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Poember December (Feeps Lopez) Days 24-31

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Poember December (Feeps Lopez) Days 24-31

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Poember December (Feeps Lopez) Days 14-23

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Poember December (Feeps Lopez) Days 14-23

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Poember December [Feeps Lopez] Days 1-13

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Poember December [Feeps Lopez] Days 1-13

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The Canterbury Tales is what I read,

when I first started back at ISU,

that seared the lilting rhythm in my head,

and made my thinking pattern something new.

Iambic phrases drifted through my mind,

in full pentameter as you can see.

I never had to try too hard to find

a word that fit the rhythm perfectly.

It’s barely even something I control

I get into that Middle English zone

It isn’t something that’s intentional

My brain just does the whole thing on its own.

So if I need to feel secure I know

a sonnet’s lines are where I need to go.

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Translation

A piece of cake does not go over well./
And up a creek makes hardly any sense./
Some stories are too difficult to tell/
without becoming indistinct or dense./

We beat around the bush through thick and thin,/
go down in flames or let them off the hook./
But those would not be helpful to put in/
the pages of a well-translated book./

When we attempt to keep it all intact,/
but word for word it quickly falls apart./
We see that it’s not an objective act,/
and realize translation is an art./

A language can reveal its culture’s mind,/
and that is what the translator must find.

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Comic Relief

You can’t just sob in a theater.

The throat tightens,

a shaky inhale,

eyes wide, more room

to hold the tears.

Hold still until they drop then

thumbs find inner

edges of shirt cuffs and dot

corners of eyes,

pulling tears and hurrying them

away.

We hold ourselves.

Heavy stuttering exhale,

chest sinks in,

settles in,

it’s almost too much

and in that moment,

the stage lights twinkling in

glassy refraction,

we come back out of

ourselves, back to each other,

with a joke. Wet laughter gives

us cover to sniffle,

shake loose our tears and breathe.

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Kitten

I am not your enemy

though you attack me

at my core as if

an alien is about to burst

from my stomach.

You are not protecting me

from the snakes.

Those are my hands.

I need them both.

A mole does not burrow

under my duvet.

It’s just me

moving my leg

trying to sleep.

Please stop.

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Runestone

Searching hands, pale with cold

slip across mossy stone

carved a thousand years ago

memorial for man

now for language

whispering in weathered letters

a promise to remember

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Press the plus sign to add your poems to our Padlet!

1.SYMBOL

2.ANIMAL

3.CROWD

4.DOOR

5.FAIRYTALE

6.REDEMPTION

7.RIVER

8.STATION

9.DINOSAUR

10.SHIP

11.GLASS

12.DEFENSE

13.APPLE

14.INTERNET

15.STRANGER

16.REST

17.RESISTANCE

18.VISION

19.BEE

20.TRAVELER

21. SIGN

22.TREASURE

23.SECRET

24.HOME

25.SNOW

26.HEALING

27.FORAGING

28.FALLING

29.GUIDE

30.OWNERSHIP

31.NIGHT