A Poem a Day, Week 28, July 9 to July 15, 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 28th week of the year, July 9 to July 15, originated from nature and introspection. As I navigate this healing journey, as I sift the rubble of my once-life to figure out what I will do next, I keep meditating on what it means to be human and live a life true to our purpose.
As always, I must mention that these are 1 or 2 day poems, which have not gone through the grist of revision. That comes later, something I truly look forward to doing. For now, I release these new, freshly hatched poems to the world as my commitment to build my creative habit as a writer and a poet this year.
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Please like and follow and share in whichever ways suit you. Thank you! :)
And now, for this week's poems!
You can keep track of Sifting the Rubble's posts on the Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram platforms:
Facebook (daily posts) : https://www.facebook.com/BlueheronELG
Twitter https://twitter.com/SiftingThe
Instagram https://www.instagram.com/sifting_the_rubble/
Please like and follow and share in whichever ways suit you. Thank you! :)
And now, for this week's poems!
Poem #190, A Volcano Dream
by Emily Gibson, July 9, 2022
by Emily Gibson, July 9, 2022
A cinder cone
dreamed a volcanic memory.
A bank of cumulus clouds
brought illusion to life.
dreamed a volcanic memory.
A bank of cumulus clouds
brought illusion to life.
About "A Volcano Dream": On a drive a few weeks ago, I saw this image and heard this poem. This week, as I was sifting through my photo album in Google, I found this grainy photo I snapped through the car's windshield to remind me. Finally, this short poem came to life in print.
Poem #191, Arrange the Mind
by Emily Gibson, July 10, 2022
by Emily Gibson, July 10, 2022
Make up your mind,
like you make your bed,
first thing in the morning,
a ritual to set the day.
Arrange your mind
like you arrange
a vase of flowers,
focused and thoughtful.
How we choose to be
is a decision we make.
The more conscious,
the more intentional
that choice,
the better.
Feelings come and go
like weather.
It takes a conscious
state of mind
to resist weathering.
first thing in the morning,
a ritual to set the day.
Arrange your mind
like you arrange
a vase of flowers,
focused and thoughtful.
How we choose to be
is a decision we make.
The more conscious,
the more intentional
that choice,
the better.
Feelings come and go
like weather.
It takes a conscious
state of mind
to resist weathering.
About "Arrange the Mind": In something I read this week, I saw the line 'Arrange your mind," in reference to how we get to decide how we feel, each day, if we make that conscious choice. It tied to an earlier poem about feelings being like weather, in a way. Writing this poem helped me shift my thinking a bit, and reminded me that what we think, we manifest.
Poem #192, 55 and Counting
by Emily Gibson, July 11, 2022
by Emily Gibson, July 11, 2022
Inside my bones are these little bones.
My feet still point in those arcs.
Muscles grew longer and stronger,
Neurons flew faster each year.
That white-blonde hair
Became darker,
It glints of silver now.
Oh, to be that satisfied,
To be so in the moment,
Unable to consider
How time
My feet still point in those arcs.
Muscles grew longer and stronger,
Neurons flew faster each year.
That white-blonde hair
Became darker,
It glints of silver now.
Oh, to be that satisfied,
To be so in the moment,
Unable to consider
How time
Stretched ahead.
Just this moment
On the border of shade and sun,
With a brilliant red fuchsia
Dangled out of reach.
Me in my grub state,
Happy as I’ll ever be.
Just this moment
On the border of shade and sun,
With a brilliant red fuchsia
Dangled out of reach.
Me in my grub state,
Happy as I’ll ever be.
About "55 and Counting": This is my birthday poem to myself! One of my favorite photos of me from just before my parents split up. I love how I can see in this photo all of me (inside and out) as I am today.
Poem #193, Moving Day
by Emily Gibson, July 12, 2022
by Emily Gibson, July 12, 2022
Under the van a shadow moves.
Suspected skunk prompts move
of van to load gear. This move
reveals a family of ducks, moved
into shade as the heat moved
past 95. Unsure how to move
duck and ducklings to move
to nearby water source, Jay’s move
is to call home. His story moves
me, with my recent duckling move.
I encourage him to quickly move
towards others to find help. This move
unearths one experienced in moves
of ducks and ducklings. They move
into action, grab the duck. Moved
to quack, the ducklings move,
scatter under cars. Jay moved
with others to contain and move
ducklings and duck to pond. Move
of van to load gear. This move
reveals a family of ducks, moved
into shade as the heat moved
past 95. Unsure how to move
duck and ducklings to move
to nearby water source, Jay’s move
is to call home. His story moves
me, with my recent duckling move.
I encourage him to quickly move
towards others to find help. This move
unearths one experienced in moves
of ducks and ducklings. They move
into action, grab the duck. Moved
to quack, the ducklings move,
scatter under cars. Jay moved
with others to contain and move
ducklings and duck to pond. Move
accomplished. Heart moved.
