April 9, 2018 (Part II) NaPoWriMo Challenge Poem: “New Compass” (Pantoum)

New Compass

Long shadows weight my shadow-boxing heart.
These mind-forged manacles are all too real.
My body is scarred by its psychic part.
My life contains constraints I make and feel.

These mind-forged manacles are all too real.
How can a galley slave plot a new course?
My life contains constraints I make and feel.
What if good changes tip things, make them worse?

How can a galley slave plot a new course?
I sing of future freedom until I’m hoarse.
What if good changes tip things, make them worse?
Yet still, today, my song lifts my long curse.

I sing of future freedom until I’m hoarse.
My body is scarred by its psychic part,
Yet still, today, my song lifts my long curse,
While shadows weight my shadow-boxing heart.

Leslie Schultz

This “bonus” poem for April 9 sprang from a long-standing echo from William’s Blake’s famous poem, “London,”  written in 1792 and published in his 1794 collection Songs of Experience. Since I first read it, decades ago, I have never stopped thinking about his inspired phrase “mind-forged manacles.” Where Blake looked outward, in this poem I turned the telescope around.

Wishing you a great start to the week! Leslie

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April 8, 2018 NaPoWriMo Challenge Poem “Homo Aspirans”

Homo aspirāns

It seems our common fate:
to draw our last breath
on an inconvenient date
hoping for better than death.

  Leslie Schultz

Dear Readers, This morning, I inadvertently sent the day’s poem out under tomorrow’s date. Hence, two poems in one day, to catch up with deadlines properly labeled. Tomorrow, perhaps, an “April 9, Part II” — or perhaps we’ll observe a day of silence. Time will tell!  Leslie

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April 7, 2018 NaPoWriMo Challenge Poem: “Skaters: ‘Lara’s Theme'”

Skaters: “Lara’s Theme”

They speed, glide, and slow, pirouetting twice,
then pause atop the tiny frozen lake.
Love calls across glare mirrors and thin ice.

I was dreaming but I hear something nice.
Grandma’s new music box calls me awake.
Two tiny skaters glide, then twirl twice

as if they’re dodging tin cans and tossed rice.
My breath clouds the mirror; it doesn’t break.
Love keeps them spinning on the thinnest ice.

Grandma explains: a magnetic device
works under the surface, for goodness sake.
The toy skaters glide, pirouetting twice.

Their frozen figures describe a paradise,
but widows know the flowing of heartache.
Love hurls men and women onto thin ice.

Grandma will remarry; once, twice, thrice.
She understands the motions it will take.
Lovers glide, then slow, pirouetting twice.
Love drowns their molten hearts in melting ice.

Leslie Schultz

This villanelle is based, as they say, on a true story, sparked by memories of my widowed grandmother, her collection of music boxes, and her several remarriages, all ending unhappily. Here she is, pictured in a hopeful moment, in 1969 (younger than I am now), stepping into her first remarriage.

Thanks for your readerly attention this week! Leslie

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April 6, 2018 NaPoWriMo Challenge Poem “Unexpected Leopards”

Unexpected Leopards

Part of the trouble is that I’ve never properly understood that some disasters accumulate, that they don’t all land like a child out of an apple tree.  Janet Burroway, American writer, b. 1937

Each day, so much goes right.
I find my keys, there is ample
hot water and food, the neighbors smile.

Still, you just never know. Things
can go wrong more ways than leopards
have spots. Trouble can crouch

and spring from shadows you don’t
even see. Last year, one by one, four people
dear to me died. Though

they were elderly, each death
knocked me flat. Inside me, right now,
is a singing joy. It is gigantic,

like a huge blue rooster, ready
to break open a new dawn. And yet,
something else could be waiting

overhead, breathing with quiet
malevolence. Really, how
can we ever know?

Leslie Schultz

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April 5, 2018 NaPoWriMo Challenge Poem “Hometown Views”

Hometown Views

Here we don’t find the same enchantment
concocted by smeary Venetian canals
daubed with painterly reflections.

I can be weary of prairie, especially
in winter, with early spring just
another of winter’s subtly woven hues.

Yet under the bleary lamplight—sunlight—
Northfield can sometimes yield
a veld of vivid pastels, a welter of watercolor.

Leslie Schultz

Paper Birch Near Mill

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Hope to see you tomorrow! Leslie