Wild Card Farewell: “ARS POETICA” for April 30, 2019

Ars Poetica
 
A poem slips open into your hand
like a cracked egg falling, wobbly but whole,
into your old blue china mixing bowl,
nascent but complete, soon to be transformed—
 
new matrix binding chance observation,
puzzled memory, and flash points of insight
with enough artistry to draw attention.
Some few go deep, bring a bright steel rivet
 
to strengthen the battleship of the brain;
platinum threads to reweave a broken heart,
mending its weary net. Where there is pain,
we cry out to our old mother art.
 
Cake or bread? Confection or contusion?
A poem serves up its startling fusion.
 
Leslie Schultz

Thank you for joining me for this circadian exploration of words and pictures during April! Wishing you a season filled with exciting discoveries, poetic, pictorial, and otherwise!

  LESLIE

Wild Card: “Song” for April 29, 2019

Song
 
Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust.
Tarnish to tarnish,
Rust to rust.
 
Raindrop to raindrop,
Sun to sun.
Night is now finished,
Day has begun.
 
Birdsong or plainsong?
Coffee or tea?
Umbrellas make boats
on the briny sea.
 
Look! Cows are leaping
Over the moon,
As we coin shining words
For a dark old tune.
 
Leslie Schultz

Wild Card: “Vranac” for April 28, 2019

Vranac
            for Julia and Bob Denne
 
I tasted a little once,
a glass you brought—
fragrant, clear but dense—
berry tarred
with burnt oak,
flavors of summer
churned into late
autumn. Ripened
and bottled on a slope
in Montenegro,
that wine held fast
the ombres
of dark red velvet,
slightly sun-faded,
like covers
of old hymnals.
 
This spring, between
squalls of late snows,
you offer photographs—
shy woodland
blooms, rising
into chill green air:
red trillium—
strong pulse,
black earth and flame,
intoxicating hue
that I never before knew.
 
Now, I am drinking it in.
 
Thank you.
 
Leslie Schultz
Photo: Julia Denne, 2019

Photo: Julia Denne, 2019

Wild Card: “Weathering” for April 27, 2019

Weathering
 
What is raised up in a storm of bright hope
lifts the heart, too. We work together
to make dreams come true. Can we make them stay?
 
We tend, cultivate, patch, paint, and repair—
year after year after eventful year—
and our dreams support us, provide a roof
to shelter honorable, essential work.
 
For a while. For the winds of change decree
nothing lasts for always in the same way.
Cathedrals can combust in Gothic flames.
Prairie storms can derange the upstanding beams
of barns that have held our generations.
 
Demolished dreams clear the ground for different seed,
those new chapters we mightily resist, but need.
 
Leslie Schultz
Photo: Leslie Schultz (circa 1987)

Photo: Leslie Schultz (circa 1987)
Photo: Leslie Schultz (circa 1989)
Photo: Marea Mohr (April 2019)
Photo: Marea Mohr (April 2019)
Photo: Marea Mohr (April 2019)

“Zebras” for April 26, 2019

Zebras
 
I fashion zebras
however I can.
 
Each one is distinct,
printed with
 
patterns decreed
under her skin.
 
I know that the wild
herds in my mind
 
will not stampede
across this page.
 
They are fierce, free,
run where they will.
 
Each zebra is shy
of reins, contains

whole rainbows,
has no need of me,
 
but still I sing to each.
I summon them by
 
stroking black ink
on fields of blank
 
white. Maybe they
will turn, catch me
 
in nets cast by
their bold stripes.
 
Then, just
for a moment,
 
I can stand near,
breathe alongside.
 
Leslie Schultz
Photo: Leslie Schultz “Striped Shadow”
Photo: Leslie Schultz “Polar Zebra”
Photo: michael4wein (pixabay)
Photo: Felix Broennimann, polygon-designs (pixabay)