April 15, 2018 NaPoWriMo Challenge Poem “A Windsor Chair”

A Windsor Chair

A symphony can’t be simply sonic—
notes soaring wing-beats/heart-beats drummed into ears.
More like lit windows in dark walls, chronic
as daybreak and nightfall and widows’ tears:

a whole composed of universal fears
and resolutions. Panes of mended glass.
Those repetitions tonic. Soothing as shears
making order by breaking blades of grass.

Simplicity, too, seems wrought. Involute.
Flowing in tight-formed scrolls. Pure Ionic.
Pedestals hold idealized marble fruit
or chiseled heads (blank-eyed and iconic)
designed to be read Platonically astute
yet—unintentionally?—ironic.

Leslie Schultz

Greetings from this Land of April Snow!  These photographs were all taken from within my house within the past twenty-four hours. This morning’s poem started as I idly looked at some images of antique Windsor chairs made hundreds of years ago in Philadelphia and took the shape of this Petrarchan sonnet.

Enjoy your day, whatever the weather!  LESLIE

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April 14, 2018 NaPoWriMo Challenge Poem: “Patience, Patience”

Patience, Patience

Like harpers’ hands,
strands of blizzard
keep blowing against
these long, metal tubes.

Wind chimes make
unrepeatable and
persistent music
in the icy cold.

Wind-driven sleet
covers the grass
and glazes the streets
this April morning.

Still, daffodils struggle
upwards, yellow-green;
Siberian scilla
open like rainbows;

and soon (whatever
the weather) bold
forsythia will perch,
gold-finch-like, on cold branches.

Leslie Schultz

Forsythia in Snow (Northfield, MN May 2013)

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April 13, 2018 NaPoWriMo Challenge Poem: “Enchantment” & Photography By Karla Schultz

Enchantment
for Karla

Remember those pajamas with feet we padded in,
how we sat near the television, clutching
each other in fear when Dorothy’s house
pinned down the first witch and her striped stockings
shriveled? We shivered as the tiny silver
screen shimmered with image after image.

Most magical of all, that sudden wash
of color, of eyes opened at last
to besetting wonder: beauties and dangers.
As I see it, sister, you carry Oz
with you everywhere. Fields of bright poppies
wake you up, and you bring us all to light.

Leslie Schultz

For Karla,

You scatter pixel dust with practiced hand,
transport me to a rare magical land.
The measure of your magic is to show
beauty abounds and seeing makes it grow.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KARLA! MANY HAPPY RETURNS OF THE DAY!

A number of older posts feature Karla’s incomparable photographs, from vistas to insects and everything in between. Just search on “Winona Media Karla Schultz” to find dozens, each one amazing!

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April 12, 2018 NaPoWriMo Challenge Poem “The Receipt”

The Receipt
for Beth

Winter wore me out, bowed me down.
My roots strong, still I chilled with fear
that winter would linger into forever,
some Witch of Narnia in charge.

I succumbed, shook with fever,
body racked with cough,
in the month of my birth.
Kindness brought a cure.

Like frugal colonial housewives,
my friend and I exchange lists
of the delicious, the delectation
of effective combinations.

I see this one here, in her hand:
“Moxie’s Cold Cure.”
Golds of fresh lemon and
honey, heat of fresh ginger

and cayenne, boiled with water
then capped with a darker
liquid deemed “Super
Echinacea.” This prairie brew

blew through my petty maladies
with root, leaf, flower, and seed;
restored the hope we all need
of gentler weather and warmer breeze;

helped me accept and believe
that I am worthy to ask. And receive.

Leslie Schultz

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April 11, 2018 NaPoWriMo Challenge Poem: “A Fable”

A Fable

Once upon a time, a car went through this car wash.

When the bay doors opened, like stable doors, the car
was covered in glue. It wasn’t clean but it gleamed.

Slowly, it rolled out, followed by a puff of steam.
As it checked its reflection in pavement puddles,

suddenly the sky darkened. A hard rain rang down.
The car took fright! It bucked. It jerked forward, then stopped.

The rain was like small birds hurling themselves against
the car with despair, like lovers throwing themselves

into doomed love or over the side of a high bridge.
The car felt the pain of this wild abandon and

headlong joy. Each of its scratches and its patches
of rust throbbed. It was as though a thousand hammers

were beating it into a new shape, transforming
it into a new being. Then, the rain, harder

than hail, halted. The sun shone. The road dust settled.
The car felt its gears engaging while its sharp pains

evaporated, never to return. Where flaws
had been, they were no more seen. A pelt of buttons—

each one different, each one perfect, like crystals—
covered the bones of the car like new armature.

One of a kind now—like a scarred warrior or
a queen hung with jewels and insignia of power—

this car could never move through the world without
being seen, being marveled at. Ordinary

days were over. Even in its darkened garage,
at midnight, its engine quite quiet, still the shining car

glowed with beauty. Thrummed, awash in a tide of love.

Leslie Schultz

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