A Poem a Day, Week 38, Sept 17 to 23, 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 mostly light-hearted poems for the 38th week of the year, September 17 to 23, found their origins in the onset of fall, poetry prompts, interesting words, and another cycling visitor.
I would be remis if I didn't explain for those new to this podcast 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, they are new, not quite steady or solid, but each has something to say, so I share them, uncensored. It is part of my challenge.
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And now, for this week's poems!
Poem #260, Autumn as a Person
by Emily Gibson, Sept 17, 2022
Fauntleroy was gifted the nickname Fawn
for his tendency to drop things that had
served their purpose, like old lists and used socks;
as well as his will to hide in leaf piles
and penchant to freeze when frightened. Fawn’s hair?
Flaming red, of course, in waves, that he grows
long all year, and shaves for Winter Solstice.
Nothing says “the light gets longer from here
long all year, and shaves for Winter Solstice.
Nothing says “the light gets longer from here
on out” like a bald head. Taller than most,
Fawn likes to carry kids on his shoulders
so they can touch the tallest trees. At the
so they can touch the tallest trees. At the
first sign of cooling air in September,
he pulls his knee-length, rust-colored wool coat
with a shawl collar out of its mothball
sanctuary. His favorite music is
Copeland’s Appalachian Spring, with Joplin’s
Maple Leaf Rag a close second. Fawn learned
to play the harp in college. He said it
sounded like frost as it crept across twigs.
Fawn's eyes are a tawny brown, similar
to a lion’s, and his voice a gentle
tenor, what brown might sound like if brown had
a sound. As a school child, Fawn loved arts and
crafts projects for October, when classmates
clamored for a share in his special box
of sixty-four Autumn Colors that his
grandmother gifted on his birthday--the
Autumnal Equinox, of course--each year.
Personally, Fawn can seem hot and cold,
comes on strong like a warm wind, then turns an
comes on strong like a warm wind, then turns an
abrupt cold shoulder. This makes it hard for
Fauntleroy to find friends. While Spring was a
good companion in high school, work makes it
impossible to meet up these days. Now,
the moon, sun, and wind are Fawn's best friends.
About "Autumn as a Person": A poetry prompt instructed writers to write about spring as a person. Since the season is fall, I switched to Autumn. Just a fun poem to play with personification, using a ten-syllable line structure.
About "Pochemuchka": Reading a list of words from languages other than English that were recommended as prompts for poetry, I found this word, pochemuchka, which is Russian for the curiosity of children and the many questions they ask. I thought it would make a fun list poem of questions children might ask, which also might cause readers to pause and think. I utilized the structure of an acrostic poem, with the first letters of each line spelling pochemuchka.
Poem #262, Yaron Banai
by Emily Gibson, September 19, 2022
A mango farmer arrived yesterday
riding a mango-flesh colored bicycle.
When my writing group heard him speak
in the background when I unmuted on Zoom,
About "Pareidolias": I absolutely love pareidolias, or the seeing of animate objects within inanimate ones. Though typically people refer to human faces in objects, I notice many animals in my surroundings, on a daily basis. This poem was inspired by the growing herd of leaf horses in the tree above my house, which I observe every day through a skylight while doing my exercises on a mat.
Poem #264, Reverse Spring
by Emily Gibson, Sept 21, 2022
Spring’s steady expansion of green
becomes Fall’s gradual recession of same.
Tree buds swell, open, fill their leaves.
Those same leaves lose their green
as color does drain from a face in the cold.
Spring’s progression of flowers open to
lure their pollinators, animal or mechanical.
Once seeds launch, fall composts petals and pods
Poem #265, Thick
by Emily Gibson, Sept 22, 2022
The grief of trauma old
and buried is thick,
so thick it clogs
throat and lungs and nose
making breathing tough
when you begin its release.
Thick and sticky, it doesn’t
let go with ease. Nay, it grew
cozy and comfortable in time.
With intention,
you root it out,
you remember,
and thick,
Poem #266, Nature Speaks
by Emily Gibson, Sept 23, 2022
"Crack--Crack--Craaak,"
Silence suspends seconds.
"Craaash!" An alder tree’s roots
Release, trunk shatters across a trail.