About "Moving Day": After last week's events with ducks, my partner Jay had his own intersection with them this week, at a golf course. While I wrote the first couple lines, I started looking for synonyms for "move" because I didn't want to overuse the word. Then I thought I could play with the different meanings of "move," and place the word at the end of each line. As a creative exercise. I want to repeat this idea in the future, as it made me really think and stretch!
Poem #194, Pound of Perseverance
by Emily Gibson, July 13, 2022
by Emily Gibson, July 13, 2022
You can’t just go buy a pound of perseverance
at the Character Trait Emporium.
Though if you could, the shop clerk
would wrap it in three layers of butcher paper,
each pulled tight under packing tape--
the kind with threads embedded--
then each layer further secured
with a triple knotted string.
Figuring out the hours of operation
and exact location
for such a store presents a hurdle.
It isn’t in the phone book, definitely
not on the internet, and in fact has no
known physical address.
You’d need to pay with a wheelbarrow
of pennies that you cursed for its
penny-sized hole where a bolt used to be,
which dribbled pennies
as you pushed along, paused,
picked them up and pushed along.
Until you patched the hole
with a layer of green maple leaves.
Any store that sold such a thing
as perseverance,
by the pound,
would have to be located
a mile beyond the end of the bus line.
So even if the bus allowed wheelbarrows
onboard, with all your pennies,
it'd still be quite a push.
Eventually your efforts reveal
the store opens an average
of 36 minutes
on a randomly selected day
posted once a week.
When you do find the store
and arrive during business minutes,
you are grateful for the wheelbarrow
and the strength built
in pushing those pennies,
because you see how perseverance
takes up far more space
than you’d ever expect,
for just a pound.
After all that effort,
I expect you’d stop,
leave the pennies
and the wheelbarrow,
and walk out with hands
of 36 minutes
on a randomly selected day
posted once a week.
When you do find the store
and arrive during business minutes,
you are grateful for the wheelbarrow
and the strength built
in pushing those pennies,
because you see how perseverance
takes up far more space
than you’d ever expect,
for just a pound.
After all that effort,
I expect you’d stop,
leave the pennies
and the wheelbarrow,
and walk out with hands
an observer might think
empty.
But you know what they don't:
But you know what they don't:
the mere act of seeking
a pound of perseverance
shows you had exactly
a pound of perseverance
shows you had exactly
what you sought
all along.
all along.
About "Pound of Perseverance": A prompt from an online poetry resource started this poem: "You can't go buy a pound of ______." I really like this poem, for so many reasons. The word play, the humor, the story it tells, and the way the ending happened. It is one of those poems that feels like it was just delivered to the world through me, because it just flowed out of my pen with very little revision. Of course, I had been thinking about it and dreaming about it for a few weeks, so that may have helped with flow!
Poem #195, If This was a Poem about Doors
by Emily Gibson, July 14, 2022
by Emily Gibson, July 14, 2022
If this was a poem about doors,
it might ramble on about
the enormity of transitions,
or how opening one door
closes another,
or how doors have locks and hinges
and handles to protect spaces,
belongings,
and other precious things.
If this was a poem about doors,
it might pontificate on how
the world would be better
with more curtains,
fewer locks
and an abundance of
open doors.
But this isn’t a poem about doors.
It’s a poem about door frames.
They clue the door opener
to the nature of what lies
on the other side.
And lead one to ponder
the purpose of crossing
that particular threshold
at that particular time.
A proper door frame
sets the stage to appreciate
and process that which resides
within the frame,
turning a simple door
into a piece of art
hung in a house
with care.
hung in a house
with care.
About "If This Was a Poem About Doors": This is a twist on another poetry prompt I saw, "If this was a _____Poem." I mulled the phrase over in my mind, and it morphed into "If this was a poem about ______." I truly have no idea where the topic of doors came from, or why I negated it in the middle, switching to door frames! This exercise, I feel, will be worth repeating in the future, as well, with different topics.
Poem #196, Hijack your Mind
by Emily Gibson, July 15, 2022
by Emily Gibson, July 15, 2022
Senses directly tap the brain.
Sensory input registers first,
immediately,
priming the brain.
Emotions
memories
thoughts
all follow.
Know this:
Sensory input registers first,
immediately,
priming the brain.
Emotions
memories
thoughts
all follow.
Know this:
your senses
hijack you.
Empowerment!
We can choose
what to remember
how to feel
where to transport
our selves
hijack you.
Empowerment!
We can choose
what to remember
how to feel
where to transport
our selves
our minds
our day.
So, choose
a song
or scent
or meal
and enjoy the ride.
our day.
So, choose
a song
or scent
or meal
and enjoy the ride.
About "Hijack Your Mind": In the book The Body Keeps the Score, there was a line about how the sensory system is the first stop for any input into the body. Our conscious mind takes longer to register the reason for any reaction that was triggered by the smell, sight, or sound. Similarly, memories are stored with sensory tags, an idea I wanted to explore with this poem. Choosing the memories we want to trigger, instead of getting hijacked unawares by sensory input.
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!
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