Pleased to have this poem published at Prometheus Dreaming earlier this year.
Thank you to the editors there! I really respect this journal, what the journal publishes, and and how it treats their writers. Please help support literary journals by subscribing to them and reading their publications.
I enjoyed writing this poem, and really appreciate Esthetic Apostle for publishing it in their June 2019 poetry issue.
Rough Draft from a few years ago.. dozen dull. I really react to the lack of sunshine! Perhaps if we had lovely weather all the time I’d grow complacent to the beauty.
Nah…
Anyway, here we go, and thanks for reading.
November gray came
early into late September
baby baboon sounds (what??? I need to reconsider this wording!)
from the old sycamore
small wolverine shaped scamperers
crashing down
the squirrel twitched, looked
left, right
while the red tabby cat
lay sick in the bushes,
its one good eye on
the swollen blue berries.
………
look up–study the gray
it lasts
into November, December, January
when sun on green does not
before then the changing colors
briefly blaze, lull, trick
as if other than gray could remain
during those dozen dull weeks.
I don’t intend to make a living writing poetry–I’ve done that with teaching and business jobs. But reading and writing (poetry, fiction, nonfiction) help me live. So I submitted three of my favorite poems to a journal I really like and respect, a journal that doesn’t seem to have a social media presence.
Since I like the poetry this journal publishes and I like the way their poets are treated, I submitted to them.
ROUGH DRAFT. To revise. Sometimes things come out and I am not sure what they mean, but for this one, I know it’s an autumn facing winter poem. To work on and revise. Thanks for reading!
Laura
The Nine Month Sentence–(Must work on this title. Sounds weird.)
Stunned. Nine months of
little sun, closed streaked
windows to follow.
We had not
used our summer well.
We had not slept
under a June blue sky,
toes curled in fresh green.
We had not wrapped nights
in tender sighs under stars;
our nights
were wasted in worries.
Midnight.
If we slip outside now,
we might walk unnoticed.
We might find the source
of the crescent, the crickets,
the scamperers.
We might
flee with them.
?????
************* Let’s slip outside
find sources of
crescents
crickets
scamperers.
maybe we’ll leave
with them.
*****Addendum:
Every year there’s a day in September when I think Autumn blows in. I think that’s today. The wind is picking up and all of a sudden there are thousands of little yellow leaves on the ground. Even though it’s a hot humid day today, you can tell there’s a change. Not particularly pretty, but I love following the seasons. 
Please read this amazing blog post by author and humanitarian Ruth Goring. 
In July I was privileged to tour Medellín’s Moravia neighborhood, constructed over a city dump. The original residents were garbage pickers, & some of them still live there. The dump itself has been built up into a grassy park with flower plantings, a large greenhouse (for flowers only, as the soil is too toxic to […]
Dear Readers,
And it’s another 9-11, the 18th year after the attacks. And I thought I was “over” feeling sad, terrified, angry, sad… but of course not. This was a day that changed America I think.
During all this, it seems reaching out to others with love and kindness was the way to healing.
If you can watch this video without tears, don’t tell me, because I won’t believe you are human.
The still images capture the shock, terror, grief of the day. The music is by Disturbed. Warning: some disturbing images.
Spread love and kindness and compassion, dear readers. I do believe only we, with effort, love, compassion and learning–can save each other.
Link here:
From five years ago, during the first week back to school, when I taught high school English:
This is a vulnerable time in school. Just getting to know the kids. Some are openly sad. Some are tense and silent. Some are exuberant and happy teens– some with confidence and lots of humor.
Many are vulnerable. They are testing. They are revealing bits. Dropping hints.
I’ve tried to remember not to judge a kid by outward appearances. Arms folded. Lack of eye contact. An angry look. A large young male student. Wait. Wait. He’s older. Three years older. He needs only this class to graduate. He’s embarrassed to be older. A smile today. I get it. I get it I told him. They are kids and you are legally an adult. Be their big brother. Just do the work. Let’s get you graduated.
A smile today.
A vulnerable time. Tender sensibilities. Oh I hope I don’t blow it, kids. You are precious.
And now, five years later, I realize that all the weeks, all the days are vulnerable ones in school. May we educators always remember that, and treat our students as the precious persons they are.
Line breaks, wording, so much work needed. A much longer poem, but I don’t want to post complete poems here. And they are MISSING GIRLS, which is important. And missing small ones… hmm.. Lots to consider.
Middle of the night
moon casts
umbrella shaped shadows.
Soft light of night
I’d hoped would help
find the lost (missing?)
(??find the missing
small ones?)
** Word Press doesn’t like to format poetry, it seems.
I’m playing with language, tone, line breaks, meaning. (I don’t want to post a complete poem here, since I will submit for publication.)
Laura Lee 