Wednesday, November 2, 2022

The First of Summer

30 Days of Poetry, day 25. Write a poem about your most vivid memory last summer. Describe as many details as possible and how you felt.




The First of Summer
by Timothy Reed


The sound of fireworks
signaled the southern new-year
as we embraced on the porch,
awaiting our son’s entrance and
pondering all that passed.

We caught sleep to the sounds
of celebration
but woke to a hard rain
of sporadic kicks
coming fainter, weaker now.

I tripped through
a conversation
with two months’ worth
of broken Portuguese;
worry is the universal tongue,
need the timeless motivator.

4 wheels sped and sprayed
those weary miles between
us and that ultrasound
the wind and rain beating
hell against our car -
our silence, tempestuous.

Grainy grey blobs
danced on the screen —
sandpaper in our eyes,
in our souls, as we learned
you were to come today
(there could be no delay).

Red-hot tears flowing,
windshield wipers clapping
back and forth, back and forth -
I tried not to collide
with the outside world
as we pondered the knife
now dangling over us.

The sting and the stench
of alcohol, the rubber-duck-yellow
scrubs, the curtain hung tentatively
clinging to decency and protecting
us

from knowing with what slices
and pushes and needles and tubes
it would take to free him.
Suddenly, a scream
the newest, most fragile cry
and the face of Benjamin -
he had come home.

In the sleepy aftermath
of New Year in GoiĆ¢nia
he slept, swimming in his first clothes
we wept, cried, prayed, and coughed
but did not sleep.











Wednesday, May 11, 2022

Still Life








Still Life
by Timothy Reed



This vase of flowers
sits on our table
reminding me of the
didactic still life
that every student of
color must regurgitate.

It’s a funny term, “still-life”
as though life could ever
be held still.
These days, I take
a different sense
from that bouquet
with sun-yellow faces
smelling of apology.

Life is not stopped - it is
still: persistent and unkillable.
Life is try after bloody try,
as we try to find the way.
Life is still loving,
still forgiving,
still being willing
to start again.

Perhaps that’s the value
of still life:
if you persevere,
the flowers of meaning
will unfold to greet you.






Friday, May 6, 2022

Impatient Lullabies




Impatient Lullabies
by Timothy Reed



As sky blazes blue overhead
and fresh-poured coffee cools
I stand and sway, suddenly
aware of every ache and pain
staring at the open eyes of my son.
My son who, by no fault of his own
cannot grasp the will to sleep.

The stage has been set -
the shades, darkened
cozy pajamas provided,
white-noise softly droning,
a safe and soft bed.
Everything is in place but me,
my heart far from rest and
mind far from present,
singing impatient lullabies.

I think every child
is a sort of detective
by nature.

My son has me under the lights
and sees the no in my eyes
as my lips say yes. My son,
whose innate expertise
can sense the blips
on my polygraph.

When I want to take offense
at this subtle inquisition,
his hand grasps mine
and tells me the truth.

Above all else, he asks
those most basic of human needs:
love, honesty, consistency.







Friday, April 15, 2022

Campinas Sunrise





Campinas Sunrise
by Timothy Reed




‘neath this greying light
sunlight births a new city, 
free from the metropolitan swagger
of the moon


at night these buildings
play the gods, shimmer - 
Apollos all of them.
At dawn they become sundials, all
the plaything of the sun:
a kitten’s ball of golden yarn.










Day 19: Borrowed Home





Borrowed Home
by Timothy Reed


a hundred hazel diamonds
stare at me, questioning
my place in this home
and, truthfully, I can’t reply
except to tell them
your place in it.

We had found you one day
in a behemoth supermarket
with an American facade --
its existence an ode to
a “which one doesn’t belong” game.

Even so, you weren’t our
original choice, the best choice.
“It will do,” we both said
as we purchased two.
It seems that’s our favorite phrase
nowadays.

We tucked you in tightly
around the curves of
a borrowed couch
in a borrowed home
in a borrowed city
in a borrowed country —
thank God for you, though.

Even so, with so many eyes
you must know the truth —
there is no feint at permanence.

I love how, in Portuguese
(the language we’re learning here),
there’s no difference between
the words borrow and lend
and how you seem to understand that.








Monday, April 11, 2022

Day 18: Resurrection




Resurrection
by Timothy Reed & Esther Miller


My mind swirls in the icy currents
And I rise to life anew with Christ

With Christ - yes, yet what heavy bread and wine
This is my blood, my body broken for you
As around me, blood spills in vain
I wonder if mine, too, will be spilled

In these sun-shunned fields of grain
I lie on my belly and pray
As rubble-stones seal every tomb
Will I rise again too?

