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 32nd week of the year, August 6 to 12, are mostly based on my participation in a Bike MS event in the Willamette Valley of Oregon. There are a couple other random poems from other origins, but mostly the experience of biking with other people who have MS, in the natural setting of the valley. Many of this week's poems have images attached which you can see on the blog, if you choose.
I will 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, they are freshly hatched, still a little wet around the ears, maybe somewhat awkward at times. Yet each has something to say, so I share them, uncensored, as part of my challenge.
As always, 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 #218, It’s All Relative
by Emily Gibson, Aug 6, 2022
The science of relativity is helpful with climate change.
Think it is too hot? Not if you want to cook on the sidewalk.
Too cold? Food can be stored on the porch.
The sky is full of smoke? The sunsets will be spectacular.
The lake dried up? Many lost people can be found.
Europe’s rivers too low for tour ships? Think of the fossil fuel saved.
Uncomfortable with change? Sorry, I got nothing.
About "It's All Relative": A funny meme about how the science of relativity makes it okay to eat cheesecake because that is healthier than taking drugs was the genesis of this poem. Except I took common tragedies of climate change and tried to find a relative positive inside.
Poem #219, I Ride with MS
by Emily Gibson, Aug 7, 2022
I’ve done a lot in my life,
accomplished impossible things,
risen above my share of hardness,
worn my nose raw on the grindstone of grit,
pushed beyond possible
so often it seemed normal.
This is bigger than the sum of it all.
This bike ride of 100 miles,
on this particular weekend,
in the heat, after this year.
To be so strong again.
To have found this smile.
To be by myself, confident.
I am full of gratitude.
I did this.
About "I Ride with MS": Though I rode my bicycle on the Pacific Coast this spring, from Bellingham to Big Sur, the accomplishment of my Bike MS weekend felt like a more monumental achievement. I was curious about this feeling and wished to explore it in poetry. So I did.
Poem #220, Tribe Found
by Emily Gibson, Aug 8, 2022
Novel experiences, with unique ups and downs,
Call for those who recognize your new frowns.
Regular, uninitiated loved ones matter a lot--
Quite often, they are all we’ve got!
But to seek members of this new tribe,
And find them? It’s a whole different vibe.
On this day of celebration, we ride
With absolutely nothing to hide.
Emily (me) with two other Bike MS riders!
About "Tribe Found": On my Bike MS weekend, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for finally knowing what it feels like to be with people who have MS and understand what it is like. Since I was diagnosed during Covid, I haven't had the benefit of local support groups. It has all been virtual. And this was the first time I got to ride and hang out with athletes with MS, like me. What a ride it was!
Poem #221, A Cowboy Hat
by Emily Gibson, Aug 9, 2022
A cowboy hat
crafted of weeping willow
gives shade to cattle
on this hottest of hot afternoons.
Trimmed by human hands
or worn by bovine backs,
the graceful branches are a perfect height
to swish flies and dust as breeze blows light.
Willow tree shelter, Wilamette Valley, Or.
About "A Cowboy Hat": On my Bike MS ride through the Willamette Valley, I saw this tree that looked like a cowboy hat. then I saw the cows underneath. While I pedaled on, I composed this poem in the hot sun.
Poem #222, A Bit of Wild
by Emily Gibson, Aug 10, 2022
On the plot of this tree farm
perfectly coiffed evergreens
march in rows to their destiny
as December decorations.
Then this one, out in front,
a wild, untamed friend
bursting at its seams
with fronds and greens,
no main stem
or leader to the sun.
White Oregon Yampah dance,
like moths that flit
on an imaginary breeze.
Yellow Oregon Sunshine
flowers fill in the understory
with grasses dried
and soon to be dried
in this August heat.
What future awaits
this misfit tree?
And who left it to grow?
The unique tree in a field of wildflowers.
The unique tree in a farm of monotony.
Poem #223, News You Can Use
by Emily Gibson, Aug 11, 2022
The pit
in your stomach,
at the base of your sternum
holds a physical,
visceral
response to need.
Cut it off,
explain it away,
ignore it
at your peril.
The body keeps the score.
The body ups the ante.
The body holds the hostage,
who is you,
until you pay attention.
That sinking, holding,
empty spot in your gut,
your solar plexus,
your diaphragm,
it is news you can use
with breath that heals.
A well-placed hand,
an open question,
lets the body speak
of its need,
if you listen.
About "News You Can Use": This week I read The Body Keeps the Score, about trauma and PTSD. This book caused me to consider where in my body trauma resided, because I thought if I could find that place, I could use it as a signal from my body, and build confidence that I could recognize when trauma rises and do something to help myself. In this poem, I wrote about the place I found.
Poem #224, Haiku
by Emily Gibson, Aug 12, 2022
Millwright’s failed sight,
An ostrich caught in the saw
Now one with the wood.
