Posts tagged Water

Poem: the insignificance of importance

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12 years
by in Dominique, Poem, Poems

Dominique Larntz * December 11, 2012

 

Even I fall
into the spire spiral
of seeking status.

From my solitude
there waits an imagined
audience, anxious for words.

I’m less prolific than I could be.
Shamed for writing too slowly, my pen nestles
as a needle against my thumb.

The drumbeat of my blood presses
me to create a clever lyric to hush
that great fool wanderer of a muse.

She laughs at my manufactured timeline
and its coated companion, stress. She trades
this suggested piercing for sunshine.

Her compositions blossom into me
off-demand when I am not ruminating
about my breathless audience.

When I am pouring a glass of tea,
liquid in the complete pleasure of being
myself within a wave of language.

Poem: Backing Up

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12 years
by in Dominique, Poem, Poems

Dominique Larntz * September 18, 2012

 

I want to inspire
plumbers to want to help me.

I want those snakes
making my pipes into a slide,
glass-smooth as the tumbled rocks
I prepared as a young girl
and clutched quietly inside
my jacket pockets
on a Black Hills picnic blanket.

I want to inspire
plumbers to show up on schedule.

I want my water available
like you were, husband,
when we met over the
Albuquerque altitude
and until next we met
a deep breath
was impossible.

I want to inspire
unavailable plumbers
while I kiss chlorine to mold
and cry over leaks
I feel helpless to plug
and find backup
after backup.

Poem: This Morning

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13 years
by in Dominique, Poem, Poems

Dominique Larntz * May 5, 2012

This Morning

My tears ran with the shower
while I contemplated our conversation
about the environmental scientists
who committed suicide because they’ve
deduced an impending cataclysm so hopeless
they decided they did not want to live through it.
These small droplets of compassion from my naked body
during its daily ritual that feels like rebirth to my mind
each time I hear the faucet engage
will end at the same place all water ends.
Tears will travel through pipes provided
by people who have achieved such wonders in
engineering that even I, with a tiny house
and a small schedule, can take for granted
a shower in the desert this morning.

Poem: Transplant

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13 years
by in Dominique, Poem, Poems

Dominique Larntz * April 30, 2012

Transplant

The dry soil absorbed me as quickly
as the drops of Lady Gray tea
slopped from the side of my cup
while I leaned the opposite way
to feed the lemon thyme Shauna
gave me for my birthday–
the perfect fit to replant
in the stands we made
just outside our front door.

My eyes kaleidoscope
on the radiance
of the escaped sky.
In its heated airways,
Summer is sending its missives
each day now, announcing itself
by thrilling our skin into moistening
and making intimate embers
where we are bare.

I know Summer will bring baking heat.
I will tend the garden,
tend myself and my frailties,
the skin that burns too fast,
the sense a transplant has
that it wants to wind its way
back down to sea level
and find a way home to the ocean.

I am as impermanent
as anything else
and the desert
is one of the most
skillful teachers
to plant the idea
that we all root
in foreign soil
for a while.

 

Poem: From Pond to Wind

0
13 years
by in Dominique, Poem, Poems

Dominique Jones * January 20, 2012 * “Love Letters To My Body”

From Pond to Wind

My pond heart
reflects on the effects
evaporation
will have upon it.

Rings from the stories of
hitting stones have
expanded and shallowed
and slowly eased.

Sure the silt could get
stirred up again;
the potential’s
always there.

But the wettest heart faces,
in its later years,
a change in state,
its turning from pool to sky.

And I wonder as I merge
with the air, how it will feel
for each drop to let go of a tide
and become the atmosphere.

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