Yet third-day’s sunbeams break the horizon
And the Spirit that raised Christ from the dead
Lifts me to my feet once more

 

Friday, April 8, 2022

Day 17: Untitled

 



Untitled
by Timothy Reed

I know one day
all the efforts of these hands 
as the lips with coal 
will burn away by heaven’s kiss: 
white-hot, permanent 

“when helping hurts” 
words I read for someone else
I knew I knew more
than all of their faults
my love would be much more pure

but as much as I try
I find my hands are more built
to crush than to protect

and my compass-hand swings
from north to the south
with madman words 

but on that day 
when all will turn to face the Son
all the words will spill
every dark thought
self-serving hearts will face the Son

and on that day 
when love will dawn on center-stage
we’ll all see it clear
as magnets all shift
from earth to sky above once more 
 
yet, as long as we live
we must fight, we must bleed, 
to trust and to forgive
as we harm and are harmed
by false flux: seeking self-North

see the bright searing burn as it scrapes 
the harm from our help
the self from all our love

for there’s no greater love
than that one shed His blood for His friends. 


_________________________________

"Listen to your favorite song and use it as a foundation of rhythm and flow to create a contemporary poem. Only write while listening to the track." This poem was based on "For Miles" by Thrice.

Day 16: Gifford-Pinchot

 







Gifford-Pinchot
by Timothy Reed


The needle-bed pops and percolates, 
moss and ivy breathe a sigh. 
The trillium lifts its eyes once more
to watch dispersing clouds roll by. 








Thursday, March 31, 2022

Day 15: Cathedral Fig

 



Cathedral Fig
by Timothy Reed

In the depths of a tropical plateau
where you trade the beach
for all things bucolic,
the land wrinkles like 
a green prune. 

Brush-turkeys
scratch and peck -  
regard you with old-man suspicion.

Sunlight calls a secret name
and the Kookaburra joins in 
as you round the corner and
see the place where canopy 
intertwines with cathedral. 

Life streams down in caramel
ribbons, seeking the earth
(life has always come down,
never vice-versa). 
It’s so much bigger than the pictures. 









Monday, March 28, 2022

Day 14: Dog-Days of Summer





Dog-Days of Summer
by Timothy Reed


They say a dog returns to its vomit
and I can confirm that
in the dog days of summer, 
we do too. 
When the sun beats down
and the walls grow close
we grow lazy and 
instinctual. 


Every modern man, sophisticated, 
finds himself stripped to the waist,
looking for blood to spill. 
We are not good; progress
is a farce. 


When we know better, 
we do better - 
whoever penned that lie 
is covered in their own 
wretched return: putrid affections. 
When we know better, 
we only begin to understand 
our guilt. 


There are times when regret
is the camouflage of pride. 
Change is the thing 
that matters.


As much as I would like
to put a mile, a yard, or an inch
between me and them, 
I was them. 
I am them. 
Please forgive me. 


In the dog days of summer,
we each return to our vomit. 
In the dog days of summer,
we all return to the apple-bite. 







Sunday, March 27, 2022

Day 13: A Simple Letter




A Simple Letter
by Timothy Reed


Dear God,

Thank you for sprouting seeds
and for sprouting sons -- 
for sprouting relationships
in this new plot of dirt, cement.

Thank you for autumn rains
for tears that do dry
for hot water, undeserved
for every channel of grace
carved by your hand.

Thank you for the daily harvest
of the fruit-man’s smile,
of shared meals,
for the fact that you
are the vine-dresser.

Thank you for the sun
warming the pots on the patio;
for your light, gently
shining on my soul,
burning out mold and shame.

You make all things grow,
you make all things new.
Thank you for being you.

-Your son






Friday, March 25, 2022

Day 12: Lovers' Quarrel



Lovers' Quarrel 

by Timothy Reed 


In starry cottage robbed of balance

‘ere the dawn of firstborn day

two lovers split and promptly severed

left their home and parted way.


By the burning light she smolders

in her silent rage she bakes 

cakes from gardens, blackened forests — 

steals the shimmer from the lakes.


In the evening glow she softens

as her sorrow blends with care. 

As she ponders past offenses,

breathing frost into the air.


He grabs his pail and gets up early

with yellow boots and whistling birds;

tries to bury seeds of sorrow 

‘neath the dirt and ‘neath the words.


Things he said and left unspoken,

memories stacked in hay-bales, grey. 

He spills his pail in torrents streaming, 

sets a match to end of day. 


Still they fight, and still they suffer

o’er our sorrow-torn landscape

bringing good and bad together

in their lovers’-quarrel wake.


We sit beneath them, sit beside them

in each dire situation

as we look on earth together

longing for their re-creation.


