What kind of idiot manages to lose their library card on Shakespeare's deathday? Not that Shakespeare or death have anything to do with it...

*rolls eyes at self for the n-tieth time today*

Anyway. In observance of IPSTP:

(1) a number of my poems are available for your use as e-card texts, chez Blue Green Planet.

(2) I've unlocked the initial draft of the agnostic Jewish Advent poem I posted as a gift for orbitalmechanic last November. Here's the current incarnation of that story:

( Unconverted )

(3) Here's another poem for which I fear the sell-by date has come and gone, but for which I have a soft spot for nonetheless. If nothing else, it reminds me of things I've already (already!) forgotten since then.

( Mittens at Fenway, 2004 )

The Spring 2007 issue of flashquake is up, with two of my poems: "She says, follow the graves" is an Editor's Pick, and there's also "Hosiery running deep."

The titles for both pieces come from poems by Reb Livingston in Wanton Textiles, a chapbook she co-wrote with Ravi Shankar (whose poem Simpatico remains one of my very favorites from the Motel).

In addition to writing poem-prompting poems, Reb also has good taste: one of my poems was included in the first NoTell Motel anthology she compiled, and another will appear in the new one currently in press. Isn't it a fabulous cover? Sexy times ahead! :-)

orbitalmechanic sent me earrings. I promised her a poem. Her prompt was "family."

This is the first draft (albeit with a few tweaks since I hit "post"). I haven't decided if I'm going to revise/circulate it further or not, or whether I should write a second poem that's less about me and more to do with the prompt. Regardless, this one's still for Jessie. ;-)

( An Agnostic Jewish Advent Poem )

Apparently what my brain really wanted was for mrissa to prompt me to write a poem (via the art-about-your-friends meme), because that's what it ended up focusing on as I planted the lilies of the valley this afternoon.

So here it is, first draft. I fancy I can revise it into something publishable, hence the locked entry. [ETA: Decided to unlock it and leave it here.]


Dear M'ris

( Before I could bake tomorrow's bread )

~ Peg

This is an old poem of mine that appeared in Star*Line a ways back (July/August 2003). I'm reposting it here because it's still one of the better villanelles I've written, and because I'm being thumped by a quantum plotbunny (e.g., Dumbledore as Niels Bohr, Neville as Wolfgang Pauli, Draco as Werner Heisenberg, Lupin as George Gamow, Snape as Enrico Fermi...).

( Schrödinger's Top Hat )

The Oxford Encyclopedia of Children's Literature is now in print!

(I wrote several dozen entries for it. It feels good to see several years' of work finally on its way to library shelves.)

Also (mentioned here a couple of months ago before the site went live), a number of my poems are now available for use on e-cards at BlueGreenPlanet, an e-card and eco-education site. The site is run by artist Janet Chui, whose own paintings are gorgeous.

Dear Daddy,

Today you would have been sixty-five. This morning
I drove to church - sang Tallis's "Lamentations"
and thought about lighting a candle in your name
but I didn't want to talk about you, don't want to be consoled
for this awkward sorrow that cannot be smoothed
into a tender summary. Were you still alive,
you'd still be giving me hell
for never keeping my mouth shut.

Ten days ago, your older sister
treated me to lunch: steamed fish, savory eggplant.
A special order -- as we cleaned our plates,
her friend the owner said in Taiwanese
"she's pretty" -- about me. It hurts
how much such throwaway gifts matter,
and how you would still be underimpressed
with my minor poems, my shortage of status --
it can't be helped anymore than the fact
all your wanting to stay alive couldn't save you.
You would have liked the eggplant and the fish --
especially the eyes. My aunt reminded me of that.
And what the owner said? You would have observed
it's sort of thing men have to say about nieces.
But you would have been pleased that I still remember
enough of your language to thank him for it.

- pld, 9 April 2006

Happy belated birthday, kassrachel! Your friendship and encouragement mean a lot to me.

Hastily drafted (where does the time go!?), but heartfelt nonetheless:

Season

At this turn of the year, we are greedy for light
in the way that those who have dined too long
on heavy blandness crave the brightness
of unadorned salt and feathery sauces.

At this stretch of the year, we stubbornly sink
our teeth into all we can chew, no matter
how unpalatable the blessings sometimes remain
and how difficult they can be to swallow.

At this spin of the year, we count our candles
and all of the suns and the stars that command
our gifts of witness and our celebrations of choices:
here's to your new year. Here's to rejoicing.

With love,
Peg

For elisem's Competition Challenge. I wasn't the winner (congrats, redbird!) but I had fun writing this.
( To sing, you must listen to the roar of silence... )

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What's a ghazal, you might be asking? See here for a heap of detail; like many writers in English, I observed only the rule convenient to me -- in this case, that each couplet end with the same word; my referring to the competition hostess in the last line is a twist on the tradition of the poet mentioning their own name in the final couplet. :-)

It being Twelfth Night for a few hours more, I thought I'd repost a poem I originally typed into my first online journal back in December 2002. This was for Alchera Project number 12, option 2 ( the challenge was to create a twelve-stanza poem around the idea of the Twelve Days of Christmas).

( My love, she dreamt she was brought to me... )

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Also, although it's mentally filed in my head as fandom-related poetry (because of the conversation that triggered it), it occurs to me that the sonnet I wrote to/for catrinella last month about our efforts as writers might well resonate with some of all y'all: "Between the Hints".

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( on journeys and clutter and faith )