practiced
the order of introductions, even took down the
yard sign for candidates and causes they despised.
I tried so hard to be a different kind of mother,
one you could tell, show anything, everything.
Effort does not always pay off. I keep trying.
August 2010
I struggle to write about family. Too complex, close to the bone, mixed. Did I raise a good family? Did I do my best? Does that even matter? What will happen to my daughters, their children? What choices will they make, what impact? how much of that is my responsibility and how much can I still change? Family is so vital, so intense, so mixed. I need it so much - need my daughters to be strong and ethical and good - so I can know I succeeded and so I can feel their love and strength flowing back at me. Classic attachment. I know that. Spiritually I know how to practice detaching, letting the strings out, loving without conditions. I struggle to write about family because I resent the rightness of detaching. I want to be able to want what I want in this area and get it. I just want us all to love each other and be good people and be OK, and I know family is never that simple.
Never Simple
Family is never simple,
crucible of survival
attachment essential,
mouth to nipple, breath
synchronized,children
fed first,joy in present
hope for future. Impossible
to detach completely when
they are grown, to give
them back to the universe,
to release judgement of
my essence, my life, my soul
dependent on their choices.
Family is never simple.
September 2010
Autumn brings harvest
not only sobering fall
of bright dead leaves.
Next year's rich harvest
depends on leaf energy
released by flaming death.
Autumn sings in minor key.
Autumn rhythms tell truth.
Life depends on death
October 2010
Sun deserts, shadow deepens before supper.
Acorns, feathers, pecans, fall from violet sky
Disquiet rides with waxing gibbous moon.
Mars hangs heavy, red over dry creek bed.
Frogs have gone from pond, fireflies from field.
Sleeping grandson in stroller, Sheltie on leash,
Barred owl in oak, heart in chest cry warning.
Death, life, intuition, hope, truth, illusion, fear
blow in cold from north. Reality flickers when
autumn falls. Bright spring morning lies far behind,
far ahead. Stormy autumn evening, I know nothing
for sure, meet my demons, dance with my dead.
November 2010
At 54, you graduated, new teacher
second career, masters' degree, rightful
use of your gifts, shared dream,
chance for me to help you help kids.
I loved to make name tags
each August, learn names for
each new class, mentor sad girls,
teach fourth graders story telling.
You were a teacher and I was
your wife. We crafted our own
informal Peace Corps volunteerism.
Dream fed our need to help.
It's all over now. You want out of
the classroom after seven years,
some sweetness, too many shut minds,
Frustration that your gifts ring hollow.
The door is locked No good to bang
it with my fists. I lean against shut door
to your classroom, smell chalk dust,catch
breath. Check out the hall for new dreams.
December 2010
Shorter days follow
longer nights. Darkness
chills every hollow.
Still hope whispers
there is light enough.
Victoria Hendricks
poems compiled December 31, 2010
Sobering month.
Pulmonary embolism
we mistook for asthma,
barely treated in time.
You could have died.
I could now mourn,
close my first widow year.
Instead, we plan road trip
through Civil Rights sites,
update our bird lists,
wake in each others' arms.
Each day I remember January
and give you an extra kiss.
February 2010
Last winter's babies
turn one, chase in park
on strong little legs, laugh.
Scruffy Duffy dog wags
wiggly into family hearts,
funny, furry. Still I worry
if family has strength, hope
reserve, forgiveness to thrive
as winter warms into spring.
March 2010
Redbuds bloom.
I hold on,
hope against hope,
for new energy
to face old problems.
I hold on,
deny inevitable force
of winds of change.
April 2010
Your son naps beneath mural of Grove of The Patriarchs,
on hot Texas afternoon, sweaty sleepy, post park,
You nurse him on his own big bed, kiss damp curls,.
in the room that was yours until you made it his,
the room I decorated with rainbows for you
before you were born, the room from which I rescued
you at three from raging midnight flames, the room
whose furniture you rearranged so many teen age nights,
the room in which "You are My Sunshine".still echoes.
in the voice of your father, dead before memories settled.
You left at seventeen, started college early, found love,
made a home, made art, longed for babies, cried, laughed,
built strong marriage, took your husband to your sanctuary,
of cool misty air, soft filtered light, life rising from life.
Grove of the Patriarchs on slopes of Mt. Ranier,
took off your shoes and lay, silent, vulnerable, still
within ancient circle of holy trees, barren among
nurse logs, You lost a daughter, gave birth to a son,
brought him home to your grove within his own room.
Your son naps beneath mural of Grove of Patriarchs.
May 2010
anxiety rises
heart races
hands shake
no monster threatens
no deadline looms
no illness dooms
nothing external
justifies fear
anxiety rises
on her own terms
monster enough
June 2010
One foot in front of the other,
when best efforts fail.
One foot in front of the other.
when love fails to heal,
one foot in front of the other.,
when prayers ring empty,
one foot in front of the other.
when protection fails,
one foot in front of the other,
when fear clouds reason,
one foot in front of the other,
no matter what demons,
one foot in front of the other.
July 2010
I recognise the hollows. I did it too,
managed impression, with both of my parents,
let them believe I cared about getting the PhD,
scrubbed the baseboards before visits, practiced
the order of introductions, even took down the
yard sign for candidates and causes they despised.
I tried so hard to be a different kind of mother,
one you could tell, show anything, everything.
Effort does not always pay off. I keep trying.
August 2010
I struggle to write about family. Too complex, close to the bone, mixed. Did I raise a good family? Did I do my best? Does that even matter? What will happen to my daughters, their children? What choices will they make, what impact? how much of that is my responsibility and how much can I still change? Family is so vital, so intense, so mixed. I need it so much - need my daughters to be strong and ethical and good - so I can know I succeeded and so I can feel their love and strength flowing back at me. Classic attachment. I know that. Spiritually I know how to practice detaching, letting the strings out, loving without conditions. I struggle to write about family because I resent the rightness of detaching. I want to be able to want what I want in this area and get it. I just want us all to love each other and be good people and be OK, and I know family is never that simple.
Never Simple
Family is never simple,
crucible of survival
attachment essential,
mouth to nipple, breath
synchronized,children
fed first,joy in present
hope for future. Impossible
to detach completely when
they are grown, to give
them back to the universe,
to release judgement of
my essence, my life, my soul
dependent on their choices.
Family is never simple.
September 2010
Autumn brings harvest
not only sobering fall
of bright dead leaves.
Next year's rich harvest
depends on leaf energy
released by flaming death.
Autumn sings in minor key.
Autumn rhythms tell truth.
Life depends on death
October 2010
Sun deserts, shadow deepens before supper.
Acorns, feathers, pecans, fall from violet sky
Disquiet rides with waxing gibbous moon.
Mars hangs heavy, red over dry creek bed.
Frogs have gone from pond, fireflies from field.
Sleeping grandson in stroller, Sheltie on leash,
Barred owl in oak, heart in chest cry warning.
Death, life, intuition, hope, truth, illusion, fear
blow in cold from north. Reality flickers when
autumn falls. Bright spring morning lies far behind,
far ahead. Stormy autumn evening, I know nothing
for sure, meet my demons, dance with my dead.
November 2010
At 54, you graduated, new teacher
second career, masters' degree, rightful
use of your gifts, shared dream,
chance for me to help you help kids.
I loved to make name tags
each August, learn names for
each new class, mentor sad girls,
teach fourth graders story telling.
You were a teacher and I was
your wife. We crafted our own
informal Peace Corps volunteerism.
Dream fed our need to help.
It's all over now. You want out of
the classroom after seven years,
some sweetness, too many shut minds,
Frustration that your gifts ring hollow.
The door is locked No good to bang
it with my fists. I lean against shut door
to your classroom, smell chalk dust,catch
breath. Check out the hall for new dreams.
December 2010
Shorter days follow
longer nights. Darkness
chills every hollow.
Still hope whispers
there is light enough.
Victoria Hendricks
poems compiled December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Robert's Wednesday Prompt - Last Chance Poem
No Last Chance
Bad news is this side
of death, there is no
last chance to screw up,
speak cruel words, forget
to listen, hurt an innocent.
No last chance for ego.
Good news is, this side
of death, there is no
last chance to change
directions, make amends,
atone, forgive, create.
No last chance for love.
Victoria Hendricks
December 29, 2010
Bad news is this side
of death, there is no
last chance to screw up,
speak cruel words, forget
to listen, hurt an innocent.
No last chance for ego.
Good news is, this side
of death, there is no
last chance to change
directions, make amends,
atone, forgive, create.
No last chance for love.
Victoria Hendricks
December 29, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
There Came A Day
There came a day
I stood barefoot
in friend's kitchen
filled out insurance
papers with hands
scraped from fire escape.
She sympathized. I laughed.
This is not real trouble.
We only lost stuff. My family
is alive, safe, together.
There came a day
I knew you would die
and I would live, for
all my shouting to
the contrary, could live,
love, thrive again.
Worst happened, can again.
real trouble. What matters
is what I do about it.
Life force comes back.
There came a day
I understood my best
still left scars on daughters,
husband. Even when I
tried and cared I have done harm.
Enough has to be enough.
Real is better than perfect
Love is stronger than ego.
Victoria Hendricks
December 17, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Robert's Wednesday Prompt -about a group
Survivors
Looking back over their shoulders,
for shadows in the wood, hiding
scars, scanning horizon for snipers,
Survivors counting days, finding
patterns, deciphering signals,
whispering secrets, silencing
nightmares, pulling weeds,
not planting seeds, hiding tears,
fearing yesterday, tomorrow,
unsure if thriving is possible.
Victoria Hendricks
December 8, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
February 2010, month prompt
February 2010
Last winter's babies
turn one, chase in park
on strong little legs, laugh.
Scruffy Duffy dog wags
wiggly into family hearts,
funny, furry. Still I worry
if family has strength, hope
reserve, forgiveness to thrive
as winter warms into spring.
Victoria Hendricks
December 7, 2010
Last winter's babies
turn one, chase in park
on strong little legs, laugh.
Scruffy Duffy dog wags
wiggly into family hearts,
funny, furry. Still I worry
if family has strength, hope
reserve, forgiveness to thrive
as winter warms into spring.
Victoria Hendricks
December 7, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
January 2010 - response to poem for each month post
Sobering month.
Pulmonary embolism
we mistook for asthma,
barely treated in time.
You could have died.
I could now mourn,
close my first widow year.
Instead, we plan road trip
through Civil Rights sites,
update our bird lists,
wake in each others' arms.
Each day I remember January
and give you an extra kiss.
Victoria Hendricks
December 3, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
A Weird Poem (Poets United Prompt)
Unhooked
No connection between silver
and gold - all things that shine
are not the same - all birds
sing distinct songs. Sapphire
is not ruby nor emerald a tree.
