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I want to get creativity + mindfulness prompts and poems:

 

Samantha’s Daily Poem

July 9, 2011

The cocoon of infancy



You look at me
and down
at your legs

trembling
testing

coiled springs

your hands fan the air
fast as though you might
fly instead
of walk.

Are the journeys
you will take
written out on
your bones?

We beam
but nothing matches
your exhiliration.

You have been so patient
the cocoon of infancy
has shed
you are ready
run
my sweet
run.

July 8, 2011

The grocery list



The kind of day
when doors close
on my fingers
and a small angry being
hacksaws
on my lower back.

My forehead puckers
my mouth is thin
like the rim
of a tin can.

I note with brazen self-pity
that the grocery store
is out of the diapers I need
and then I see it
on my list
at least ten times
between apples
and quinoa
in your handwriting:
kisses for Pete.

I laugh out loud
and a middle-aged man who earlier
had annoyed me by taking
the last cart
says I seem to find
tofu very funny
and I notice that he has kind
eyes and a birth mark
across most of his face.

We agree
the beauty of
tofu
is that is takes on
the flavours around it
and we pledge that today
tofu is
a riot.

July 7, 2011

Touch



Defend your day
against the erosion
of time. Don’t let
it escape
sheared off
from your reach
before you even
showed up.

Touch it early:
the cold between pillow
and sheet
toothbrush on your tongue
tea sloshing
in the cave
of your belly.

Each moment pressed up
against the world
is a brake pedal
on life.

July 6, 2011

Eagle



Everyone says you are magnificent
but you are too composed
to be glorious.
You are more like a crocodile
than a bird
sitting there
unruffled
almost motionless
and that detached way you hunt
circling the sky
leisurely
like a man
on Sunday
out for a jog.
Your yellow beak
a permanent frown
you tear off that seagull’s wing
with indifference
I feel for you
there is nothing titillating
about the act anymore
you are just fulfilling
your role
as hitman
of the sky.

July 5, 2011

A miscarriage of justice



The news today is full
of abhorrent crimes
my legs tremble
an undertow
of disbelief.

But the stories are less
about the duct tape
and the children
it is the fury of innocence
that stokes the headlines.

A miscarriage of justice
they scream.

As though justice
had been there all along
a single clear truth
waiting
to be carried
all the way to the end
expecting
to be protected.

A miscarriage
a spontaneous loss
who do we mourn
the children who are
no more
or justice
who it turns out
is as fragile
as us.

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