Darkening Days

•August 6, 2013 • 5 Comments

I look forward
There is a dark season on the horizon
Light mood, light humor, light slipping
Slowly below that line of land, looming
Barely noticeable except by feel alone
Shadows unseen while looking towards the sun
Were always there, but now begin a slow reach
Clothing will soon change from easy sheath
To layered shrouds of mourning, for cover
Of skin thinned raw from exposure
Awakening in me a guttural wantonness
Growing from a gritty grounded place
I will soon seek out meaty music
With heavy words and thicker chords
That carry earthy reverb, building
They will wreak a heady havoc
Turning the breezy haze of easy tune
Into dark and heavy magic
I grin crooked, with a welcome chill

— April Resnick

20130726-131936.jpg

Dark Sunset, creator unknown

Posted in Death, Identity, Music, Nature, Poetry
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Fear and Molting

•August 5, 2013 • Leave a Comment

I noticed
It crawled at night
And dangled from a dying branch
Exoskeleton shed, or shedding
Tiny marble eyes black and dimming
Peeling, unable to blink
Once a deep and earthy brown
Becoming ashen, discarded dust
I looked again
And it had evolved with the day
Only an alien carcass remained
Its hollow hanging ghost
A reminder of what it once was
Now birthed and green and winged
Stretched and strength gathered
Time to tick and sing and scream, to mate
To produce, to fall, to burrow, to wait

— April Resnick

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Brood II by Pen Brady

Posted in Death, Identity, Loss, Meditation, Nature, Poetry, Writing
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My Grandmother

•August 2, 2013 • 2 Comments

I love
The ticking of a clock, a metronome
The feel of cookie dough between my fingers
The smell of chicken and rice and cornbread, frying
The sound of the piano and the pressure cooker closing
The taste of a second stolen slice of salted raw cabbage
The memory of puzzles, playing cards, your purse
The idea of that cup of warm liquid cherry Jell-o
The opportunity to twirl in the dress you made
The strength and sharp humor you gave
The way you helped heal me, still
The you that I find in me
My grandmother

— April Resnick

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Grandmother by Marion C. Honors

Posted in Family, Food & Wine, Identity, Poetry
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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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