A Poem a Day, Week 16, April 16 to 22

   A Poem a Day, Week 16, April 16 to 22, 2022

Welcome to Sifting the Rubble's weekly blog and podcast of my poem-a-day challenge for 2022.  I am your host, and poet, Emily Gibson.  The poems for the 16th week, April 16 to April 22, originated during the second week of my six-week bicycle tour south on the Pacific Coast, from Bellingham, WA to Santa Barbara, CA. I am grateful to the experiences on the road, and our immersion in nature, which inspired these words.   

Though I did not create or share blog posts while on tour, I kept notes in my paper/pencil journal.  As I pedaled the miles away, I composed poems in my head and jotted notes at rest stops if I found an especially good line I wanted to keep.  Typically, I wrote poems in camp, in our tent in the evening by headlamp light.  It gives me great satisfaction and creative joy to bring these poems to life now, after the tour is over. Without further ado, here are the seven poems from the second week of the "Headwinds and Headlands" tour!

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And if you would like to read the journal from the bicycle tour, you can find it here.  

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And now, for this week's poems!

Listen to Week 16 Poetry Podcast

Poem #106, The Quiet Side

by Emily Gibson, April 16, 2022

On the Spruce Railroad Trail

We rolled hushed on gravel fines

Around the jewel of Crescent Lake,

Where craggy Olympians

Reflected, dusted with snow.

Across the water, barely audible,

Traffic rushed along 101.

With silent wings a bald eagle

Startled off a branch at trail level,

Alighted on a solid spruce’s crown,

On the quiet side of Crescent Lake.

About "Quiet Side": The beauty of Lake Crescent was so powerful, it was almost painful.  Even now, I look at the photos, and I can't believe it was real.  When we saw the line of traffic on Hwy 101 needling along the far edge, we felt so grateful for the effort we made to get onto this trail on this day.  Such a blessing of quietude.

Poem #107, Established 1825?
by Emily Gibson, April 17, 2022

 

"Established 1825"

reads the town marker.

When some people determined

other people were disposable,

their ties to lands deemed

unimportant.  They were

wiped clean from the land

like a slate turned blank,

but their blood remains in the soil

feeding life.  And their spirits

still reside in the mountains.

See their faces looking up

to their sky?

This land still has trails

they walked, trees and streams

they loved, descendants of the berries

they picked and the fish they caught.  

Funny how those who took

made the biggest signs

to proclaim their presence

so vociferously.

Never forget, this is

stolen land.  Tread softly

and see the beauty.

About "Established 1825?": The word Pareidolia means the seeing of faces in inanimate objects.   I've often wondered if other animals see faces of their own species in things?  I see people in mountain ranges all the time.  On this day, the Cascade Mountains served up indigenous aquiline noses as I passed the town of Edison's sign.   Anger welled up in me, as it usually does when I see historical markers which ignore and erase the existence of First Nations' peoples.  

Poem #108, Nature’s Palette: Yellow
by Emily Gibson, April 18, 2022

Alders festooned in pollen saturated tassels

Sturdy blossoms of skunk cabbages

A bald eagle’s feet tucked under for flight

Lemony daffodils nod from stiff stems

Silver dollar sized dandelions flattened by rain

Warblers' cheeky breasts like half-moons

An angular heron’s beak seeking dinner

Microscopic flowers on mosses

Edges of lichens on rocks...

Nature’s palette uses yellow

As an accent

To catch our eye.

Any more would burn

Like the sun’s light.

About "Nature's Palette: Yellow": When we were riding around Lake Crescent, I had this idea for poems about the colors because there were so many different greens to be seen. This is the first of those poems, with my favorite color, yellow.

Poem #109, Warm Shower on WA 105

by Emily Gibson, April 19, 2022

In a deluge we arrive

Two cyclists, side by side

Loaded for bear,

Eighty-plus pounds per steed.

Of a shower, we were in need.

Jim and Fran obliged,

Let us feed them a meal,

Peanut sauce extravagance.

Then the next day reversed

And we gladly ate Jim's Thai soup bounty.

Stories were told, mostly true

We assume, and songs were sung,

mostly in tune.

This majestic house, full

of art, natures treasures,

and lore, is a wonder.

This experience, we will remember.

Why do we do this?  Travel by bike?

To meet people like you

It is a life delight!

About "Warm Shower on WA 105": Warm Showers is an organization that helps touring cyclists and people who want to host touring cyclists find each other. Jay and I enjoy hosting bicyclists when we are home, or staying with hosts when we are on the road. Invariably we find people who become part of our lives, as this poem tries to capture. I also wanted to express the ever present rain of this week, and how much we enjoyed the challenge of riding and camping in the wet.

Poem #110, Oyster Shells

by Emily Gibson, April 20, 2022

Oyster shells

Are not 

Ice-cream cones

They are sharp

They are rough

Not smooth 

Or creamy.

Oysters are 

Opposite of

Ice-cream.

They are

Fishy, smelly, 

Slippery, and slimy.

Not fragrant like 

Vanilla Bean,

Not sweet and cool.

Despite having an

Outline resembling

An ice-cream cone,

An oyster is 

Anything but.

Sorry if your

Hopes got up.

About "Oyster Shells": I passed this sign for Brady's Oysters twice. The first time in a car as Jay, Fran, and I drove to get supplies, and the second time when Jay and I rode south the next day. Both times, when I saw the sign from a distance, I thought for sure it was advertising ice cream!  And wondered at the audacity of advertising ice cream in this cold wet weather.  While I pedaled for the next five miles, I worked out my consternation at being fooled, twice, with this poem.  I do wonder if they purposefully made the shell look like a cone.

Poem #111,  Wild Asparagus

by Emily Gibson, April 21, 2022

Spears of horsetail reeds 

Grow in abundance along

Our route down the Pacific coast.

The fertile spears cause Jay to drool

Even in the rain, as he pedals,

Dreaming of seared asparagus

In olive oil and garlic.

I wish it was so.

Please don’t snack on them,

No matter how green and good

They seem.

Unless you need a

Diuretic.

About "Wild Asparagus": When Jay asked me at a rest stop about the "wild asparagus" I couldn't help but laugh, because I knew exactly the plant he was talking about.  He does love asparagus, and would eat it every night with dinner if he could.  

Poem #112,  Trees Exhale

by Emily Gibson, April 22, 2022

Trees exhale,
Shrouding their shoulders
In wispy steam.
They etch their dreams
On the fogged mirror of sky.

About "Trees Exhale": All day we rode past hillsides and mountains covered with trees, all with this mist rising up from the sun's warmth coming in contact with the moisture. I stopped on the side of the road to write parts of this poem, I could see it so clearly. I could have written many more stanzas, but it felt more powerful and concrete with just these 5 lines.

That concludes Sifting the Rubble's poetry for this week!  I hope you enjoyed this report from our bicycle tour through the Olympic Peninsula.  Perhaps some of them spoke to you, or maybe you found one begging to be shared with someone else.  Either way, thank you for listening and reading. Hope to see you next week! 

That concludes Sifting the Rubble's poetry for this week!  I hope you enjoyed this first report from the world of bicycle touring.  Perhaps some of them spoke to you, or maybe you found one begging to be shared with someone else.  Either way, thank you for listening and reading. Hope to see you next week!