"Bugle--Buueegaaal--Bueueuegle"
bounces up a valley canyon's walls.
"Bustle-thunder." Elken hooves
crumble dried leaves to soil.
"Rustle-Shhhhh-Rustle,"
leaves feel the air,
the quiet feels a "Shush,"
we hold our breaths.
Nature speaks
when you are there
to hear.
Poem #261, Pochemuchka (Po-she-mush-ka)
by Emily Gibson, Sept 18, 2022
by Emily Gibson, Sept 18, 2022
Puppies, kittens, and babies' eyes, why do they often change color?
Octopuses have 8 legs. Why not ten or six or 20?
Clouds are white, but you can’t touch them. How do they have color?
How does gelatin become solid, and why can’t we put pineapple in it?
Elephants have tails but they are so small. What are they used for?
Mummies were people, but they aren’t all mothers, so why call them mummies?
Under sea animals breathe water except mammals, why is that?
Can a wet bird fly as far or as fast as a dry bird?
How does grandma’s love compare to your love?
Kangaroos have tiny T-Rex arms, but what do they use them for?
Ah, always ask questions, young ones, and change the way we all see.
Octopuses have 8 legs. Why not ten or six or 20?
Clouds are white, but you can’t touch them. How do they have color?
How does gelatin become solid, and why can’t we put pineapple in it?
Elephants have tails but they are so small. What are they used for?
Mummies were people, but they aren’t all mothers, so why call them mummies?
Under sea animals breathe water except mammals, why is that?
Can a wet bird fly as far or as fast as a dry bird?
How does grandma’s love compare to your love?
Kangaroos have tiny T-Rex arms, but what do they use them for?
Ah, always ask questions, young ones, and change the way we all see.
About "Pochemuchka": Reading a list of words from languages other than English that were recommended as prompts for poetry, I found this word, pochemuchka, which is Russian for the curiosity of children and the many questions they ask. I thought it would make a fun list poem of questions children might ask, which also might cause readers to pause and think. I utilized the structure of an acrostic poem, with the first letters of each line spelling pochemuchka.
Poem #262, Yaron Banai
by Emily Gibson, September 19, 2022
A mango farmer arrived yesterday
riding a mango-flesh colored bicycle.
When my writing group heard him speak
in the background when I unmuted on Zoom,
they asked where the grandfather
from a European Country came from.
Not Europe, but Israel, Sea of Galilee
from a European Country came from.
Not Europe, but Israel, Sea of Galilee
to be precise, with a thick accent, raised
on a Kibbutz where he learned to farm cotton.
On bicycles he has traveled the world
in bits and pieces here and there,
from Japan to Africa, always with friends.
This time, he rides solo for 2400 miles
On bicycles he has traveled the world
in bits and pieces here and there,
from Japan to Africa, always with friends.
This time, he rides solo for 2400 miles
on the Sierra Cascade route, a mere 133K feet
of elevation gain, Canada to Mexico, a bargain
complete with extreme weather variables.
This wise athlete chose to trial an E-bike.
Still an enormous passage, but now the challenge
includes the need for power sources for bike batteries.
Safe journey to you, Yaron Banai.
About "Yaron Banai": We hosted a touring cyclist from Israel this week. Such a grand time! In this poem I sought to capture some highlights of the memorable experience. I want to work more with this poem, as it feels pretty rough still.
Safe journey to you, Yaron Banai.
About "Yaron Banai": We hosted a touring cyclist from Israel this week. Such a grand time! In this poem I sought to capture some highlights of the memorable experience. I want to work more with this poem, as it feels pretty rough still.
Poem #263, Pareidolias
by Emily Gibson, Sept 20, 2022
Everywhere I go, I see them: pareidolias.
Eyes peer out, faces emerge, hands or hooves stretch
Bodies writhe and dance, bow and jump,
Wilds enlivened by the breaths of winds.
by Emily Gibson, Sept 20, 2022
Everywhere I go, I see them: pareidolias.
Eyes peer out, faces emerge, hands or hooves stretch
Bodies writhe and dance, bow and jump,
Wilds enlivened by the breaths of winds.
