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 23rd week of the year, June 4 to June 10, were mostly inspired by deep conversations with our house guest from the Netherlands and pithy quotes from various sources. I never know what will spark a poem, so I jot down phrases. words, images, and conversations that seem interesting or insightful at the time. When I sit down to write, I review my notes and see what happens. My goal with this poetry challenge has been to build the habits of a daily writer. It is worth mentioning that these are 1 or 2 day poems, which have not gone through the grist of revision. That comes later. For now, they are freshly hatched, still a little wet around the ears, maybe somewhat awkward.
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And now, for this week's poems!
Poem #155, Land of Plenty
by Emily Gibson, June 4, 2022
There’s room for everyone to eat
if we build a bigger table.
There’s plenty of apples of sweet,
if we help with the harvest.
There’s energy to summit hills too steep,
if we get out and push together.
There’s space for everyone to sleep,
if we get a little more cozy inside.
Humans seem programmed to compete,
fight over ephemeral trophies,
worship the smoke and mirrors of power:
ownership and money,
status and stuff,
the things that go “poof”
when we all turn to dust.
About "Land of Plenty": Our house guest, Jelle, said about the housing crisis, "We need to bring enough people into homes until everyone fits." We talked about how what people think matters doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. And then a quote came across my news feed saying we could solve the hunger problem by building bigger tables so everyone could sit, because there was plenty of food. I tried to document these ideas in this poem.
Poem #156, Mind the Moments
by Emily Gibson, June 5, 2022
It isn’t about doing the miles,
it’s about the miles you do.
Life isn’t the sum of our days,
but how much each day counts.
Pedal around the temptation
to focus on the fruits of labor,
for a mind harnessed to moments
makes labor its own reward.
About "Mind the Moments": This poem has rattled around in my brain since before we left on tour. As I was preparing, with long daily rides, I kept thinking about how the goal isn't to rack up the miles, it is about focusing on the miles you actually do. I was reminded of this in talking with Jelle. Seems like it is another version of being present and mindful, one of the greatest lessons I have gained from bicycle touring, for sure.
Poem #157, Thanks, Jelle!
by Emily Gibson, June 6, 2022
Thanks for teaching us
the reason for Holland, Netherlands, and Dutch.
Like USA, America, and the United States,
place names shift over time,
but not everyone gets the memo.
Thanks for expressing wonder,
at the days in the country on a bike,
which expand far beyond time’s measure,
and the wisdom one begins to feel
so intense is the depth that one lives.
You and your bottomless cyclist’s stomach,
with your tour a bright light in your eyes,
and us with our shrunken appetites,
our own tour fading from sight...
ah what a grand time we shared
in this cozy art gallery of a house.
About "Thanks, Jelle": Jelle, a cyclist from Holland, graced us (in our role as warm shower hosts) with his presence over the course of 3 days. As I did with those who hosted us on our trip, I wanted to document his visit with a poem. So soon after the end of our own tour, it was wonderful to revel in his trip and share our experiences. When we asked about why his country has three names, he laughed and said that all 3 people who hosted him had asked the exact same question. One memorable conversation surrounded the topic of how expansive time seemed, on tour. What we are able pack into one day mirrors what we pack on our bike! Jelle said it well with, "You begin to feel so wise!"
Poem #158, Softened
by Emily Gibson, June 7, 2022
Soft mountain
of burnt trees.
New green shoots
through pavement.
A cityscape of iron
encroached by dunes.
Nature ever turns
destruction to new:
softens hardness,
embraces the lost
reclaims the taken
re-births the once-was.
Something we of
short human lives
struggle to grasp.
About "Softened": On another trip through the Santiam River canyon, I was again struck by the visuals of the land recovering from the fires of 2020. How soft the gray-silver of dead trees made the hills, from a distance. And I thought back to when we rode south of S.F. on our bike tour, on the Great Highway, past the sand dunes that endlessly heap up on the road. At the time, we talked about how long it might take for the wind to bury the entire city in sand.
Poem #159, Given the Chance
by Emily Gibson, June 8, 2022
“We like to say that we don’t get to choose our parents, that they were given by chance.” --Seneca
I like the parents
I was given by chance.
And given the chance
to choose others,
none could edge out
the advantage
of my originals.
They influenced me into
the I that I am.
Selecting others would
annihilate me
it seems.
Or make me
unrecognizable.
I’m not even
sure I would
like myself,
I’m not even
sure I would
like myself,
if I wasn't
this self.
About "Given the Chance": Another inspiration from The Daily Stoic, I went in a different direction than the quote, which encouraged people to find other mentors to emulate in the grand catalog of history. Instead, I wanted to embrace my parents of chance. Wouldn't want to change them, one bit. They helped make me who I am.
Poem #160, In Praise of Things that Cannot Last
by Emily Gibson, June 9, 2022
I want to praise things that cannot last. --Barbara Crooker, “Equinox”
Things that cannot last
yet cycle through our lives
predictably, bring
a spark of recognition--
old friends seen once again,
and a pang of possible loss--
each time could be the final.
Warm needles and leaves fragrancing fall air;
Rain hitting hot pavement, leaving a dry concrete mist;
Pulse of a raptor in flight, a woosh of wings in unison;
Waves hissing on dry sands, rolling pebbles to round;
Meteorites of the Perseids, flashed across cold night skies.
The things that cannot last,
are reminders of the moment
and in those moments
they are eternal.
About "In Praise of Things that Cannot Last": I saw this quote in another book I am reading, "Women Rowing North" by Mary Pipher. I tracked down Barbara Crooker's complete poem, 'Equinox,' which you can find here. Her poem is a beautiful catalog of nature, which I didn't want to duplicate in my own way. Instead I wanted to write about how those temporary things make me feel and the residues of lessons they leave behind.
Poem # 161, Mountain or Molehill?
by Emily Gibson, June 10, 2022
Every mountain, once a molehill
just a glimmer of what would be.
Every river, once a rivulet,
a mirage of the raging waters to come.
Every canyon, once a crack,
dreaming of wind and water’s erosive expansion.
Obstacles in our way
were all once tiny, surmountable,
easily stepped over,
sashayed around.
Tiny steps add up.
Seconds become years
Teaspoons become lakes
Grams become elephants.
Every problem,
Every bad habit
Every derailment
is a trickle at outset.
Eat away at overwhelm,
with manageable bites,
until forward
is easier
than back.
That helps.
About "Mountain or Molehill": This poem is another inspiration from The Daily Stoic. When I first read the quote about how bad habits and ill-discipline start as trickles, I thought about my spinal alignment and the lesion in my neck that was worsened by my poor posture. When we bear the results of allowing a tiny trickle to continue until it is a coursing river, it takes a lot to reverse course. But it is possible, one step at a time. A lesson from this past year that I hope to remember.
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. Either way, thank you for listening and reading. Hope to see you next week!