You are only you and never me.
Victoria Hendricks
December 2, 2010
No connection between silver
and gold - all things that shine
are not the same - all birds
sing distinct songs. Sapphire
is not ruby nor emerald a tree.
You are only you and never me.
Victoria Hendricks
December 2, 2010
Enough (Big Tent Prompt)
Winter Hope
Shorter days follow
longer nights. Darkness
chills every hollow.
Still hope whispers
there is light enough.
Victoria Hendricks
December 2, 2002
Shorter days follow
longer nights. Darkness
chills every hollow.
Still hope whispers
there is light enough.
Victoria Hendricks
December 2, 2002
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
PAD 30 - Lessons learned
Still Learning
Almost sixty, I'm still
learning when to speak
and when to stay silent,
when to push,when wait,
when to sit back, stand up.
I know I know less than
I believed I knew at thirty.
I know I know enough
that I best pass it on.
Almost sixty, still learniong.
Victoria Hendricks
November 30,2010
Almost sixty, I'm still
learning when to speak
and when to stay silent,
when to push,when wait,
when to sit back, stand up.
I know I know less than
I believed I knew at thirty.
I know I know enough
that I best pass it on.
Almost sixty, still learniong.
Victoria Hendricks
November 30,2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
PAD 29 - Next Step
Two Degrees
If I don't change direction
I get where I'm headed.
Next step continues script.
If I turn my toes two degrees
destination shifts completely.
Next step rewrites script.
If I don't change direction
I get where I'm headed.
Next step continues script.
If I turn my toes two degrees
destination shifts completely.
Next step rewrites script.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
PAD 28 - The Real Story
My Birth Parents
They were young,
in college, fell into
bed, expected bliss
not broken condom.
Conception began me.
They were young,
planned to marry,
keep me, but based
on religion, both their
parents rejected me.
They were young,
could not imagine
life with or without me,
arranged safe adoption,
will never know me.
Victoria Hendricks
November 28, 2010
They were young,
in college, fell into
bed, expected bliss
not broken condom.
Conception began me.
They were young,
planned to marry,
keep me, but based
on religion, both their
parents rejected me.
They were young,
could not imagine
life with or without me,
arranged safe adoption,
will never know me.
Victoria Hendricks
November 28, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
PAD 27 - Blame the Opposition
Don't
blame the opposition,
make different evil,
ridicule, depersonalize,
make them monsters.
it's so easy, tempting
to blame the opposition.
Don't.
Victoria Hendricks
November 27, 2010
blame the opposition,
make different evil,
ridicule, depersonalize,
make them monsters.
it's so easy, tempting
to blame the opposition.
Don't.
Victoria Hendricks
November 27, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
PAD 26- Running
Boy Runs
with amazement, free.
You laugh when you fall,
bounce to your feet, leap
into loving arms. You
do not run away from,
for, against. You run with
joy, because you can.
Victoria Hendricks
November 26, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
PAD 25 - Animal
Bear in Winter
Come soul winter
I take to my cave,
pull up dark silence
to barricade entrance,
curl in the shadows,
dream my solutions.
When I emerge, new
life follows my footsteps.
Come soul winter
I take to my cave,
pull up dark silence
to barricade entrance,
curl in the shadows,
dream my solutions.
When I emerge, new
life follows my footsteps.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Space - PAD 24
Magic
My daughter Ruth
works magic with space,
turns chair, clears air,
paints wall, work of art,
opens hearts, sets table,
nourishes friendships,
organizes for serenity,
designs for connection,
moves through room,
trails beauty like love.
Victoria Hendricks
November 24, 2010
My daughter Ruth
works magic with space,
turns chair, clears air,
paints wall, work of art,
opens hearts, sets table,
nourishes friendships,
organizes for serenity,
designs for connection,
moves through room,
trails beauty like love.
Victoria Hendricks
November 24, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
PAD 23- Form and nonform poems
Nostalgia (haiku- form poem)
Autumn softens view.
Faded gold glows with tired dreams.
Trees remember spring.
Victoria Hendricks
November 23, 2010
Nostalgia (nonform)
Come fall I remember
sitting on the curb
feet in the gutter,
amazed big boys
could ride two wheel
bikes and not fall over.
amazed pear trees
dropped leaves as big
as my hand, more colors
than I could count at five.
Victoria Hendricks
November 23, 2009
Monday, November 22, 2010
To Take a Stand - PAD 22
Still Standing
At eighteen it was easy,
essential, to take stands,
for, against, on paper,
in public, in my heart.
At forty it was hard enough
to keep my feet, to remain
standing, change hurricane force,
any stand barely maintained.
Almost sixty, I manage tenuous
balance, resist momentum to
take exteme stands, dare not
sit this one out. Keep balance.
Victoria Hendricks
November 22, 2010
Swimming- for We Write Poems
Surrender
I would enter ocean
naked from deserted
beach and swim toward
horizon until waves
overcame life force.
Victoria Hendricks
November 22, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
PAD 21 - Permission
Permission Irrelevant
Death does not ask permission.
She comes when she will.
I need not ask permission
to fill to the brim each day I live.
Victoria Hendricks
November 21, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
PAD 20 - Right, Wrong
Human Error
That's why pencils have erasers.
It is insanity to repeat the same
mistake and expect a new ending.
We all make mistakes.
Victoria Hendricks
November 20, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
PAD 19 - Holes
Void
Emptiness aches,
contains all I need.
Emptiness urges
action, motion, choice.
Emptiness opens
opportunities, creativity.
Emptiness calls,
contains all I need.
Victoria Hendricks
November 19, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
PAD 18, Lost and Found
Enough
Innocence lost.
Wisdom found.
That is the best
I can hope for.
It is enough.
Victoria Hendricks
November 18, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
PAD 17, The Reason
No Reason
I can't care why
we live, hurt, die.
Only question I dare,
is what best I do now.
Victoria Hendricks
November 17, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
PAD 16, Stacks
Treasure (for Bob)
I find myself in your stacks,
birthday card, grocery list,
broken string of cobalt beads,
bird lists from Mule Shoe,
random sketch of our child.
You find yourself in my stacks too.
Victoria Hendricks
November 16, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
PAD 15 -On a Clear Day
No Protection
the day your cancer
was diagnosed, the
day we called hospice,
the day of your funeral.
Lightening can strike
from clear blue sky.
Victoria Hendricks
November 15, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Crossroad Prompt - PAD 14
Constant
Each waking moment,
I stand each at a fresh
crossroad, choices open.
Love and ego present
clear or muddied options.
No waking moment is free
of opportunity, risk, hope,
danger, power of choice.
We live at the crossroad.
Victoria Hendricks
November 14, 2010
Each waking moment,
I stand each at a fresh
crossroad, choices open.
Love and ego present
clear or muddied options.
No waking moment is free
of opportunity, risk, hope,
danger, power of choice.
We live at the crossroad.
Victoria Hendricks
November 14, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
PAD 13- Question Poem
What Matters?
Only the things
I decide, you decide
we decide matter.
Victoria Hendricks
November 14, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
PAD 13- Forget
Forget Death
Know death can claim
you, me, today, tomorrow.
Know death will come
on her own terms.
Know death will come
then forget her, and live.
Victoria Hendricks
November 12, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
PAD 11 - No One Wants War
No one, knowing, wants war.
No one wants her
son dead in distant
dessert, home in
flag draped coffin,.
No one wants his city
in flames, mobs in street,
stores empty, bread lines
children big eyed starving.
No one wants to wake
to sirens, gather squalling baby,
dash for shelter,fear you'll recignise
friend's faces on bodies in the street.
No one wants war until
her ideals, land, plans
are challenged and she
forgets war's smell.
No one, knowing, wants war.
Victoria Hendricks
No one wants her
son dead in distant
dessert, home in
flag draped coffin,.
No one wants his city
in flames, mobs in street,
stores empty, bread lines
children big eyed starving.
No one wants to wake
to sirens, gather squalling baby,
dash for shelter,fear you'll recignise
friend's faces on bodies in the street.
No one wants war until
her ideals, land, plans
are challenged and she
forgets war's smell.
No one, knowing, wants war.
Victoria Hendricks
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
PAD 10 - A Love Poem
Silver beach morning,
You wake me with song,
Pull me out early to watch
dolphins meet the dawn.
Noon on Thanksgiving,
You peel piles of potatoes,
set table with crystal,
together we feed family.
Afternoon thunderstorm,
High on canyon rim,
I tremble. You hold me.
Danger leaves a rainbow.
Evening at Mule Shoe,
we kiss, await sunset, ,
for the cranes to return
to the waters to rest.
Midnight, nightmare,
You sing me lullaby,
I stroke your hair.
You are, I am right here.
Victoria Hendricks
November 10, 2010
You wake me with song,
Pull me out early to watch
dolphins meet the dawn.
Noon on Thanksgiving,
You peel piles of potatoes,
set table with crystal,
together we feed family.
Afternoon thunderstorm,
High on canyon rim,
I tremble. You hold me.
Danger leaves a rainbow.
Evening at Mule Shoe,
we kiss, await sunset, ,
for the cranes to return
to the waters to rest.
Midnight, nightmare,
You sing me lullaby,
I stroke your hair.
You are, I am right here.
Victoria Hendricks
November 10, 2010
PAD 9- Pace - Speed Up Slow Down
Speed up. Slow down.
Tires me, constantly
modulating my pace.
Rather be like tide,
moon, winter, coming,
going, dying, growing,
at whatever rate I will.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Magic Prompt - We Write Poems
time is up, heart sinks,
mind races, soul hides,
magic calls neighbor to stop
her car in random parking lot
to wrap me in sustaining hug.
Magic manifests utterly
unexpected dividend check
just enough to replace sewage
just enough to replace sewage
system the day bath tubs back up.
Magic keeps my feet moving,
Magic keeps my feet moving,
forces me to put on the second
shoe when I would choose to quit,
to die, to lose my life in missing you.
Magic is the pattern that connects,
bigger than me, infinite mystery.
Victoria Hendricks
November 8, 2010
bigger than me, infinite mystery.
Victoria Hendricks
November 8, 2010
Best Seller Title Prompt for Big Tent (The Last Boy)
For Dean
The last boy I kissed,
full on the lips, you turn
sixty this year like me.
Eighteen, we shared an
orange in a secret fairy circle
in hills covered mustard gold,
lupin blue, rode a friend's horse
on Pacific beach, licked cherry
brandy off each other's lips,
worried over colleges, parents,
different dreams, different coasts.
You let me down easy. I needed
you at home to receive my letters
so I could leave. You understood.