On my back I stretch, and see a tree above a skylight.
Wait, is that a horse head in the leaves?
Each day, a new one nods beside the original.
Four arched necks, like chess pieces, now supervise.
Wait, is that a horse head in the leaves?
Each day, a new one nods beside the original.
Four arched necks, like chess pieces, now supervise.
Along a street lined with sapling trees, each
transforms to a leafy creature’s celebration.
Mountains slumber with animals and people,
a cacophony of beings resides in the clouds.
transforms to a leafy creature’s celebration.
Mountains slumber with animals and people,
a cacophony of beings resides in the clouds.
My secret companions since childhood.
Inhabitants, I thought, of a fairy world,
there to ensure I never felt too lonely.
To still have their presence is a gift.
Inhabitants, I thought, of a fairy world,
there to ensure I never felt too lonely.
To still have their presence is a gift.
About "Pareidolias": I absolutely love pareidolias, or the seeing of animate objects within inanimate ones. Though typically people refer to human faces in objects, I notice many animals in my surroundings, on a daily basis. This poem was inspired by the growing herd of leaf horses in the tree above my house, which I observe every day through a skylight while doing my exercises on a mat.
Poem #264, Reverse Spring
by Emily Gibson, Sept 21, 2022
Spring’s steady expansion of green
becomes Fall’s gradual recession of same.
Tree buds swell, open, fill their leaves.
Those same leaves lose their green
as color does drain from a face in the cold.
Spring’s progression of flowers open to
lure their pollinators, animal or mechanical.
Once seeds launch, fall composts petals and pods
next year's nutrient stores for new growth.
Spring, the great squanderer of resources, reverses to
Spring, the great squanderer of resources, reverses to
Fall, the steady recycler of the no longer needed.
About "Reverse Spring": In a conversation with a friend about the onset of fall, I mentioned I was still mourning spring, and wasn't ready for fall yet. She thought I could consider fall as reverse spring. And a poem was born! This is another one I want to work on more, as it is still pretty rough to my ears.
About "Reverse Spring": In a conversation with a friend about the onset of fall, I mentioned I was still mourning spring, and wasn't ready for fall yet. She thought I could consider fall as reverse spring. And a poem was born! This is another one I want to work on more, as it is still pretty rough to my ears.
Poem #265, Thick
by Emily Gibson, Sept 22, 2022
The grief of trauma old
and buried is thick,
so thick it clogs
throat and lungs and nose
making breathing tough
when you begin its release.
Thick and sticky, it doesn’t
let go with ease. Nay, it grew
cozy and comfortable in time.
With intention,
you root it out,
you remember,
and thick,
the sludge
sloughs off
in tears and phlegm.
Keep at it, until
it flows clear and easy.
About "Thick": Breaking with the light and playful flavor of most of this week's poems, this one attaches to my ongoing theme of trauma and recovery. I wanted to capture how difficult this work is, while also conveying how trudging through the thick is the only way to get to where things flow more easily again.
sloughs off
in tears and phlegm.
Keep at it, until
it flows clear and easy.
About "Thick": Breaking with the light and playful flavor of most of this week's poems, this one attaches to my ongoing theme of trauma and recovery. I wanted to capture how difficult this work is, while also conveying how trudging through the thick is the only way to get to where things flow more easily again.
Poem #266, Nature Speaks
by Emily Gibson, Sept 23, 2022
"Crack--Crack--Craaak,"
Silence suspends seconds.
"Craaash!" An alder tree’s roots
Release, trunk shatters across a trail.
"Bugle--Buueegaaal--Bueueuegle"
bounces up a valley canyon's walls.
"Bustle-thunder." Elken hooves
crumble dried leaves to soil.
"Rustle-Shhhhh-Rustle,"
leaves feel the air,
the quiet feels a "Shush,"
we hold our breaths.
Nature speaks
when you are there
to hear.
About "Nature Speaks": On a recent camping trip in the forests of western Oregon, these three moments stood out. All of them would have happened whether I was there to witness them or not. I appreciated the opportunity to use onomatopoeia to capture the sounds I heard when nature spoke. Though it is challenging to read onomatopoeia out loud!
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!
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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