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
Monday, 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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