By nineteen, last kiss in my mother's
kitchen, you were no longer a boy,
told me you'd met someone beautiful
at the Renaissance Festival, that she
needed you in a way I didn't and you
needed that. I'd met someone too ,
wasn't honest enough yet to admit
he held my future, knew me flawed
and whole. I cried ten minutes when
you broke up with me, then we talked
hours, sweet friends, happy to be free.
I'm lucky you were the last boy I kissed.
Victoria Hendricks
November 8, 2010
The last boy I kissed,
full on the lips, you turn
sixty this year like me.
Eighteen, we shared an
orange in a secret fairy circle
in hills covered mustard gold,
lupin blue, rode a friend's horse
on Pacific beach, licked cherry
brandy off each other's lips,
worried over colleges, parents,
different dreams, different coasts.
You let me down easy. I needed
you at home to receive my letters
so I could leave. You understood.
By nineteen, last kiss in my mother's
kitchen, you were no longer a boy,
told me you'd met someone beautiful
at the Renaissance Festival, that she
needed you in a way I didn't and you
needed that. I'd met someone too ,
wasn't honest enough yet to admit
he held my future, knew me flawed
and whole. I cried ten minutes when
you broke up with me, then we talked
hours, sweet friends, happy to be free.
I'm lucky you were the last boy I kissed.
Victoria Hendricks
November 8, 2010
For Bob (A Healing)
The moon will wane and wax again,
rise scarlet and full over warm Gulf.
The coyote in the dunes will wink
and slink away, defeated trickster.
You and I will laugh and kiss chest
deep in lapping water and joy will win.
Victoria Hendricks
November 8, 2010
rise scarlet and full over warm Gulf.
The coyote in the dunes will wink
and slink away, defeated trickster.
You and I will laugh and kiss chest
deep in lapping water and joy will win.
Victoria Hendricks
November 8, 2010
PAD 8 - Agreement
Agree to Disagree
World-saving cliche.
Children, families, religions,
nations, earth, universe
can no longer afford
the constant futile fight
over who is wrong, right.
We must find infinite ways
to move forward together,
without requiring agreement.
Continuing life depends on
cooperation, not agreement.
Victoria Hendricks
November 9, 2010
World-saving cliche.
Children, families, religions,
nations, earth, universe
can no longer afford
the constant futile fight
over who is wrong, right.
We must find infinite ways
to move forward together,
without requiring agreement.
Continuing life depends on
cooperation, not agreement.
Victoria Hendricks
November 9, 2010
PAD 7 - Pro prompt - Pro Balance
Years flow gently, trail through
flowered meadow full of bird song.
Years rush like freeway, well marked,
exit options clear, speed limit posted.
One phone call, one diagnosis, one fire
and path becomes narrow bridge.
random stepping stones across flood.
Best to practice balance on smooth path.
Victoria Hendricks
November 8, 2010
flowered meadow full of bird song.
Years rush like freeway, well marked,
exit options clear, speed limit posted.
One phone call, one diagnosis, one fire
and path becomes narrow bridge.
random stepping stones across flood.
Best to practice balance on smooth path.
Victoria Hendricks
November 8, 2010
PAD 6 Looking for... Questions
Living has knocked
the questions out of me.
Why is too hard.
Child is born to abuse,
peace, starvation, privilege
bombings, acceptance.
Cells mutate, destroy brain.
Talent blossoms untutored.
Victim dies of depression,
takes gun to school, puts pen
to paper in powerful protest.
Car hits median, flaming coffin,
or carries passengers safely home.
Nation drops bomb or signs treaty.
Person chooses love or chooses ego.
Why is too hard.
What can I do about it?
Living demands I keep asking.
Victoria Hendricks
November 6, 2010
the questions out of me.
Why is too hard.
Child is born to abuse,
peace, starvation, privilege
bombings, acceptance.
Cells mutate, destroy brain.
Talent blossoms untutored.
Victim dies of depression,
takes gun to school, puts pen
to paper in powerful protest.
Car hits median, flaming coffin,
or carries passengers safely home.
Nation drops bomb or signs treaty.
Person chooses love or chooses ego.
Why is too hard.
What can I do about it?
Living demands I keep asking.
Victoria Hendricks
November 6, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
PAD 5- A Transformation
Each stone, painting, feather,
each tear in tired leather ,
each square yard of carpet,
each slant of light is familiar,
signifies office after 26 years
is built not of wood, glass, paint
but of choices, tears, memories,
life force, defeat, triumph, hope,
A place made sacred by story.
Victoria Hendricks
November 5, 2010
each tear in tired leather ,
each square yard of carpet,
each slant of light is familiar,
signifies office after 26 years
is built not of wood, glass, paint
but of choices, tears, memories,
life force, defeat, triumph, hope,
A place made sacred by story.
Victoria Hendricks
November 5, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Mourning the Silent Celebration. of..Nimue - (Big Tent Prompt)
Nimue, your liine struck me.
Mourning, the silent celebration of
lost loves and temporary triumphs,
moments bravely held against winds
of change, courage that fights death
and courage that meets death.
Mourning, the silent celebration of
tenacious, vulnerable human being.
Mourning, the silent celebration of
lost loves and temporary triumphs,
moments bravely held against winds
of change, courage that fights death
and courage that meets death.
Mourning, the silent celebration of
tenacious, vulnerable human being.
Words of Wisdom- for We Write Poems
I collect words of wisdom,
mantras, compasses, touchstones.
Real is better than perfect.
When all else fails be kind.
Be the change you seek.
Do it now.
Choose love, not ego.
Give yourself to love, if
love is what you're after.
candles, anchors, guideposts,
I collect words of wisdom.
Victoria Hendricks
November 4, 2001
mantras, compasses, touchstones.
Real is better than perfect.
When all else fails be kind.
Be the change you seek.
Do it now.
Choose love, not ego.
Give yourself to love, if
love is what you're after.
candles, anchors, guideposts,
I collect words of wisdom.
Victoria Hendricks
November 4, 2001
PAD 4- Containment
Hold me.
Enfold me.
Keep me safe.
I begged my mother.
I begged my lover.
I begged my God.
Hold me.
Enfold me.
Keep me safe.
I promise myself yes.
I promise myself always.
I promise with each breath.
I hold me.
I enfold me.
There is no safe.
Victoria Hendricks
November 4, 2010
Enfold me.
Keep me safe.
I begged my mother.
I begged my lover.
I begged my God.
Hold me.
Enfold me.
Keep me safe.
I promise myself yes.
I promise myself always.
I promise with each breath.
I hold me.
I enfold me.
There is no safe.
Victoria Hendricks
November 4, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Poertic Asides, Day Three - Kitchen Sink Time Machine
I stand at my kitchen sink,
pause as potato peel curls
into blue glass bowl. Onion
sautees in my grandma's
battered stew pot. Bay leaf,
browning beef, scent house
with hope, continuity, home.
Black Caleb, ancient now, seems
just a blink from frozen kitten
mewing on porch deck replaced.
Pine cone tumbles with thump from
towering tree I still see as six inch sapling
in a paper cup, gift from Christmas Tree
recycling center your eighth grade year.
Your daughter could be me or you,
shines in eighth grade now, same school.
Mystery is how generations fold into mix
of memory, family. Recipe repeats turn
dial on time machine, kitchen sink.
Victoria Hendricks
November 3, 2010
Victoria HendricksNovember 3, 2010
pause as potato peel curls
into blue glass bowl. Onion
sautees in my grandma's
battered stew pot. Bay leaf,
browning beef, scent house
with hope, continuity, home.
Black Caleb, ancient now, seems
just a blink from frozen kitten
mewing on porch deck replaced.
Pine cone tumbles with thump from
towering tree I still see as six inch sapling
in a paper cup, gift from Christmas Tree
recycling center your eighth grade year.
Your daughter could be me or you,
shines in eighth grade now, same school.
Mystery is how generations fold into mix
of memory, family. Recipe repeats turn
dial on time machine, kitchen sink.
Victoria Hendricks
November 3, 2010
Victoria HendricksNovember 3, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Ready - Poetic Asides Poem a Day 2
Not ready is a luxury I can't afford.
Foot in front of foot, mind in moment,
centered as possible, open to options,
Alive now, scared, vulnerable, fallible.
I can do my best and hurt you anyway.
I can fall and rise or simply fall dead.
No outcome is certain. Possibility flutters
as long as heart beats. Delight flits in,
unexpected as loss. Foot in front of foot.
Not ready is a luxury I cannot afford.
Victoria Hendricks
November 2, 2010
Foot in front of foot, mind in moment,
centered as possible, open to options,
Alive now, scared, vulnerable, fallible.
I can do my best and hurt you anyway.
I can fall and rise or simply fall dead.
No outcome is certain. Possibility flutters
as long as heart beats. Delight flits in,
unexpected as loss. Foot in front of foot.
Not ready is a luxury I cannot afford.
Victoria Hendricks
November 2, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Poetic Asides Poem a Day One Shut: Now What?
At 54, you graduated, new teacher
second career, masters' degree, rightful
use of your gifts, shared dream,
chance for me to help you help kids.
I loved to make name tags
each August, learn names for
each new class, mentor sad girls,
teach fourth graders story telling.
You were a teacher and I was
your wife. We crafted our own
informal Peace Corps volunteerism.
Dream fed our need to help.
It's all over now. You want out of
the classroom after seven years,
some sweetness, too many shut minds,
Frustration that your gifts ring hollow.
The door is locked No good to bang
it with my fists. I lean against shut door
to your classroom, smell chalk dust,catch
breath., check out the hall for new dreams.
Victoria Hendricks
November 1, 2001
second career, masters' degree, rightful
use of your gifts, shared dream,
chance for me to help you help kids.
I loved to make name tags
each August, learn names for
each new class, mentor sad girls,
teach fourth graders story telling.
You were a teacher and I was
your wife. We crafted our own
informal Peace Corps volunteerism.
Dream fed our need to help.
It's all over now. You want out of
the classroom after seven years,
some sweetness, too many shut minds,
Frustration that your gifts ring hollow.
The door is locked No good to bang
it with my fists. I lean against shut door
to your classroom, smell chalk dust,catch
breath., check out the hall for new dreams.
Victoria Hendricks
November 1, 2001
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Vote
I was taught
Vote is four letter
synonym for care.
Serious responsibility,
to learn issues, needs,
vote values, not self-
interest, vote for the
good of the whole,
people, planet, plans.
Cynicism, discouragement,
persecution do not excuse
failure to escercise my
power to vote.
Vote is four letter
synonym for care.
Serious responsibility,
to learn issues, needs,
vote values, not self-
interest, vote for the
good of the whole,
people, planet, plans.
