Evolution

•August 1, 2013 • 1 Comment

This week has played with me
So I decided to play back
I ripped the curtain open
Not content with just a crack

Magic mumbling in the air
Grouchy grumbling from beyond
I could not handle hints of rain
At least not for very long

Drapery drowning at my feet
Shards of window shattered wide
I stepped into the world’s downpour
No drop of will to stay inside

I looked up and let it pelt me
Saturate my dusty clothes
Another animal inside a storm
I became wild and one of those

Let’s run and hunt, forage and fuck
To spite the cracking of the sky
Just another evolution
Shedding “should be” skin am I

— April Resnick

painting on canvas by Antony Micallef

Becoming Animal by Antony Micallef

Posted in Body, Humanity, Identity, Nature, Poetry
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Last Laugh

•August 1, 2013 • 4 Comments

Will I have a hangnail when I die
All swollen, painful, pink
Or perhaps an eyelash in my eye
These are the things on which I think

With those final bits of breath I take
Great void of blackness, on the brink
Will my pointer finger pulse with ache
Will I have one last scratchy blink

Back pain, splinter, paper cut
Clogged nose, or tears, from sour stink
Toothache, leg cramp, sudden hiccups
That final itch just out of reach

Nothing ever goes the way
I plan, precisely nice and neat
So why should my days gracefully fade
Without a last sardonic nod and wink

— April Resnick

black-and-white-boots-dress-fashion-funny-haha-Favim_com-48657

Photograph by oliviaargue.tumblr.com

Posted in Body, Death, Humanity, Poetry, Whimsy
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Bad Day

•July 30, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Some days I just lose perspective,
Positive-isms not at all effective.
Days like this simply suck,
I can’t pretty them up,
My “things work out” button effing defective!

So I sit, and I write, nothing works,
Only serving to make matters worse.
They simply recap,
A day quite turned to crap,

No clever quip left to fill in that damn verse!

— April Resnick

20130730-180043.jpg

Bad Day by http://elultimodeseo.deviantart.com/

 

Inspired by my grandmother telling me, “It’s okay to say ‘damn’ when you need to.”  Thanks Grandma.

Posted in Humanity, Meditation, Poetry, Whimsy, Writing
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Shame & Hesitation

•July 29, 2013 • 1 Comment

Grey shame
A steel structure
Built one bolt at a time
Each rivet, molded metal piece
Made to bear the entire weight
Of me
I want to be closer to the ground
Rusting out and crumbling
Takes too long
Demolition

I hesitate

Perhaps it is better
To cut myself down the middle
Peel myself off
Even as I wobble in the wind
Walking away
Looking back
There are still dripping bits of me
Left hanging on that steel skeleton
I leave them and let them be
They will dry in time
And I will learn to scaffold myself
With my own dying bone,
And muscle shuffling
I am prepared to stop
And sit when needed

— April Resnick

 

SONY DSC

 

That Bloody Building, taken by Ethan (giantkiller8) from flickr

Posted in Body, Identity, Meditation, Poetry, Women's Issues
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Bananas

•July 26, 2013 • Leave a Comment

I placed a sticker on my head,

Prepared to follow through.

I could not help but crack a smile,

Because bananas told me to.

— April Resnick

place_sticker_on_forehead

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some lighthearted joy for a Friday morning.  Because that is part of life too.

Posted in Body, Food & Wine, Poetry, Whimsy
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Meditation: An Act of Intimacy

•July 23, 2013 • 4 Comments

I am stripped bare, exposed

No option left to me but stillness

There is nothing else I can do

But sit, vulnerable, waiting

Watching the space just around me

For any faint flickering of life

Listening for movement

Of air or body

Or air traveling through body

Searching for some small notice

That change is coming

This is it

This is all there is

This moment of intimate me

A voice whispers in my ear

Sudden tension as I prepare for onslaught

My life slams itself  into me

A violent act of becoming one

Vibrating with sensation

This body and this life

Something bloody but breathing

Is made

I am born

— April Resnick

birth of self spring Cyn McCurry

Birth of Self by Cyn McCurry

Posted in Body, Meditation, Poetry
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Two Souls Sat Before Me

•July 19, 2013 • 4 Comments

Two souls sat before me
One pointed straight and one askew
Well-worn but still some cushion there
Both carried stains and patches new

Then I heard a ticking o’er my head
Not quite above, but to my left
I could not help but feel it rush
A certain sense death

How could I choose but only one
With tolling of the ending bell
Parting is all we know of heaven
And all we need of Hell

— April Resnick

Shoes Van Gogh

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Pair of Shoes by Vincent van Gogh

 

 

This poem is based on Honkadori, a style of 12th century Japanese poetry.  It is a practice of including lines (or images) from a classic poem into a new poem, so that the new poem carries with it the same feeling tone of the classic poem.

My poem was inspired by an Emily Dickinson poem, “My life closed twice before my eyes.”

Posted in Death, God, Humanity, Meditation, Poetry
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Wall of Heat

•July 17, 2013 • Leave a Comment

In this pressing heat
I notice each creak
Of stretching and settling
In the walls where I keep
Myself and my stuff
Which are silent enough
To help me observe
Noises often unheard
Do they portend collapse
Or simple sighing, perhaps
Subtle movement of moments
Summer lumbering past

–April Resnick

RedHouseMikeRooneyRed House by Mike Rooney

Posted in Meditation, Nature, Poetry
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Origins

•July 15, 2013 • 4 Comments

I was formed in it
Forced from it into life
Grew up in it, on it, near it
Curious about its creatures
Bobbing, and carried by its currents
Full and fizzing sound that echoes in my ears
Filled then utterly emptied, solvent
I am drawn back to it in any form
When life on land is locked
I find my origins there
And nothing else

–April Resnick

20130715-224109.jpg

Underwater painting by Eric Zener

Posted in Identity, Nature, Poetry
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Peace

•July 11, 2013 • 2 Comments

Do not be concerned about me,
I have found peace with my humanity.
Stay silent too long,
And shame simply lives on,
So I face it, speak it religiously.

I do not expect not to struggle,
I do not run from the days that are muddled.
I live quite well in my skin,
Write it all down and then,
With any luck remove some shame for others.

My peace does not mean not reacting,
Nor should it look like detaching.
It means accepting the form,
Of each unique moment born,
Still, sacred space left to feel anger, injustice, and passion.

— April Resnick

blood-room-painting-ryohei-hase
Blood Room by  Ryohei Hase

This one is for my “Temp Mom,” as I used to call her.  Inspired by a conversation we  had about having peace amidst the struggle of being human.  The coexistence of both pain and peace is indeed possible, preferable even, and can be equally well attained while walking very different paths.

Posted in Abuse, Body, Family, Humanity, Meditation, Poetry, Writing
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