Dear readers: greetings on this early October day. Poetry for Strangers and I are back from vacation.
The summer of beautiful chaos and travel ended with a trip to Vancouver to visit my dear college roommate who was attending a sleep conference. I got predictably confused with the train ticket machines at the airport. There were no humans to help, only machines to navigate. Author Craig Lambert calls this phenomenon “shadow work”: doing unpaid work tasks on behalf of a business—tasks that once were performed by the business’s employees as part of the service. Need I say that shadow work runs rampant at airports?
At last a kind human—Greg—showed up and solved my problem, simply and with a smile. Afterward we talked for a good long time about the subject of sleep, something he has a great deal to say about. It turns out that, on the topic of a good night’s rest, Greg and his family started a nonprofit called Blanket BC to donate blankets to people in need! He said goodbye, leaving me his website, a map of downtown Vancouver, and a great word.
This conversation felt like the sort of catalyzing gift that makes me ever grateful to return to Poetry for Strangers, now nearing its 8th anniversary: everywhere you go, there are people adding to the green of the world.
The Stranger: Greg
The Word: Calibrated
The poem I wrote:
“On sleep”
The equinox between
agitated and awake,
upright and dead.
A factory of pure repair.
The water source for
new thoughts. A shore
between calibrated
and zero, where once
upon a time we are all
afraid to go alone.
Where mapmakers go
to dream of charting.
The Challenge: Do you have a poem in you on this word? Write one here.
October 4, 2019 at 11:27 am
Highway Thoughts
Freeway signs
seem to think that one mile
is the same as another
And all Kenosha exits
are equally Kenosha,
even though everyone knows better.
But abutments
should be believed.
Even chipped or cracked,
you can trust them with your life.
They only wince, when a car
wraps around their monstrous feet.
When you grouse about
“have to” this or that,
find a bridge that you like.
Speed up,
and calibrate the space
between you and no longer you.
Listened to the sound of all that concrete
pass inches from your ear.
It will assure you…
that everything you do
is voluntary.
October 4, 2019 at 2:51 pm
She rocked on the balls of her feet.
Taut. Ready. Prepared.
Their super hero (heroine?),
She scanned the tomorrows.
She would slip, paper-thin and invisible,
between pain and them.
Her ether would keep the real
and the worst at bay,
Ephemeral the others were.
Ancient marchers and archers,
She rushed against them,
A nimble protector raining fairy dust and fables.
October 6, 2019 at 8:47 pm
Taking Measure
Our time is calibrated. It’s the measure of our lives
In increments from birth, until the moment when one dies.
We have many ways, of marking our span’s pass.
At times, we seem in stasis, others go too fast.
Orbits of the Sun, as the Earth revolves,
Rotations of our galaxy, Space and Time evolve.
Around us there’s our Moon, orchestrating ebb and flow
Of the seas and of our menses, and the phases of night’s show.
With all that’s going ‘round, we’d be dizzy, don’t you think?
And perhaps we are. We’re always on the brink.
Diurnal destinations, dusk goes on to dawn,
The morning and the gloaming, are how our days are drawn.
Time is incessant in its movement, constantly in flux,
Everything temporally, our impermanent constructs.
Some times are spent in tedium, other times we treasure:
Trials and triumphs, elation and displeasure.
We have many other ways, our memories arrange,
Some seeming to be obvious, others more than strange.
Seasons come and go. How many winters have you seen?
Our memories unspool, like scenes upon a screen.
Anniversaries, graduations, making a debut,
First communion and bar mitzvah, just to name a few.
Many count the kids, others count in wives
Or one can look at jobs, to see how one has strived.
Fashions and new styles, get mixed in there with war,
Durations spent in peace, and others we abhor.
Some times we deem are Ages; Middle, Golden, or in Space.
And how about our cars? They can define a place.
Now, is that not enough? I cannot be berated.
Here, I’ve cited fine examples. Our lives are calibrated.
October 8, 2019 at 7:56 pm
Barometer
How many dawns must put color
Into a faded world to equal
The illness of one pale child?
Mark the columns in degrees—
Storms one way, calm seas the other,
Laughter rising on the left, sobs on the right.
How many teenage loves must be requited
To balance six months in hospital?
By what measure are we calibrated?
The barometer we inherited is old,
Its brass case stained, its markings lost,
Its mercury stands, all mystery.
October 8, 2019 at 9:01 pm
Perspective
Across the miles I tell of my swollen belly, swollen feet,
How this baby kick-kick-kicks all night long.
Grandma, its been ages since I could touch my toes-
And still one month to go.
She, who has outlasted two husbands and the Great Depression,
calibrates woes in less selfish ways
and- after a pause-
says, “It’s not much to go through for what you get.”
October 15, 2019 at 8:59 am
Morning Walk
Days get shorter
Overnight darkness lingers longer
Walking at the usual time
Now dark:30
Days, in fact, seem never to begin
Nature’s clock calibrated to
time not matched by the light
Walking at the usual time
Still dark:30
Over and under bridges
Along the boardwalk
Beside the open theatre
Morning greetings from
Robert, Charles, James
Rosemary and Sarah
Days, in fact, seem never to end
Homeless clocks calibrated to
Time not found in the light