Cynicism, discouragement,
persecution do not excuse
failure to escercise my
power to vote.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Home
I conjugate home in past tense,
no TV, no central air or heat,
Piano in corner of big kitchen gets
family voices passing familiar tunes
back and forth, accompanied by
red bird in giant pecan out window.
Home has killer domino game going
on screened in back porch. Glass bottles
of Dr. Pepper chill in shoulder high fridge
Clothesline flaps neat rows of faded towels,
embroidered pillow case samplers, record
of sewing kill. passed down generations.
Home smells of hot beef stew with bay leaf,
cinnamon sugar buchta, peaches off the tree.
Black rotary phone hangs above hall table,
rings maybe once a day. Books in three languages
layer tables, shelves. Typewriter clicks out letters.
I have WiFI now, AC, TV, hybrid car, drier,
but I still conjugate "home" in past tense.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Oz prompt
Prompt is to write from some viewpoint in the Wizard of Oz. I speak for the field of poppies.
Seduction
We sing you home on chaos wind.
Come now and lay your heavy head
soft in our dream-billowed bed.
Fools, you follow, and pretend
yellow brick road is no dead end.
Too short the night, too long day,
Our scent is heavy, rich and sweet.
Forget and drift in silken sleep.
Home is lost and hope dies deep.
Seduction
We sing you home on chaos wind.
Come now and lay your heavy head
soft in our dream-billowed bed.
Fools, you follow, and pretend
yellow brick road is no dead end.
Too short the night, too long day,
Our scent is heavy, rich and sweet.
Forget and drift in silken sleep.
Home is lost and hope dies deep.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Prayer
Prayer
Let me be one
who chooses
love, not ego.
Let me be one
who questions.
Let me be one
who abides.
Let be be one
in balance.
Let me be one
who listens.
Let me be one
who rejoices.
Let me be one
who chooses
love not ego.
Let me be one
who chooses
love, not ego.
Let me be one
who questions.
Let me be one
who abides.
Let be be one
in balance.
Let me be one
who listens.
Let me be one
who rejoices.
Let me be one
who chooses
love not ego.
Autumn Dread - for Big Tent fall fear prompt
Sun deserts, shadow deepens before supper.
Acorns, feathers, pecans, fall from violet sky
Disquiet rides with waxing gibbous moon.
Mars hangs heavy, red over dry creek bed.
Frogs have gone from pond, fireflies from field.
Sleeping grandson in stroller, Sheltie on leash,
Barred owl in oak, heart in chest cry warning.
Death, life, intuition, hope, truth, illusion, fear
blow in cold from north. Reality flickers when
autumn falls. Bright spring morning lies far behind,
far ahead. Stormy autumn evening, I know nothing
for sure, meet my demons, dance with my dead.
Victoria Hendricks
October 20,2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
How To Avoid Betraying
trying too hard, self-
delusion, needing too
much to please, hope
against desperate hope.
Antidote to betrayal
is realistic boundaries,
willingness to see
limitations, acceptance
of failure, integrity.
Victoria Hendricks
October 20, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Rise
When life catches fire
remember the phoenix
Accept the terror and
mystery of the forge.
There is no statute of
limitations on ressurection.
Victoria Hendricks
October 20,2010
remember the phoenix
Accept the terror and
mystery of the forge.
There is no statute of
limitations on ressurection.
Victoria Hendricks
October 20,2010
What People Do
People choose
According to training,
values, character,
whatever disasters
opportunities befall,
people choose.
Victoria Hendricks
October 18,2010
According to training,
values, character,
whatever disasters
opportunities befall,
people choose.
Victoria Hendricks
October 18,2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Crossed Up
Each family member stands,
lies, balks, strides forward
at some crucial crossroad.
To hang on or let go, repair
or retreat, apologize or save
face, forgive or stay safe, trust
or protect, surrender or fight on.
I stumble through spaghetti maze,
blinded by whirling paths, stakes
life or death, uneven ground rolls,
fog masks, confuses so I struggle to
remember there is an I, a mine, a self.
I seek wisdon, vision, to penetrate mist
of helpless love and choose my own path.
Victoria Hendricks
September 17, 2010
lies, balks, strides forward
at some crucial crossroad.
To hang on or let go, repair
or retreat, apologize or save
face, forgive or stay safe, trust
or protect, surrender or fight on.
I stumble through spaghetti maze,
blinded by whirling paths, stakes
life or death, uneven ground rolls,
fog masks, confuses so I struggle to
remember there is an I, a mine, a self.
I seek wisdon, vision, to penetrate mist
of helpless love and choose my own path.
Victoria Hendricks
September 17, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Big Tent Wordle Poem for 10-15-2010
Strength
Takes real courage,
not cute denatured pluck
to extract bitter hook of
objectification, impossible
glossy magazine feminitity,
drooping damsel in distress
helplessness. I'm no enchanted
princess, no beautiful sleeping doll
imprisoned in tower atop fantasy's
staircase. I will not passively
await liberation through perfect
paission's magic purple kiss.
I dip my sacred drinking gourd into
muddy waters, quench my own
thirst, drink deeply of the river Life.
Victoria Hendricks
October 12, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
Prompt "Place yourself in a car."
Road Trip Paradise
Well pillowed, I chew orange slice candy,
and preside over green quilt pastures,
forget the floorboard. Central hump
becomes hill from which cardboard
cabin commands view of grazing horses.
Front seat parents provide soundtrack.
Daddy whistles background. Mama sings.
Home on the Range. Oh what a Beautiful
Morning. Mares Eat Oats and Does Eat Oats.
I look up, out the window, see Arizona sky
glow with the color I just learned to call azure.
I canter my palomino mare up the hill so
she can see too as we traverse paradise.
Victoria Hendricks
October 8, 2010
Two takes on Contentment
The conversation about contentment here is intriguing. I realize I use the word, and most words about personal state in two very different ways - one is feeling and the other as choice, decision, attitude. So I have two very different contentment poems.
Contentment - The feeling
I lay out bait for contentment.
Candles glow rich bergamot.
by chair full book basket beckons.
Rose quilt offers soft embrace.
Amber beads hung in sun entice.
But contentment is a fickle cat.
she comes only when she wills.
Victoria Hendricks
October 8, 2010
Contentment - The attitude
I have enough.
I do enough.
I am enough.
Dayenu.
Victoria Hendricks
October 8, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Big Tent poem from springboard
The prompt is to use a line from another poet's work as a springboard. I kept trying to use something less familiar, but just kept circling back to "Hope is a thing with feathers."by Emily Dickenson.
Feathered Hope
Hope is a thing with feathers.
I memorized when I was five.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
She lived alone in her garden.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
Maybe she was as lonely as I.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
Words flutter between my eyes.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
Maybe I can fly poems too.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
Feathered Hope
Hope is a thing with feathers.
I memorized when I was five.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
She lived alone in her garden.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
Maybe she was as lonely as I.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
Words flutter between my eyes.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
Maybe I can fly poems too.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
Hope is a thing with feathers.
Owl
I soar on quiet wing,
see through illusion,
call your conscience
to truth - Who you?
You conjure me dark,
death sayer. Night eagle.
I do not fear the dark,
as you do- Who, you?
I fly when others fear,
know moon on still lake,
call out stars and questions.
Who you? Who you?
Victoria Hendricks,
October 7, 2010
see through illusion,
call your conscience
to truth - Who you?
You conjure me dark,
death sayer. Night eagle.
I do not fear the dark,
as you do- Who, you?
I fly when others fear,
know moon on still lake,
call out stars and questions.
Who you? Who you?
Victoria Hendricks,
October 7, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Adventure Poem for Big Tent
The prompt at Big Tent Poetry is to do something I haven't done in a while - an adventure - and let it stir a poem. So here here I am in
Dance Class at 59
Folded up my leotard when
I found myself pregnant the
first time, thirty four years ago.
Let go of stretch, reach, kick.
turn, spot, keep your unison,
lift, leap, rise, fall into the beat.
So I was scared, excited when
my granddaughter's dance school
offered a free afternoon of classes.
I sat on the floor, bare foot in floppy
pants and tank top, flexed and pointed
feet which have not forgotten the music .
Directions tumbled fast into jumbled
brain, left kick up down turn right, head
down, hand on hat, kick, spin, three steps
back, cross, arabesque. Confused, half
a step behind, backwards, I do not have
my old moves but age can't steal the joy
of sweating in a room swaying with song.
Victoria Hendricks
October 1, 2o10
Dance Class at 59
Folded up my leotard when
I found myself pregnant the
first time, thirty four years ago.
Let go of stretch, reach, kick.
turn, spot, keep your unison,
lift, leap, rise, fall into the beat.
So I was scared, excited when
my granddaughter's dance school
offered a free afternoon of classes.
I sat on the floor, bare foot in floppy
pants and tank top, flexed and pointed
feet which have not forgotten the music .
Directions tumbled fast into jumbled
brain, left kick up down turn right, head
down, hand on hat, kick, spin, three steps
back, cross, arabesque. Confused, half
a step behind, backwards, I do not have
my old moves but age can't steal the joy
of sweating in a room swaying with song.
Victoria Hendricks
October 1, 2o10
Illusion
Light travels faster than sound.
First impressions freeze illusion.
We see the fat, the graceful,
curves, the bulging muscles,
the bad teeth, the manicure,
the age, race, sex, style
before we hear the words,
the voice, the reasons, the
fear, the meanness, the resolve,
the superficiality, the hope.
We think we know enough to
judge before we hear the story.
Victoria Hendricks
September 30, 2010
First impressions freeze illusion.
We see the fat, the graceful,
curves, the bulging muscles,
the bad teeth, the manicure,
the age, race, sex, style
before we hear the words,
the voice, the reasons, the
fear, the meanness, the resolve,
the superficiality, the hope.
We think we know enough to
judge before we hear the story.
Victoria Hendricks
September 30, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Something Different
This effort is in unfamiliar form, the haibun, a mixture of prose and poetry inspired by haiku.
The prompt from Big Tent Poetry is "Write a travel log in which you encounter a mythical creature. You can write the poem as free verse if you like, but if you want an extra challenge, write your encounter as a 'haibun'. Check the HSA Definitions web site (thanks Mary) if you want to learn more about haibun, which is completely new to me. Thanks Carollee for the stretch.
Secret
I search silver shore, dawn, dusk, dawn, dusk, seek dancing flip of dophin, peregrine, watch waves for unicorn. Dusk, dawn. Dusk, dawn. From sunny dunes coyote laughs.
Waves are only waves.
Full moon provides only light.
Real magic, life force.
