913/22 Workshop – A Poem by Quan Barry

Author Quan Barry biography and book list

Someone once said we were put on this earth to witness and testify

BY QUAN BARRY

Nowhere    in   the     Halakha’s     five   thousand   years   of   rules

does   it     specifically    state    Thou     shall     not     [                      ]

but     sometimes    tradition    carries    more     weight    than    law

 

and   so   for    much   of   the    past    year   we    have   not    talked

about     what    will    happen    on     Thursday,    how   the    cervix

will     start     its     slow    yawn,     the     pelvic      floor     straining

 

as         the           head        crowns,      the      fontanelles     allowing

the       bony        panes       of       the      skull     to      pass    through

until,     over    the   next    24   months,    the   five   cranial   plates

 

gradually      ossify,     the      head      forming    its     own    helmet

as     structures     harden    over   the    soft    meats   of  the  brain,

nor     do   we    talk   about    the   colostrum  sunny  as egg   yolks

 

now   collecting  in   your   breasts,   the    thing’s   first   nutrients

already    ready    and    waiting,    the     event    just    days   away

and   still  we  do  not  talk  about it, the mass growing inside you

 

tucked    up    safe     in   the     leeward   side    under    the   heart

because   sometimes   our   god   is   a  jealous god,   the evil   eye

lidless    and    all-seeing.  Instead  we  will wait  until  it is  done,

 

until  the  creature  has been  cleaned and wrapped in soft cloth,

the    bloody     cord   that    binds    you    severed.    And   maybe

you       will      name      it      Dolores,      which       means     grief,

 

or perhaps you will call it Mara, the Hebrew name for bitterness

because       this      is      how     we      protect     what     we    love,

by   hiding   what  it   truly  means  to   us,  the little  bag  of  gold

 

we    keep   buried   in  the  yard,   the  thing  we will do anything

to      keep      safe,      even    going     so      far    as    to     pretend

it    doesn’t    exist,   that   there’s   nothing  massing in  the  dark

 

despite  the steady  light  emanating  from  your  face, a radiance

so bright sometimes I can’t look at you, the joy so  overpowering

you     want    to     shout   it     from   the    highest    mountaintop

 

straight into God’s ear.

 

Reflective writing prompt:
Shout about an overpowering joy
or
Protecting what we love

8/30/22 Workshop – A Poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

From: Coney Island of the Mind

The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind happiness
not always
being so very much fun
if you don’t mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don’t sing
all the time
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn’t half so bad
if it isn’t you
Oh the world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t much mind
a few dead minds
in the higher places
or a bomb or two
now and then in your upturned faces
or such other improprieties
as our Name Brand society
is prey to
with its men of distinction
and its men of extinction and its priests
and other patrolmen
and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
and other constipations
that our fool flesh
is heir to
Yes the world is the best place of all
for a lot of such things as
making the fun scene
and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
and singing low songs of having inspirations
and walking around
looking at everything
and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
and even thinking
and kissing people and
making babies and wearing pants
and waving hats and
dancing
and going swimming in rivers
on picnics
in the middle of the summer
and just generally
‘living it up’
Yes
but then right in the middle of it
comes the smiling
mortician

Reflective writing prompt
The world is a beautiful place, if….