A muse appears in many forms
From beautiful to beastly
The art we bear equally so
From hellish born to priestly
–April Resnick
The Good and Evil Angels, by William Blake
Muse
•December 30, 2013 • 2 CommentsInsomnia
•December 30, 2013 • 2 CommentsToo thrilled
By life
Contained
For Sleep
To overtake
And yet
Your hand
And chest
Their rise
And fall
Did still
Me so
I slept
— April Resnick
Photography by Jerry Uelsmann
Beginning a feeble attempt at Twitter poetry. Perhaps my aphorisms will find a home, other than just in my head. Let’s see how this experiment goes, shall we.
Echoes
•December 28, 2013 • Leave a CommentAll of life is carried in an echo
With my ear pressed against the border
I can hear the whole of it
A morse tap in a metal tub being filled
Our playful yelps across a canyon, at no one
The return of whale whistles in the sea
Just the right spot in a naked room
Grieving mothers, fathers, on battlefield streets
That first step in an abandoned stairwell
Laughter bounding back across time
The popping of corks, ballons, celebration expectations
A beast at night beckoning to be let in, or out
Or simply for the sake of it
Screaming of tattered lovers finally breaking apart
The clinking of chains across oceans
“Mommy” from the mouths of babes in need
Chirping from a ready pot of tea, or coffee
Whispers of words we shared louder than we thought
Plumbing, garbage trucks, busses, responders
Clanking, groaning, squealing, siren songs
Rescues of a modern age from chaos
Speeches from leaders and villains, or both
Roaring of crowds in response and revolt
Clicking of keys and keyboards and screens
The ticking of time wound tight but slowing
An empty shovel against stone packed earth
Musical memories of a world we share
And what we chose to make with them
— April Resnick
Photograph by Emir Ozashin
Perhaps
•December 27, 2013 • 4 CommentsIn another life
I let myself be chained
And was completed by you
In another life
I was childless and free
And translated philosophy
In another life
I starved myself thin
And was made happy by it
In another life
I was full and thick
And found myself in my folds
In another life
I flew across the globe
And found no anxiety enroute
In another life
My home was enough
To save my soul for good
In another life
I reveled in chaos
Owned completely by it
In another life
I moved freely in my skin
Unashamed outside and in
In another life
I was statuesque
And sturdiness was second nature
In another life
I played music loud and lusty
And in it found enlightenment
In another life
Silence and stillness came easily
And laid themselves on me like a blanket
In another life
I was tightly caged
And screamed the truth at wall flies
In another life
I spoke from podiums
And sliced words with precision
In another life
I was animal, petted and loved
And that was enough
In another life
I stalked and hunted
And stilled my hunger at night
In another life
I never looked towards that other life
And I found peace in stagnancy
But in this life
Here and there are intertwined
As if the other holds some answer
Perhaps it does
— April Resnick
Between Two Worlds by gyurka from deviantART
My own take on New Year’s resolutions and our love/hate relationship with expectations and reality.
Escape
•December 26, 2013 • 2 CommentsLast night I felt my death
I glimpsed his heavy form and then
Equal approach began the mark
Until I turned my back on him
In misty sleep and visions
An ancient blade did rise and fall
The sting and heat escaping with
My spirit spattered on the walls
And though I left my body
I did not take leave just yet
A child was dancing unaware
I could not let myself forget
So while that shell lay dying
My laughter quickly took her hand
We took brave leap down tunnel steep
Together towards that waking land
— April Resnick
Apollo Dreaming by Safir Rifas
Inspired by my dreams last night. I rarely die in my dreams but last night I did, and today it has lingered…so I have let it linger, and inspire.
My Addiction
•December 23, 2013 • Leave a CommentThe moments after it is done,
I am spent and satisfied,
The wider world makes at last,
All is quiet, I am high.
I have emptied out the bottle,
Of the stuff that clouds my mind,
Relieved to have not one drop left,
Spilled on the page I leave behind.
Soon enough it fills back up,
That glass of poisoned brine,
I partake to stop the shakes,
These are the reasons why I write.
– by April Resnick
‘Tis the season for family and friends, and I am enjoying both. But, I can already feel the shakes from writing withdrawal. So I am looking back at this poem.
11:06pm
•December 22, 2013 • 4 Comments11:06pm
And again
I am longing, listening, straining to hear your train
Whistle when it once traveled across the tracks
Between buildings and lingered in my bare branches with winter air
Shave and a haircut, waiting for bits, haunting me with
A secret message to a lonely lover or a parentless child
Except that you came to me, fell on my ears, made ME smile
I can’t remember what deal we made
Was I supposed to recognize
Did I forget to answer back
Where are you now that I am settled and ready
For the giddy joy you brought before
Is now replaced with expectation, nothing more
And silence
11:07pm
A poem from one year ago, reworked for today, because there are still nights when I find myself waiting to hear that whistle.
Shades of Me
•December 18, 2013 • Leave a CommentThe colors change upon my walls
According to the sun
Is she blocked by clouds today
Or cleared for beaming long
It’s the movement of the weather
Not a static stay or go
That coats my ceiling’s temperament
A chilly grey or cozy gold
There is no way to change them
Only observe or shutter in
So stay and watch these walls with me
Bask in each hue while it exists
— April Resnick
Sunbeam by Hanan Milner
Production
•December 16, 2013 • 6 CommentsI should write
But I exhale
The shoulds whisper
To no avail
I settle in
To home and skin
Until the watch
Begins again
— April Resnick
Painting by Jack Vettriano
Good Enough
•December 11, 2013 • 6 CommentsI do not dress my daughter
In designer name brand clothes
But fairy, Viking, Medusa, cat
I’ve let her dress as all of those
I do not get up early
To fix her breakfast full and warm
But we do clink our milk and coffee
Toasting each day we’re safe from harm
I do not maintain patience
Like Mary Poppins or Maria
But I make time to meditate
I make an effort and she sees it
I do not schedule play dates
As often as I probably should
But she attends my readings, classes, jams
With musicians, writers, artists misunderstood
I do not feed her perfectly
Organic, whole, or sugar-free
But we squish bellies when she’s self-conscious
Loving her skin, she’ll learn from me
I fail more often than I’d like
I am imperfect and I yell
But I model passion and forgiveness
Admit it when I’m wrong, as well
She writes, and reads, and wrestles
So what if she can’t ride a bike
She sees me craft a unique self
If she models that, I’ve done it right
— April Resnick
Mother and Daughter with Birds Leaving by Holly Roberts
sometimesihatemycat 