Victoria Hendricks
September 20, 2010
The prompt from Big Tent Poetry is "Write a travel log in which you encounter a mythical creature. You can write the poem as free verse if you like, but if you want an extra challenge, write your encounter as a 'haibun'. Check the HSA Definitions web site (thanks Mary) if you want to learn more about haibun, which is completely new to me. Thanks Carollee for the stretch.
Secret
I search silver shore, dawn, dusk, dawn, dusk, seek dancing flip of dophin, peregrine, watch waves for unicorn. Dusk, dawn. Dusk, dawn. From sunny dunes coyote laughs.
Waves are only waves.
Full moon provides only light.
Real magic, life force.
Victoria Hendricks
September 20, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Kerry Sullivan
Cliche says all dead husbands are saints.
Truth is, I will never know you sixty,
never see you with paunch or thinned curls,
I have only the man I remember today.
I still have the man I remember today.
You told stories, audiences found you.
You illustrated on napkins, notebooks,
grabbed pencils, examples, metaphors.
You never could read a clock or a map
but memorized books about anything.
You learned languages as if by magic,
never installed a garbage disposal.
You chose me because I argued it is
as dangerous for head to run away with
heart as for heart to run away with head.
I chose you because you held me like
music or a wild bird, because you meant
it when you told me family mattered most.
You hated bullies. Adored roller coaster rides,
found sports boring but loved long walks,
claimed the Texas hill country as heartland,
Lived with passion, died with acceptance.
Cliche says all dead husbands are saints.
Truth is I'll never know you sixty.
Can't know how you might have hurt me.
I have only the man I remember today.
I still have the man I remember today.
Victoria Hendricks
September 18, 2010
Truth is, I will never know you sixty,
never see you with paunch or thinned curls,
I have only the man I remember today.
I still have the man I remember today.
You told stories, audiences found you.
You illustrated on napkins, notebooks,
grabbed pencils, examples, metaphors.
You never could read a clock or a map
but memorized books about anything.
You learned languages as if by magic,
never installed a garbage disposal.
You chose me because I argued it is
as dangerous for head to run away with
heart as for heart to run away with head.
I chose you because you held me like
music or a wild bird, because you meant
it when you told me family mattered most.
You hated bullies. Adored roller coaster rides,
found sports boring but loved long walks,
claimed the Texas hill country as heartland,
Lived with passion, died with acceptance.
Cliche says all dead husbands are saints.
Truth is I'll never know you sixty.
Can't know how you might have hurt me.
I have only the man I remember today.
I still have the man I remember today.
Victoria Hendricks
September 18, 2010
Autumn Rhythms
Autumn brings harvest
not only sobering fall
of bright dead leaves.
Next year's rich harvest
depends on leaf energy
released by flaming death.
Autumn sings in minor key.
Autumn rhythms tell truth.
Life depends on death
Victoria Hendricks
September 18, 2010
not only sobering fall
of bright dead leaves.
Next year's rich harvest
depends on leaf energy
released by flaming death.
Autumn sings in minor key.
Autumn rhythms tell truth.
Life depends on death
Victoria Hendricks
September 18, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Foil
Mortality makes moments infinite.
Never know which memory will fall last,
which image will warm or chill after death.
Mortality calls me to dance now, work now,
confide now, grow now, forgive now.
Mortality throws shadow, accentuates light.
reminds me death is muse, not menace.
Mortality makes moments infinite.
Victoria Hendricks,
September 15, 2010
Never know which memory will fall last,
which image will warm or chill after death.
Mortality calls me to dance now, work now,
confide now, grow now, forgive now.
Mortality throws shadow, accentuates light.
reminds me death is muse, not menace.
Mortality makes moments infinite.
Victoria Hendricks,
September 15, 2010
Waxing Crescent
Waxing crescent sets in September dusk,
Silver hope shines bright in fading aqua sky.
She rose invisible, masked by sun's full light,
glows strong, increases, with darkening night.
Victoria Hendricks
Septembr 14, 2010
Silver hope shines bright in fading aqua sky.
She rose invisible, masked by sun's full light,
glows strong, increases, with darkening night.
Victoria Hendricks
Septembr 14, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Handle with Care
Belief without action
falls impotent, futile.
Action without belief
flutters unfocused,
misses it's mark.
Powerful marriage,
belief and action,
for good or for harm.
easily corrupted,
essential for change.
Enacted belief flew
to the moon, had a dream,
exterminated six million Jews,
keeps talk show hosts shouting,
doesn't give up on any child.
Activated belief, like fire, water
creats, desstroys, kills, gives life.
Consider, doubt, balance, dare.
Check your mirrors, mind heart, soul
before activating belief. Then act.
Victoria Hendricks
September 2, 2010
falls impotent, futile.
Action without belief
flutters unfocused,
misses it's mark.
Powerful marriage,
belief and action,
for good or for harm.
easily corrupted,
essential for change.
Enacted belief flew
to the moon, had a dream,
exterminated six million Jews,
keeps talk show hosts shouting,
doesn't give up on any child.
Activated belief, like fire, water
creats, desstroys, kills, gives life.
Consider, doubt, balance, dare.
Check your mirrors, mind heart, soul
before activating belief. Then act.
Victoria Hendricks
September 2, 2010
As I Am
I am a serious person.
My voice cannot sing on key,
squeaks when I'm scared,
is rarely raised in laughter.
My voice commands attention,
absorbs panic, stills a room,
questions, requires, tells truth.
I am a serious person
Victoria Hendricks
August 30, 2010
My voice cannot sing on key,
squeaks when I'm scared,
is rarely raised in laughter.
My voice commands attention,
absorbs panic, stills a room,
questions, requires, tells truth.
I am a serious person
Victoria Hendricks
August 30, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Longing
I miss the scents of wilderness,
moving air over water, dunes,
cliff, hill, forest, plain, peak.
I miss the scents of wilderness,
salt, blossom, hot earth drinking
in cool rain, echo of bison, bear.
I miss the scents of wilderness,
that sweep my mind clean of plans,
wash me fresh to begin again.
Victoria Sullivan Hendricks,
August 24, 2010
moving air over water, dunes,
cliff, hill, forest, plain, peak.
I miss the scents of wilderness,
salt, blossom, hot earth drinking
in cool rain, echo of bison, bear.
I miss the scents of wilderness,
that sweep my mind clean of plans,
wash me fresh to begin again.
Victoria Sullivan Hendricks,
August 24, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Should I Live To Eighty
Should I Turn Eighty
Should I turn eighty,
of sound and eager mind,
Should I live to eighty,
of sound and eager mind,
I give myself permission
to let go of every day control,
to leave logistics to others,
to live outside of plans.
Should Ilive to eighty,
wise and shining of soul,
I give myself permission
to live like a happy child,
and devour each moment,
fully in the present.
Victoria Hendricks
July 20, 2010
Victoria Hendricks,
July 20, 2010
Should I turn eighty,
of sound and eager mind,
Should I live to eighty,
of sound and eager mind,
I give myself permission
to let go of every day control,
to leave logistics to others,
to live outside of plans.
Should Ilive to eighty,
wise and shining of soul,
I give myself permission
to live like a happy child,
and devour each moment,
fully in the present.
Victoria Hendricks
July 20, 2010
Victoria Hendricks,
July 20, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Poem in style of Jean Prevert
Je T'aime
Your mind excites me.
Je t'aime.
Your body thrills me.
Je taime.
I want to nuzzle your neck.
Je t'aime.
I crave your arms around me.
Je t'aime.
Your kindess touches me.
Je t'aime.
Your insights calm me.
Je t'aime.
I want you to be happy.
Je t'aime.
Your mortality scares me.
Je t'aime.
Victoria Hendricks
July 14, 2010
Your mind excites me.
Je t'aime.
Your body thrills me.
Je taime.
I want to nuzzle your neck.
Je t'aime.
I crave your arms around me.
Je t'aime.
Your kindess touches me.
Je t'aime.
Your insights calm me.
Je t'aime.
I want you to be happy.
Je t'aime.
Your mortality scares me.
Je t'aime.
Victoria Hendricks
July 14, 2010
Yes poems
Mary, in my online poetry group challenged us to write from and about "yes". I enjoyed coming at a basic human position from different angles.
Yes - 1
Yes,
Life is hard.
Life is good.
Yes.
Yes - 2
I will not tell you yes
when my gut screams no.
I will not tell you no
when my heart cries yes.
False yes invites resentment
False no invites regret.
I cannot trust your yes
until I've heard your no.
Easier to accept your no
once I know your true yes.
Yes -3
I am thankful for the times
I've dropped practical concerns,
rolled on the floor with the toddler,
giggled or wept too late with friends,
walked a dusky beach until moonrise,
made love on a rainy winter afternoon
with floor unswept, dishes in the sink.
Death says no soon enough.
In the mean time, I say yes.
Victoria Hendricks
July 14, 2010
Yes - 1
Yes,
Life is hard.
Life is good.
Yes.
Yes - 2
I will not tell you yes
when my gut screams no.
I will not tell you no
when my heart cries yes.
False yes invites resentment
False no invites regret.
I cannot trust your yes
until I've heard your no.
Easier to accept your no
once I know your true yes.
Yes -3
I am thankful for the times
I've dropped practical concerns,
rolled on the floor with the toddler,
giggled or wept too late with friends,
walked a dusky beach until moonrise,
made love on a rainy winter afternoon
with floor unswept, dishes in the sink.
Death says no soon enough.
In the mean time, I say yes.
Victoria Hendricks
July 14, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
Difficult conversation
You tell me what you think will make me proud.
I recognise the hollows. I did it too,
managed impression, with both of my parents,
let them believe I cared about getting the PhD,
scrubbed the baseboards before visits, practiced
the order of introductions, even took down the
yard sign for candidates and causes they despised.
I tried so hard to be a different kind of mother,
one you could tell, show anything, everything.
Effort does not always pay off. I keep trying.
Victoria Hendricks
July 1, 2010
I recognise the hollows. I did it too,
managed impression, with both of my parents,
let them believe I cared about getting the PhD,
scrubbed the baseboards before visits, practiced
the order of introductions, even took down the
yard sign for candidates and causes they despised.
I tried so hard to be a different kind of mother,
one you could tell, show anything, everything.
Effort does not always pay off. I keep trying.
Victoria Hendricks
July 1, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tree Poem
Judy writes of a poet who posted a poem every day on a tre to catch the attention of passersby, who might or might not otherwise read poems. Blogs are kind of like that too, though probably most of the people who come to poetry blogs do read and write poems. I feel challenged, fragile, pulled very tight between real blessings and so much wrong in smaller and larger world. So from that position, what d I want t post on my "tree"?
Remember
One foot in front of the other,
when best efforts fail.
