a poem after re-reading the ABBA poems

a draft of something inspired the ABBA poems by denise duhamel & amy lemmon … in which i also joke (sort of) about online dating and follow the ABBA rhyme scheme. yes, a rhyme scheme from a poet who typically can’t manage rhyme without going all green eggs & ham. but this time, with the exception of “something” and “humping,” i think i avoided the dr. seuss effect. i’ve also managed to be light and a little bit funny — two other traits not ordinarily in my poetry wheelhouse.

a poem about taking a break from romance (or damn, winter can be cold)

as you know, i’ve been contemplating the light and romance and poetry mojo. they are three of my obsessions. how they ebb and flow. most recently, how they dwindle. i would be hard-pressed to tell you which absence is most disheartening. but i can say that i’ve lived long enough to know that neither light nor poetry really disappear. romance, however? i have little evidence that it persists.

pinch me: art, pride & love in the city

in addition to having some time with the boys this weekend, i had lots of opportunity to enjoy my neighborhood, which hosted two major festivals: saturday’s art on lark (sleepy vendor pictured above) and sunday’s pridefest and parade (photos posted on facebook). i am in love with my apartment, which i call my happy place. and i am in love with the little pocket of downtown albany it crouches inside of.

outcome: pending

sometimes fear is all there is. fear that the new life is too fragile or somehow unsustainable. fear that dirty dishes, unfolded piles of laundry, a messy office and a ransacked closet mean the ex is right: households suffer under my watch. i find myself joking, is it any wonder i can’t keep a husband?

does love (poetry) survive loss?

i’m not the love poem girl. a man i dated recently, upon being introduced to my poems, asked, “do you have any where no one gets sawed in half?” in fact i do have one or two poems that qualify as affectionate and sweet, but my story is that they were moments of weakness, and i’m stickin’ to it.

the word on the street

and so it’s interesting entering new relationships during that process. there are sharp twinges. there are phantom pains (“baggage,” as the kids say). but i’m feeling every one of them and taking in every detail. it sure as hell beats putting my head down and getting by.