_____________________

The challenge today was to imagine the seasons as people and to write about how they feel. Since I've spent a good portion of time in the tropics, I tend to think of two seasons rather than four. Both seasons have things harsh and gentle about them. Consequently, since there are two seasons, I personified them as a fighting couple. They are farmers, meant to tend the earth. Now, in the excess of their sorrow and anger, they unintentionally harm the very earth of which they were given to take care. This certainly describes the seasons, but also our relationships and the natural effects and progression of grief and broken relationship. 



Thursday, March 24, 2022

Day 11: Transition

 


*Take the third line from your last 14 text messages sent and arrange them into a contemporary sonnet.


Transitions 
by Timothy Reed


When do you guys want to get together?
 It was complicated because we were still settling in.
It looks like they're still in process there in Anapolis.
(this was too funny not to share from Facebook)
No, I’m not familiar with those terms - are they indigenous people groups?
I’m going to put him down for his nap
(Hope it gets fixed faster than the wall.)
Never knew you’d get me to wax philosophical over dessert did you?
Would you guys like a cucumber, green pepper, and gluten free bread?
They live in our building and are also taking language classes at interclass
Imagino que estĆ” fase de adaptaĆ§Ć£o Ć© difĆ­cil.
Nada com o zelador?
O tĆ©cnico veio aqui… o ventilador na mĆ”quina Ć© quebrado. 
ComunicaĆ§Ć£o sempre e trabalho duro, neh?


Wednesday, March 23, 2022

Day 10: Sonho de Creme

 



Sonho de Creme

by Timothy Reed 


the first thing is the sugar,

powdered and forward-facing

reminding me of the church 

parking lot, waiting for my dad

to finish talking to his friends. 

If only I had known then 

how quickly powdered sugar dissolves. 


a rich fluffy canvas

like that house on San Luis,

plain but familiar, warm. 

the knowledge comes late

that it could have

just as easily been

bitter, sour, or burnt. 


Finally, a sweet vanilla cream —

not oversweet. The reality of 

a Crayola sunset in lieu

glass-slipper promises, false. 

Something true and unspeakable

in the pleasure of that flavor

put in layaway by my 5-year-old self 

to be rediscovered here

in the least-likely of places. 


Desserts are more difficult

to recognize now. 





Tuesday, March 22, 2022

Day 9: Equatorial Spring




 



Equatorial Spring

by Timothy Reed


earth has grown fat

under the tutelage of tilt

as continents lean close

for a sun-kiss and hope

springs eternal near the equator -

unbridled life breaking through.


You don't need winter

to appreciate spring

but it does help the ray

shine more sweetly,

and makes each wet

drop more benevolent. 




Monday, March 21, 2022

Day 8: Kinetic (30 days of poetry challenge)

 



Kinetic

by Timothy Reed



years of covenant are 

counted out in hours, 

minutes, and seconds


each pendulum swing

starts at faithfulness,

ends at sacrifice, and 

has passion at dead center


love is kinetic.  





Friday, March 18, 2022

Day 7: Glen Arbor (30 days of poetry challenge)

 



Glen Arbor

by Timothy Reed


Landlocked in a sea of green

who would ever have known your treasure

- you had kept your secrets from us


you taught us the constant beauty that

underneath, regardless of winter's chill

you wait to be born with the kiss of spring


we strolled through your streets

young, frustrated, contented, longing

as you tried to exert your motherly care

on our wait-weighted souls


Louis Armstrong's trumpet swelled and burst 

through an artisan's open garage

as clay took shape - made meaning from mud


your dot on the map there on M-22

reminds me of all buried gemstones

unseen and forgotten, but precious. 






Thursday, March 17, 2022

Day 6: Maxine (30 days of poetry challenge)


Maxine
by Timothy Reed




a hand-me-down
perhaps once loved, but now
in this tank, out of sight
out of mind, out of reach. 
My only warmth: this red bulb.
My only home: this dome - calcified,
chocolate-brown and untouchable
by no fault of my own.

My conscience, lily-white, bears down 
upon the heart, late-turned tender
who cannot reach past 
the glass box of time. 






 

Wednesday, March 16, 2022

Day 5: Key to the Delta (30 days of poetry challenge)

 



Key to the Delta

by Timothy Reed



A mud-stumped green

boot of cheap rubber - 

my golden key to the delta;

kept the blood-suckers at bay

held fast my bone, crushed 'neath a tire. 


You cracked in the black puddles

of that tundra-heath in Marshall

and let in the sog, a torrent. 




_______

Day 4: August Flight (30 days of poetry challenge)

 




August Flight

by Timothy Reed 



wax wings 'neath molten honey

we squished along in the muck and grime

of an August breeze, malicious. 


Some sweetgum and hickories

approach for a wet-smack kiss

I, suddenly anxious, dive for the underbrush. 


_______