One foot in front of the other.
when love fails to heal,
one foot in front of the other.,
when prayers ring empty,
one foot in front of the other.
when protection fails,
one foot in front of the other,
when fear clouds reason,
one foot in front of the other,
no matter what demons,
one foot in front of the other.
Victoria Hendricks
June 30, 2010
Remember
One foot in front of the other,
when best efforts fail.
One foot in front of the other.
when love fails to heal,
one foot in front of the other.,
when prayers ring empty,
one foot in front of the other.
when protection fails,
one foot in front of the other,
when fear clouds reason,
one foot in front of the other,
no matter what demons,
one foot in front of the other.
Victoria Hendricks
June 30, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Imagine prompt for Writers' Island
Perfect Empathy
Imagine perfect empathy.
I feel you. You feel me.
Margins fade. Egos recede.
Every life counts the same.
No number one No elect.
No justification. No meanness.
No outcasts. No losers..
Every life counts the same.
Margins fade, Egos recede.
I feel you. You feel me.
Imagine perfect empathy. .
Victoria Hendricks
June 26, 2011
Imagine perfect empathy.
I feel you. You feel me.
Margins fade. Egos recede.
Every life counts the same.
No number one No elect.
No justification. No meanness.
No outcasts. No losers..
Every life counts the same.
Margins fade, Egos recede.
I feel you. You feel me.
Imagine perfect empathy. .
Victoria Hendricks
June 26, 2011
Friday, June 25, 2010
Poems about the oil spill
Longest Day
I look to the sky, bleached blue
glare, damaged past forgiveness,
parching, unremitting, draining heat,
no breeze, no relief, longest day
I look to the sky and feel death
breathing car exhaust and bitterness
into my open eyes. The end has begun.
Victoria Hendricks
June 21, 2010
Too Late?
Carbon based life
drowns in excess.
Waste heats up.
Glacial ice melts.
We obsess, sad,
mad, nervous,guilty.
Self imposed circle
of greed chokes
hope, blackens sea.
Sorrow comes easy.
Choice is despair or
attempted repair.
Too late for birthdays?
Victoria Hendricks
June 23, 2010
I look to the sky, bleached blue
glare, damaged past forgiveness,
parching, unremitting, draining heat,
no breeze, no relief, longest day
I look to the sky and feel death
breathing car exhaust and bitterness
into my open eyes. The end has begun.
Victoria Hendricks
June 21, 2010
Too Late?
Carbon based life
drowns in excess.
Waste heats up.
Glacial ice melts.
We obsess, sad,
mad, nervous,guilty.
Self imposed circle
of greed chokes
hope, blackens sea.
Sorrow comes easy.
Choice is despair or
attempted repair.
Too late for birthdays?
Victoria Hendricks
June 23, 2010
I struggle (big tent prompt)
I struggle to write about family. Too complex, close to the bone, mixed. Did I raise a good family? Did I do my best? Does that even matter? What will happen to my daughters, their children? What choices will they make, what impact? how much of that is my responsibility and how much can I still change? Family is so vital, so intense, so mixed. I need it so much - need my daughters to be strong and ethical and good - so I can know I succeeded and so I can feel their love and strength flowing back at me. Classic attachment. I know that. Spiritually I know how to practice detaching, letting the strings out, loving without conditions. I struggle to write about family because I resent the rightness of detaching. I want to be able to want what I want in this area and get it. I just want us all to love each other and be good people and be OK, and I know family is never that simple.
Never Simple
Family is never simple,
crucible of survival
attachment essential,
mouth to nipple, breath
synchronized,children
fed first,joy in present
hope for future. Impossible
to detach completely when
they are grown, to give
them back to the universe,
to release judgement of
my essence, my life, my soul
dependent on their choices.
Family is never simple.
Victoria Hendricks
June 25, 2010
Never Simple
Family is never simple,
crucible of survival
attachment essential,
mouth to nipple, breath
synchronized,children
fed first,joy in present
hope for future. Impossible
to detach completely when
they are grown, to give
them back to the universe,
to release judgement of
my essence, my life, my soul
dependent on their choices.
Family is never simple.
Victoria Hendricks
June 25, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Too Late? From Wordle from We Write Poems
Too Late?
Carbon based life
drowns in excess.
Waste heats up,
glacial ice melts.
We obsess, sad,
mad, nervous,
Self imposed circle
of greed chokes
hope, blackens sea.
Sorrow comes easy.
Choice is despair or
attempt at repair.
Is it too late for birthdays?
Victoria Hendricks
June 23, 2010
Carbon based life
drowns in excess.
Waste heats up,
glacial ice melts.
We obsess, sad,
mad, nervous,
Self imposed circle
of greed chokes
hope, blackens sea.
Sorrow comes easy.
Choice is despair or
attempt at repair.
Is it too late for birthdays?
Victoria Hendricks
June 23, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Brushed Down
Brushed Down
Mama brushed my hair
to create her image of
well cared for, properly
groomed, perfect little girl.
Didn't matter that it hurt,
that I was happier with
loose pony tail down my
back crooked without
added bows and butterflies.
Mama brushed her pride
when she brushed my hair
Victoria Hendricks
June 9, 2010
Mama brushed my hair
to create her image of
well cared for, properly
groomed, perfect little girl.
Didn't matter that it hurt,
that I was happier with
loose pony tail down my
back crooked without
added bows and butterflies.
Mama brushed her pride
when she brushed my hair
Victoria Hendricks
June 9, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
For Big Tent - If I Would
I Would if I Would
I would if I would
spend a season alone,
in a cabin on an island,
simple food delivered
once a week, no words
spoken, just words written
and sleep, long walks,
no clock, no need for me.
I would if I would spend
a season alone. I will not.
Victoria Hendricks
June 3, 2010
I would if I would
spend a season alone,
in a cabin on an island,
simple food delivered
once a week, no words
spoken, just words written
and sleep, long walks,
no clock, no need for me.
I would if I would spend
a season alone. I will not.
Victoria Hendricks
June 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
My Office Door
My Office Door
Ordinary, seventies style
paneled wood door ,copper
tone knob, upside down
key hole second nature
after twenty four years.
You open on serenity,
familiar crystals, texts,
water color of quilt with
needle and thread still
attached, worn teak and
leather, my calmest self.
You close on mirrored pain,
arguments resolved, skills
mastered, losses survived,
secrets kept, transformations,
memories, goals, expectations,
safety of professional role.
Trick is choosing who to be,
when I hand over the key.
Victoria Hendricks
June 1, 2010
Ordinary, seventies style
paneled wood door ,copper
tone knob, upside down
key hole second nature
after twenty four years.
You open on serenity,
familiar crystals, texts,
water color of quilt with
needle and thread still
attached, worn teak and
leather, my calmest self.
You close on mirrored pain,
arguments resolved, skills
mastered, losses survived,
secrets kept, transformations,
memories, goals, expectations,
safety of professional role.
Trick is choosing who to be,
when I hand over the key.
Victoria Hendricks
June 1, 2010
Virtue Poem Two - Wisdom
Wisdom
Innocence expects
right action to result
in happy outcome.
Wisdom knows better,
does right anyway.
Victoria Hendricks
June 1, 2010
Innocence expects
right action to result
in happy outcome.
Wisdom knows better,
does right anyway.
Victoria Hendricks
June 1, 2010
Monday, May 31, 2010
Virtue series -1- Humility
Our online poetry group is writing about a different virtue each day.
Humility
His idea, hers,
mine, yours.
Origin irrelevant.
Only effect matters.
Victoria Hendricks
May 31, 2010
Humility
His idea, hers,
mine, yours.
Origin irrelevant.
Only effect matters.
Victoria Hendricks
May 31, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Freedom To
The prompt was aphrodisiac - which took me in the direction of thinking about what makes me feel free to be most sensual and sexualwith my partner.
Freedom To
Give me long days, long nights,
no schedule, sleep in your arms
beneath clean sheets, wake with
sea breeze through wide windows
and your hand in my hair. No worries,
long walks, long talks, complete
trust, memories and dreams
in common, breeze, new ideas,
but mostly time, no schedule,
no worry, just me and you, free to...
Victoria Hendricks
May 28, 2010
Freedom To
Give me long days, long nights,
no schedule, sleep in your arms
beneath clean sheets, wake with
sea breeze through wide windows
and your hand in my hair. No worries,
long walks, long talks, complete
trust, memories and dreams
in common, breeze, new ideas,
but mostly time, no schedule,
no worry, just me and you, free to...
Victoria Hendricks
May 28, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Place poem - We Write Poems
Nurse Log
Your son naps beneath mural of Grove of The Patriarchs,
on hot Texas afternoon, sweaty sleepy, post park,
You nurse him on his own big bed, kiss damp curls,.
in the room that was yours until you made it his,
the room I decorated with rainbows for you
before you were born, the room from which I rescued
you at three from raging midnight flames, the room
whose furniture you rearranged so many teen age nights,
the room in which "You are My Sunshine".still echoes.
in the voice of your father, dead before memories settled.
You left at seventeen, started college early, found love,
made a home, made art, longed for babies, cried, laughed,
built strong marriage, took your husband to your sanctuary,
of cool misty air, soft filtered light, life rising from life.
Grove of the Patriarchs on slopes of Mt. Ranier,
took off your shoes and lay, silent, vulnerable, still
within ancient circle of holy trees, barren among
nurse logs, You lost a daughter, gave birth to a son,
brought him home to your grove within his own room.
Your son naps beneath mural of Grove of Patriarchs.
Victoria Hendricks
May 25, 2010
Your son naps beneath mural of Grove of The Patriarchs,
on hot Texas afternoon, sweaty sleepy, post park,
You nurse him on his own big bed, kiss damp curls,.
in the room that was yours until you made it his,
the room I decorated with rainbows for you
before you were born, the room from which I rescued
you at three from raging midnight flames, the room
whose furniture you rearranged so many teen age nights,
the room in which "You are My Sunshine".still echoes.
in the voice of your father, dead before memories settled.
You left at seventeen, started college early, found love,
made a home, made art, longed for babies, cried, laughed,
built strong marriage, took your husband to your sanctuary,
of cool misty air, soft filtered light, life rising from life.
Grove of the Patriarchs on slopes of Mt. Ranier,
took off your shoes and lay, silent, vulnerable, still
within ancient circle of holy trees, barren among
nurse logs, You lost a daughter, gave birth to a son,
brought him home to your grove within his own room.
Your son naps beneath mural of Grove of Patriarchs.
Victoria Hendricks
May 25, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
invaluable
Invaluable
Good mirrors are not cheap
Good mirrors reflect truth,
neither flatter nor depreciate
Good mirrors reflect truth.
