Category: POEMS

NYC, POEMS

Where did she go?

by Sara F.Leave a Comment on Where did she go?

Sometimes, the stress and chaos of everyday life results in a chasm of creativity. And even if these chasms are short-lived, they can have a powerful effect on happiness. This prose poem explores the feeling of losing access to inner peace and an important sense of knowing yourself, but remembering how it felt when your identity was whole and creativity abundant.

The image below is a photograph of the Lisbon mural ”The Language of Flowers” by Jacqueline de Montaigne, a work of street art I always found beautiful in its silent , self-reflective melancholy.

—–

Where did she go?

I need to feel more. Feel deeply. The kind of feeling that brings tears to your face so quickly you’re not sure if they’re happy or sad, or something even more elemental.

All the focus and the attention directed outward leaves the inside bare. Staring at Zoom screens, Google Maps, New York Times alerts, FaceTime calls; collecting and storing passwords the way people used to guard their jewels. It’s like the edges of me have blurred into the speeding subways, the rush of emails, the blazing billboards, pieces falling into those sad construction zones that sit idle for years. Where does the city start and I begin? 

I wasn’t built this way, to blur around the edges. I was built to turn inwards, toward the core myself, turning ideas over in my mind like shells brushing against the sea floor – until they’re smooth, polished, ready to land on shore, having journeyed long out of sight before their arrival.  

I’m furious in my dreams lately, cramming creativity into sleep where it doesn’t show up while I’m awake. Turning pages of imaginary books with the backs of my eyes and traveling to jagged, Picasso-like places until I wake up and get ready, trying to match the outline of myself with who I really am. 

I get lonely quickly but still need to be alone. Crave it. That sense of losing and finding myself again in the words of a good book, a meal carefully prepared over hours, a journal filled with scribbled handwriting I’ll one day make sense of. It’s a vital energy source – looking inward, imagining.

I was built to wear my ideas proudly like a colorful patchwork coat. I’ve always done that; I used to that. And yet I show up every day in gray.

I need me.

Where did she go?

POEMS

The Sun Always Finds Us

by Sara F.2 Comments on The Sun Always Finds Us

It was one of the honors of my life to write a poem for my brother Dan and his wife Giselle’s wedding ceremony back in June. When they first asked me to read at their wedding I was nervous about coming up with something meaningful enough. After about an hour reflecting I knew – for such an adventurous, fun-loving couple, the theme had to be sunlight and the simple, joyful times they share together. Read my poem below.

The Sun Always Finds Us

Hand-in-hand on the shores of the Atlantic
Or hiking the Hudson riverside
Standing before the Santa Monica mountains
Our windows down on a Catskills drive

Wherever we are in the world
The light seems to find us
On rugged Irish shores  
And quaint Paris streets
Through the trees of Central Park
Landing on our faces and feet.

Wherever you are in the world
The light seems to find you, my dear 
But the rays are strongest right here, right now
When I stand on this river beside you
And love you more than ever, somehow. 

Know that I’ll never stop looking over with pride
In those soft, sunny mornings when all is calm
And you’re by my side.

POEMS

Underwater Chaos

by Sara F.Leave a Comment on Underwater Chaos

Push to the surface
I’m trying, but the waves
Pin me to the sand
Hold me down while 
Thoughts tumble through my mind 
Eyes straining through saltwater tears 

Protect your skin 
From sharp-edged shells,
Crab claws and broken glass
Pain diffuses into the ocean in this 
Underwater chaos; it’s hard to feel my body 
Where does the water stop and I begin?  

Come up for air
Gasping, choking but the ocean seems so still
How is everyone so calm? 
Kids playing, moms laughing, sun shining
But I look out toward the horizon and see 
The waves lining up in the distance
Waiting to take their turn. 

NYC, POEMS

When You Came Here

by Sara F.6 Comments on When You Came Here

New York is strange that way
shedding shops and
birthing new buildings,
all while you’re
waiting to cross a street or
watching a parade roll by.

In the years since you’ve been here
violent waves of gentrification
have washed over the land
you once knew.

It seems to some like
a shot to the concrete heart
but is a death much slower
change strangling livelihoods
so you’re left to mourn
your favorite places
McLoughlin’s and Boyle’s Bar,
Benny’s Burritos,
the deli around the corner
with the nice man from Pakistan,
as the paint dries
and the sun winks
knowingly
at the streets.

New Yorkers are strange that way
missing the ways things were
forgetting the ways
they’ve changed shape
to find a place
in this endless puzzle
of nine million people.

But under the layers of soot and grime
in the rare moments of quiet
between sirens and shouts
in the early hours of morning
when the buses sleep in Jersey
and the Hudson flows in silence
you can find exactly who you were
when you came here.

Dedicated to Papa, my favorite New Yorker

FAMILY, LIFE, POEMS

A poem for my grandfather

by Sara F.8 Comments on A poem for my grandfather

IMG_2496.jpg

The painting you painted for me, and for my siblings, is unlike any other work you’ve ever done.

Different from your other pieces, which are so precise, relentlessly realistic, this painting is full of broad brush strokes, composed of love and light. The painting captures essence and exact truths fall away. Because when I look at this painting a C+ is an A+, a failure is a learning moment, and no matter what I say or do, I can do no wrong.

That’s a very special work of art to have.

This painting you painted for me reflects your humor, and just the sight of it makes me smile. And if this painting depicted you, it would capture your laugh, the endearing way your eyes creased when you told a joke, and the way you beamed when surrounded by family.

This painting began when I was born and grew into something magnificent, a mural expanding over the 28 years I’ve been alive. And no matter where I was or what I went through, when I looked up, this painting was there.

