A Poem a Day, Week 30, July 23 to July 29, 2022
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And now, for this week's poems!
Poem #204, Shadow Slalom
by Emily Gibson, July 23, 2022
"Keep your face always toward the sunshine and the shadows will fall behind you.” --Walt Whitman
I pedal a road--
its tiny grains of rock,
my tires ignore.
Sun sinks to my left.
Each bit of gravel
casts a shadow to the right.
This smooth road
now presents obstacles
to swerve with delight.
About "Shadow Slalom": This poem captures a brief moment on a bike ride, nearing sunset, when the change of light turned tiny bits of gravel into significant visual obstacles.
Poem #205, Secret Messages
by Emily Gibson, July 24, 2022
If you could tell yourself a secret
how would you do the telling?
Maybe a message in white pebbles
on a gray rock shore;
Or clouds arranged just so
in a windless sky.
A chorus of birds
with chirps like morse code;
Or a paragraph of mushrooms
after a long-awaited storm.
A subtle arrangement of tea leaves
strewn across the sink;
Or staggered lightning lines
straggling words across the dark.
I think my secret message
to myself might be one word
on hot pavement
in wet dog prints
before they vanished:
LOOK.
Poem #206, Funnels or Pyramids
by Emily Gibson, July 25, 2022
We sit at the bottom
of funnels,
condensed from those before
whether we knew them or not--
it’s all stored in our DNA,
memories in bones and sinew,
neurons and fingernails.
It is a mighty weight,
a responsibility
to deserve our chance
at life.
Yet we also sit at the apex of pyramids
descending below us
through time,
to those who come after,
who may or may not know us.
We deposit in the DNA
lessons for life,
next steps, wisdom.
It is a mighty weight,
a responsibility
to pack tools and insights
useful for
lives we won't
live.
About "Funnels or Pyramids": In this poem I explore the conundrum of simultaneously being the condensation of all who have gone before, as well as the precursor for all that will come. I can see my parents, grandparents, and great grandparents in me, and feel their lessons in my DNA. Both the ones they wished to pass on and ones they might not realize tagged along.
Poem #207, Blanket of Silence
by Emily Gibson, July 26, 2022
A place so quiet, so still,
silence becomes sound.
Everything you do
disturbs the hush:
a breath, a head turn,
a mindless shift of a foot.
A normal place
hides that personal soundtrack.
Like an oppressive heat,
a place of silence has gravity.
It tethers you to earth,
and begs you to break free.
Poem #208, As They Are
by Emily Gibson, July 27, 2022
“We do not see things as they are. We see things as we are.”— Rabbi Shemuel ben Nachmani, as quoted in the Talmud
Check our confidence at the door.
That blue is our blue
not a universal blue.
That gnarled bark is our bark,
that too-spicy sauce is our “too.”
Assume not that our reality
bears resemblance to others’.
To change ourselves
is to change what we see.
To understand another,
borrow their lens.
About "As They Are": The quote above inspired this poem about understanding how our perspective is just that, our perspective. There is no universal perspective. We must try to understand others if we are going to come together to heal. That requires seeing through others' eyes, I believe.
Poem #209, Sturdy
by Emily Gibson, July 28, 2022
Middle of a long line,
Sturdy,
Stretching back,
Layers of lives,
Salt of the earth families,
Peppered with sorrow and grief,
Dealt tough hands.
Together, heads down,
Keep on,
Do what needs to be done.
Above all, provide,
Whatever it takes.
You,
Sandts,
Comings,
Gibsons.
You,
Sturdy,
Farm stock,
Labor’s lads and lasses.
When you farm
You work.
All you know?
Work.
All your children know?
Work.
Until you two
Planted study feet
A new direction,
Gifted choice
to children
and grandchildren:
“Be what you long to be
just don’t be afraid
to work hard.”
Sturdy.
About "Sturdy": My dad sent some photos of his father in response to questions my brother and I were asking. When I saw this photo, which my dad had titled "Grapes of Wrath" it became this poem. What it took for them to keep going as life slung its arrows at them continues to inspire me in my life's arrows.
Poem #210, Strong Jaws
by Emily Gibson, July 29, 2022
Young brawn,
strong jaw
sturdy bone
lean muscles
built to toil
with the soil.
The men, the horses,
neither knew what
horror lay ahead,
nor that nearly none
would return.
Bright faces forward,
yoked in unison.
Victoria Horse Brigade, pre WWI, Canada. My grandpa Joseph Gibson, 2nd from right.
About "Strong Jaws": Another photo from the collection my dad sent, this one surprised me because I did not know my grandfather was a horse person. I have loved horses all my life. I was struck by how similar the men and horses were, in their strength and their naïveté. This photo was heartbreaking, because I knew that, unlike my grandfather, few of those young men or horses made it back from WWI.
And that concludes Sifting the Rubble's poetry for this week! I hope you enjoyed this collection of poems. Perhaps some of them spoke to you, or maybe you found one begging to be shared with someone else. If so, I hope you will pass it on! Either way, thank you for listening and reading. Hope to see you next week!