Price is possible conflict
Pay off is real intimacy.
Good mirrors are invaluable.
Good mirrors are not cheap.
Victoria Sullivan Hendricks
May 25, 2010
Good mirrors are not cheap
Good mirrors reflect truth,
neither flatter nor depreciate
Good mirrors reflect truth.
Price is possible conflict
Pay off is real intimacy.
Good mirrors are invaluable.
Good mirrors are not cheap.
Victoria Sullivan Hendricks
May 25, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Two More Proverbs (or maybe a proverb and a parable)
Balance
In reunion
of fear and hope,
doubt and confidence,
outrage and forgiveness,
freedom and responsibility,
acceptance and challenge,
listening and speaking,
realism and dreams,
action and stillness,
balance rises.
Heaven and Hell in the Grocery Store
Friday afternoon, 5:47, shoppers
swarm, tight lipped, aggressive.
I freeze between mangoes and
cilantro, heart pounding, trapped.
Suddenly he stands tall flaming
in inersection of angry baskets.
Fuscia shirt, beads like butterflies,
calm, amused eyes. He flutters
competent hands, laughs, "OK
now people, We're all getting out
of here alive right?" One by one
they soften, smile, redirect carts.
I breathe, feel cool mango in palm.,
Look to thank my savior. He has gone.
Victoria Hendricks
May 22, 2010
In reunion
of fear and hope,
doubt and confidence,
outrage and forgiveness,
freedom and responsibility,
acceptance and challenge,
listening and speaking,
realism and dreams,
action and stillness,
balance rises.
Heaven and Hell in the Grocery Store
Friday afternoon, 5:47, shoppers
swarm, tight lipped, aggressive.
I freeze between mangoes and
cilantro, heart pounding, trapped.
Suddenly he stands tall flaming
in inersection of angry baskets.
Fuscia shirt, beads like butterflies,
calm, amused eyes. He flutters
competent hands, laughs, "OK
now people, We're all getting out
of here alive right?" One by one
they soften, smile, redirect carts.
I breathe, feel cool mango in palm.,
Look to thank my savior. He has gone.
Victoria Hendricks
May 22, 2010
Big Tent Poem - Proof Futile
I'm combining prompts here - the Big Tend wordle words - "futile" and "proof" and my online writers' group's prompts to write about heaven and or hell.
Proof Futile
Futile to require proof
of God Heaven, Hell,
Sufficient to access strength
deeper than my own.
Sufficient to find guidance,
rest in spiritual practice.
Sufficient to draw wisdom
from my dear beloved dead.
Sufficient to believe my own
influence will outlast breath.
Victoria Hendricks
May 22, 2010
Proof Futile
Futile to require proof
of God Heaven, Hell,
Sufficient to access strength
deeper than my own.
Sufficient to find guidance,
rest in spiritual practice.
Sufficient to draw wisdom
from my dear beloved dead.
Sufficient to believe my own
influence will outlast breath.
Victoria Hendricks
May 22, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
We Write Poems Thursday Prompt - no music muse for me
Forbidden Well
Music is not my muse.
Daughter, wife, mother
of singers of songs,
I listen with joy, pride.
I sway in synagogue
to haunting ninguns.
At the symphony
I admire mastery
but no poetry comes
to me from music,
sacred well from which
I cannot drink deeply.
Victoria Hendricks
April 19, 2010
Music is not my muse.
Daughter, wife, mother
of singers of songs,
I listen with joy, pride.
I sway in synagogue
to haunting ninguns.
At the symphony
I admire mastery
but no poetry comes
to me from music,
sacred well from which
I cannot drink deeply.
Victoria Hendricks
April 19, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Three short Proverb Poems
I realized that the poetry prompts from my online poetry group this week are inspiring proverbs, so I'm just going to go with that - see what happens. Thanks Mary for cool prompts.
All My News
All my news
repeats itself.
I try.
I fail.
I try again.
I hope.
I despair.
I hope again.
I love.
I lose.
I love again.
I live.
I die.
I live again.
All my news
repeats itself.
Victoria Hendricks . May 17, 2010
Essence
It all boils down to
Do the next right thing
Be kind now.
Victoria Hendricks, May 18, 2010
A Case for Mindfulness
The words that come out of my mouth,
the concepts that roll of my fingertips,
the phone call I don't return,
the card I send, shape how you
feel about me and yourself. What we
have is what we do. This is is it.
Victoria Hendricks, May 18, 2010
All My News
All my news
repeats itself.
I try.
I fail.
I try again.
I hope.
I despair.
I hope again.
I love.
I lose.
I love again.
I live.
I die.
I live again.
All my news
repeats itself.
Victoria Hendricks . May 17, 2010
Essence
It all boils down to
Do the next right thing
Be kind now.
Victoria Hendricks, May 18, 2010
A Case for Mindfulness
The words that come out of my mouth,
the concepts that roll of my fingertips,
the phone call I don't return,
the card I send, shape how you
feel about me and yourself. What we
have is what we do. This is is it.
Victoria Hendricks, May 18, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Last Color Poem Number Seven - Sky Blue
Sky Blue
No color cleaner than
sky blue after storm
blows over. Takes wind
and rain to wash and woosh
the grime away to reveal
absolute purity of sky blue.
Victoria Hendricks
May 17, 2010
No color cleaner than
sky blue after storm
blows over. Takes wind
and rain to wash and woosh
the grime away to reveal
absolute purity of sky blue.
Victoria Hendricks
May 17, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Color Poem Six - Atomic Tangerine
Atomic Tangerine Dream Machine
Dance right up to the marvelous,
Atomic Tangerine Dream Machine.
All you need to enter is one tiny
fragment of memory from the
psychedelic sixties and the desire
to rewrite history. Let your hair
hang down and trust the magic
machine to edit out the bad trips
and leave you with Lucy in the Sky,
Give you Bobby, Martin, and John,
eloquent and alive, assassins' bullets
vaporized by tangerine magic.
The summer of love at it's innocent
best, the Haight without junkies.
No dead run aways. The war in Viet Nam
resolved through genuine peace talks.
No Weathermen, angel sleeves and the
high of standing arm in arm singing of
a dream, a hammer, a song to sing.
No harm done, no regrets. Just dance right
up to the atomic tangerine dream machine
and sacrifice truth to psychedelic denial.
Dance right up to the marvelous,
Atomic Tangerine Dream Machine.
All you need to enter is one tiny
fragment of memory from the
psychedelic sixties and the desire
to rewrite history. Let your hair
hang down and trust the magic
machine to edit out the bad trips
and leave you with Lucy in the Sky,
Give you Bobby, Martin, and John,
eloquent and alive, assassins' bullets
vaporized by tangerine magic.
The summer of love at it's innocent
best, the Haight without junkies.
No dead run aways. The war in Viet Nam
resolved through genuine peace talks.
No Weathermen, angel sleeves and the
high of standing arm in arm singing of
a dream, a hammer, a song to sing.
No harm done, no regrets. Just dance right
up to the atomic tangerine dream machine
and sacrifice truth to psychedelic denial.
Fifth Color Poem - Yellow
Yellow
Primary, Simple,
requires no hyperbole
pure color of sunshine,
obvious, honest, forthright
Naturally bright,
unselfconscious,
Yellow always smiles.
Happy yellow,
Primary, Simple,
requires no hyperbole
pure color of sunshine,
obvious, honest, forthright
Naturally bright,
unselfconscious,
Yellow always smiles.
Happy yellow,
Friday, May 14, 2010
Colors three and Four - Brick Red and Carnation Pink
Brick Red
Brick red,
color or home,
security, safety.
The smart little
pig built his house
out of red bricks
and outsmarted
the big bad wolf.
My house is built
out of red bricks too.
Strong red bricks
don't keep cancer out.
Victoria Hendricks
May14, 2010
Carnation Pink
I don't understand why
mythological little girls
like pink, but I did, still do,
not with my adult aesthetic,
which selects moss green,
deep violet, vermilion, indigo
but with some inner instinct
which, when the censors
are off, grabs carnation
pink roses, night gowns,
stationary, fabrics, soap,
too many times to deny that
this little girl still likes pink.
Victoria Hendricks
May 14, 2010
Brick red,
color or home,
security, safety.
The smart little
pig built his house
out of red bricks
and outsmarted
the big bad wolf.
My house is built
out of red bricks too.
Strong red bricks
don't keep cancer out.
Victoria Hendricks
May14, 2010
Carnation Pink
I don't understand why
mythological little girls
like pink, but I did, still do,
not with my adult aesthetic,
which selects moss green,
deep violet, vermilion, indigo
but with some inner instinct
which, when the censors
are off, grabs carnation
pink roses, night gowns,
stationary, fabrics, soap,
too many times to deny that
this little girl still likes pink.
Victoria Hendricks
May 14, 2010
Color #2 - Copper
I'm responding to so many prompts - OK only three, but it feels like many, that I've gotten behind on my color poems. This crayon I just pulled up at random, and the color on the paper did match the image of the color in my mind. The poem is rough, but the idea behind it appeals to me. Maybe I'll make more of it later.
Copper
Shining swirl of copper curl on pretty girl,
Glowing copper pots proud on kitchen wall.
Lethal coloration of coiled copperhead snake,
Lucky new penny, bright in sidewalk crack,
Copper is a color which calls for attention.
Victoria Hendricks
May 14, 2010
Copper
Shining swirl of copper curl on pretty girl,
Glowing copper pots proud on kitchen wall.
Lethal coloration of coiled copperhead snake,
Lucky new penny, bright in sidewalk crack,
Copper is a color which calls for attention.
Victoria Hendricks
May 14, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Umbrella Man
This poem, which tapped into a sadness I wasn't consciously feeling, came form a prompt from
http://bigtentpoetry.org/ , a site which is really
encouraging me to stretch what i might otherwise write. Feels good.
Umbrella Man
I want to be you Umbrella Man,
to know how to fly away free
on magic sail of soaring song.
Sing me your secret, Umbrella Man.
Share how you shuck off the blues.
I can't wait til tomorrow, Umbrella Man,
As you fly free, please toss me your key.
Victoria Hendricks
May 13, 2010
http://bigtentpoetry.org/ , a site which is really
encouraging me to stretch what i might otherwise write. Feels good.
Umbrella Man
I want to be you Umbrella Man,
to know how to fly away free
on magic sail of soaring song.
Sing me your secret, Umbrella Man.
Share how you shuck off the blues.
I can't wait til tomorrow, Umbrella Man,
As you fly free, please toss me your key.