This painting you painted for me. In your humbleness you’d say it’s worth nothing but it’s the lens through which I see the world. And because of this painting, everything I see is colored by your kindness and your light.

This painting, Grandpa, is forever hanging in my heart.
POEMS

Seen in Astoria…

by Sara F.4 Comments on Seen in Astoria…

A couple sits
In the corner of a dive bar
She’s smiling
Absentmindedly pushing around
Scrabble pieces
Rearranging the letters
Admiring her work.

He hardly notices what she’s doing
Because his eyes never leave hers
And in her presence
Everything else is a blur

Suddenly he checks his watch
They jump off their stools
And run out of the bar

Left behind are words unseen:

YOU
CHANGED
EVERYTHING

POEMS

Poem: Decisions

by Sara F.8 Comments on Poem: Decisions

Some are light and airy
As a feather
Inconsequential as
Blowing on a cottony dandelion
And watching the pieces
Float onto the grass.

But others
Others take all your energy
To even lift
To contemplation
And just when you know what to do
They change form
Slipping through your fingers
Like water

But the hardest part
If you’re anything like me
Isn’t the decision,
But the aftermath of one

When regret and anxiety
Swirl manically inside of you
Like a fan you can’t switch off
A fan that’s spinning so fast
You fear
It might become unhinged

The days flutter by
While this decision somehow
Shades every aspect of your life
Crawls into parts of your body
You didn’t know
Doubt could reach

Until one morning you wake
Look around
And feel a strange sense of
Serenity
Because finally
You and your decision
Are one.

POEMS

A Smile

by Sara F.6 Comments on A Smile

Every day I saw you
Straight-faced
Tight-lipped
I’d smile, say hello
Nothing
So I decided
Why should I bother?

I didn’t notice
When you were gone
Then they told me
You were sick for months
Finally succumbing
To a disease
That caused so much pain

And I thought to myself
You never really know
What someone’s going through

I thought to myself
What could it have hurt
To smile once a day
Knowing I wouldn’t get
A smile in return.

NYC, POEMS

After Stella

by Sara F.14 Comments on After Stella

Seen along the East River pathway near Carl Schurz Park, after Winter Storm Stella.

walking the winding
east river path
just after snowfall
a few people
scattered here and there
weak, distant lights
straining to be seen

right where the path turns
i see a ballerina
dancing alone,
seizing solitude,
her arms fighting
the pull of the wind

though she has no audience
empty benches
line up to watch her
and the river reflects
her every move

as i approach her stage
she catches my eye
stopping, for a moment
then completing her pirouette 

twirl, bend, twirl, bend, twirl
moving gracefully into the night 

no music
just the silence of the city
and the crunch of the snow
beneath her feet 

BOOKS, FICTION, POEMS

Jumpstart the thought process…

by Sara F.1 Comment on Jumpstart the thought process…

Graphic courtesy of facebook.com/friesenpress
Graphic courtesy of facebook.com/friesenpress

I hate the word “flow,” I really do. But sometimes when you follow the above advice, the words just flow onto the page. There’s a good chance you’ll delete most of those words later on, but you’re in a much better position than simply staring at the screen, trying to force a vision that won’t come.

CREATIVE WRITING, DESIGN, POEMS

Pozie poems: moving poetry, inspiring messages

by Sara F.Leave a Comment on Pozie poems: moving poetry, inspiring messages

Source: http://www.facebook.com/poziepoems

“moving poetry made with loving hands and minds in NYC“

Hard economic times typically spur dismal messages by struggling artists, but the artists behind Pozie poems want to set optimism in motion.

The idea for these brightly-colored mobile poems was born out of the 2008 financial crisis, founders Rion and Kay Merryweather said.

“The mood was very somber in NYC and we knew we had to do something to help,” said the husband and wife team.

Words like “bold,” “confident,” “enjoy” and “love” are painted on colorful wooden boards and linked together to create inspiring messages that change slightly as the mobiles move. At about $30, these Pozie poems make beautiful, simple and creative gifts or conversation pieces. And the top part is a chalkboard for you to write whatever word (words) you want!

You can purchase and view Pozie poems here on Etsy.

Source: http://www.etsy.com/listing/58862077/be-yourself?ref=pr_shop

CREATIVE WRITING, POEMS

Ted Kooser

by Sara F.Leave a Comment on Ted Kooser

Ted Kooser is a brilliant poet.

I stumbled upon his collection, “Delights & Shadows,” a few years ago and it has influenced my writing ever since.

Kooser, an Iowa native who was the United States Poet Laureate from 2004 to 2006,  writes poems that show glimpses of daily life. He has a way of making the mundane fascinating, of making everyday events  awe-inspiring.

Kooser maximizes meaning in minimal words. He proves that economy of language is extremely effective. Kooser’s clear, simple, beautiful language is something to be emulated in all writing forms– creative, academic or journalistic.

Listen to an interview Kooser did in 2005 with NPR.

Here’s on of my favorite poems:

A Rainy Morning
by Ted Kooser

A young woman in a wheelchair,
wearing a black nylon poncho spattered with rain
is pushing herself through the morning.
You have seen how pianists
sometimes bend forward to strike the keys,
then lift their hands, draw back to rest,
then lean again to strike just as the chord fades.
Such is the way this woman
strikes at the wheels, then lifts her long white fingers,
letting them float, then bends again to strike
just as the chair slows, as if into a silence.
So expertly she plays the chords
of this difficult music she has mastered,
her wet face beautiful in its concentration,
while the wind turns the pages of rain.