Victoria Hendricks
May 13, 2010
Anxiety Poem
Robert's prompt for today at http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/default.aspx was to write a monster poem. My monster of the moment is definitely anxiety. Feels vulnerable to name that monster and post about it in a kind of public forum, but vulnerability is part of the creative process and part of being open to growth, I believe,
Anxiety
anxiety rises
heart races
hands shake
no monster threatens
no deadline looms
no illness dooms
nothing external
justifies fear
anxiety rises
on her own terms
monster enough
Victoria Hendricks,
May 13, 2010
Anxiety
anxiety rises
heart races
hands shake
no monster threatens
no deadline looms
no illness dooms
nothing external
justifies fear
anxiety rises
on her own terms
monster enough
Victoria Hendricks,
May 13, 2010
Boxed Proof
I am responding here to a prompt to write about boxes from a new to me writing site that seems to have great prompts -http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/.
It felt good to have a father poem come to me after having just written the mother poem.
Boxed Proof
After Daddy died, I,only child,
put his house and life to bed.
Last day of shiva, I sat alone
on his closet floor, file box
open between spread legs.
It was all there, my adoption
papers and birth announcement,
pictures of ladies in Martha
Washington dresses I drew him,
hand made Fathers' Day cards,
letters from college, childhood poems,
my first published professional piece,
post cards from Paris, New York City,
birth announcements for my two daughters,
program from their father's memorial service,
pictures from vacations and my second wedding.
Daddy didn't say much, The contents of his box
left me with tangible proof of his enduring love.
Victoria Hendricks,
May 13, 2010
It felt good to have a father poem come to me after having just written the mother poem.
Boxed Proof
After Daddy died, I,only child,
put his house and life to bed.
Last day of shiva, I sat alone
on his closet floor, file box
open between spread legs.
It was all there, my adoption
papers and birth announcement,
pictures of ladies in Martha
Washington dresses I drew him,
hand made Fathers' Day cards,
letters from college, childhood poems,
my first published professional piece,
post cards from Paris, New York City,
birth announcements for my two daughters,
program from their father's memorial service,
pictures from vacations and my second wedding.
Daddy didn't say much, The contents of his box
left me with tangible proof of his enduring love.
Victoria Hendricks,
May 13, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Beginning Crayon Colors -#1 - Jungle Green
This week's prompt for my small writer's group is really exciting, allowed me to go to the store and buy a box of 96 brand new Crayola crayons. The second poem I wrote reminded me that even crayons can't bring back my childhood innocence.
First the prompt (thanks Peg. This is a good one):
Here is my idea for this week's prompts:
Go out and purchase a large box of Crayons--the kind with many colors.
For each day this week, choose a color from the box at random and look at its name. Color a large square in with the color you have chosen and really concentrate on it and on its name.
Then write!
Misnamed Jungle Green (prompted by the color on paper)
Soft sea aqua, color of summer romance.
I had a prom dress this color, with it's
own lace jacket. Mama made both pieces
carefully, chose the color to complement
my hair, played well with innocence at sixteen.
Victoria Hendricks
May 10, 2010
Jungle Green (prompted by the name)
I wish I were not in
a mood in which
the name Jungle Green
evokes blood red.
Too much violence
in jungles, boy against
boy, nation against
nation, human against
wildness. Boys bleed red.
I wonder if ancient, dying
trees bleed Jungle Green.
Victoria Hendricks
May 10, 2010
These bits of draft have been haunting me. They seem to need combining. I don't think I'm done with them yet, but here is how they stand now.
Jungle Green
Crayon misnamed Jungle Green
colors paper soft sea aqua,
innocent as summer romance.
like the prom dress Mama sewed
so carefully with it's own lace jacket,
Ocean aqua played well at sixteen
before images of jungle green
evoked red blood shed in jungle war,
boy against boy, nation against nation,
human against wildness
Boys bleed red. Perhaps the blood
of innocence colors paper jungle green.
Victoria Hendricks
May 13, 2010
First the prompt (thanks Peg. This is a good one):
Here is my idea for this week's prompts:
Go out and purchase a large box of Crayons--the kind with many colors.
For each day this week, choose a color from the box at random and look at its name. Color a large square in with the color you have chosen and really concentrate on it and on its name.
Then write!
Misnamed Jungle Green (prompted by the color on paper)
Soft sea aqua, color of summer romance.
I had a prom dress this color, with it's
own lace jacket. Mama made both pieces
carefully, chose the color to complement
my hair, played well with innocence at sixteen.
Victoria Hendricks
May 10, 2010
Jungle Green (prompted by the name)
I wish I were not in
a mood in which
the name Jungle Green
evokes blood red.
Too much violence
in jungles, boy against
boy, nation against
nation, human against
wildness. Boys bleed red.
I wonder if ancient, dying
trees bleed Jungle Green.
Victoria Hendricks
May 10, 2010
These bits of draft have been haunting me. They seem to need combining. I don't think I'm done with them yet, but here is how they stand now.
Jungle Green
Crayon misnamed Jungle Green
colors paper soft sea aqua,
innocent as summer romance.
like the prom dress Mama sewed
so carefully with it's own lace jacket,
Ocean aqua played well at sixteen
before images of jungle green
evoked red blood shed in jungle war,
boy against boy, nation against nation,
human against wildness
Boys bleed red. Perhaps the blood
of innocence colors paper jungle green.
Victoria Hendricks
May 13, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Mother's Day Poem (what my mother did right)
One of my small writing group's prompts this week was to write about what our mothers did right. That was a brilliant prompt for me. Thank you Judy. My mother did so much right, and also made some painful mistakes. True of me as a mother too, I know. It felt good for this poem to just write about the good stuff, not to try to find a balance or paint the whole woman.
Jo
My mother was a hot tamale,
world by the tail, first generation,
fast train out of Tiny Texas,
got rid of her Czech accent
kept her recipes, songs, family
loyalty, worked her way through
college in the middle of Depression
with the best job on campus,
loved hard, played great jazz piano,
sewed magic clothes that made me
feel like a perfect princess, got me
books, books, books, Listened to
my stories every afternoon after school,
told me her stories, told the truth as
she understood it, talked straight
about work, sex and money,
knew that life is hard and good.
taught me to use my gifts in gratitude.
and to question people who were too sure.
made a new career for herself in her fifties
aught classrooms of women how to take
care of themselves in the work world,
knew how to say she was sorry.
.
Victoria Hendricks
May 2010
Jo
My mother was a hot tamale,
world by the tail, first generation,
fast train out of Tiny Texas,
got rid of her Czech accent
kept her recipes, songs, family
loyalty, worked her way through
college in the middle of Depression
with the best job on campus,
loved hard, played great jazz piano,
sewed magic clothes that made me
feel like a perfect princess, got me
books, books, books, Listened to
my stories every afternoon after school,
told me her stories, told the truth as
she understood it, talked straight
about work, sex and money,
knew that life is hard and good.
taught me to use my gifts in gratitude.
and to question people who were too sure.
made a new career for herself in her fifties
aught classrooms of women how to take
care of themselves in the work world,
knew how to say she was sorry.
.
Victoria Hendricks
May 2010
Getting to know me poems
Since this blog is new, and maybe people will be visiting it from poetry sites where I have gone to play, it seems right to put up three of recent poems about who I am.
I write
Why do I write...
Why did I start...
It feels like wondering
why I walk or talk
or eat or breathe,
such a natural process.
My mind produces word
pictures, strings stories
together - just does,
no reason always has.
I only hope it always will.
Victoria Hendricks
May 5, 2010Never by Parts
Some enter cold water by parts,
toes, thighs, belly, finally face.
Not me. Not partly. Not possible.
I rest warm on the bank, fully clothed
or strip naked, breathe deep, plunge in.
Victoria Hendricks
April 3, 2010
I
I am as I have always been,
one who jumps at sudden noises,
colors in crayon and word,
runs out to catch the moonrise,
likes fresh air, lemons, ginger
champions underdogs, stays
quiet until challenged, fierce
under threat, tenacious,
takes refuge in dawn, dusk,
mist, lives between worlds,
loves hard, grieves quietly,
picks up pebbles, feathers,
hopes as much as I fear.
Victoria Hendricks
April 8, 2010
I write
Why do I write...
Why did I start...
It feels like wondering
why I walk or talk
or eat or breathe,
such a natural process.
My mind produces word
pictures, strings stories
together - just does,
no reason always has.
I only hope it always will.
Victoria Hendricks
May 5, 2010Never by Parts
Some enter cold water by parts,
toes, thighs, belly, finally face.
Not me. Not partly. Not possible.
I rest warm on the bank, fully clothed
or strip naked, breathe deep, plunge in.
Victoria Hendricks
April 3, 2010
I
I am as I have always been,
one who jumps at sudden noises,
colors in crayon and word,
runs out to catch the moonrise,
likes fresh air, lemons, ginger
champions underdogs, stays
quiet until challenged, fierce
under threat, tenacious,
takes refuge in dawn, dusk,
mist, lives between worlds,
loves hard, grieves quietly,
picks up pebbles, feathers,
hopes as much as I fear.
Victoria Hendricks
April 8, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Beginning a poetry blog
I have resisted making a separate poetry blog until now, but recently I've been participating in more poetry prompts and share sites and I'm beginning to feel like separating out poems from regular life posts makes sense. I'll still post a few poems on my regular blog, And Now (http://seastarvsh.blogspot.com/),
those poems that reflect what's going on in my life or soul most truly and those I just want to share with everybody - but this blog is just for poems and poetry related ideas. I'll start with a poem prompted a poetry site I just found (Thank you Mary)l This site, Big Tent Poetry (info@bigtentpoetry.org.)invites us to imagine ourselves as circus participants and write in character. I started to craft a poem about being the costumer, sewing sequins and feathers. That was fun, but I realized quickly which role would fit me better.
Fortune Teller
I am the fortune teller,
wrapped in shawls,
shadowed in secrets.
My crystal ball is amethyst.
My incense is vetiver.
You come to me for answers.
Neither you tor I ever has
to know if I see the future
or just read people well.
Victoria Hendricks
May 7, 2010
those poems that reflect what's going on in my life or soul most truly and those I just want to share with everybody - but this blog is just for poems and poetry related ideas. I'll start with a poem prompted a poetry site I just found (Thank you Mary)l This site, Big Tent Poetry (info@bigtentpoetry.org.)invites us to imagine ourselves as circus participants and write in character. I started to craft a poem about being the costumer, sewing sequins and feathers. That was fun, but I realized quickly which role would fit me better.
Fortune Teller
I am the fortune teller,
wrapped in shawls,
shadowed in secrets.
My crystal ball is amethyst.
My incense is vetiver.
You come to me for answers.
Neither you tor I ever has
to know if I see the future
or just read people well.
Victoria Hendricks
May 7, 2010
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