The Raven’s Perch is a nicely designed online journal that has won some awards. It is unusual in that it publishes your work without asking for permission, informing you at submission that it will do so if your work is accepted. Anyway, I was pleased to see the note in my inbox. There has been a lot going on in the writing world this past few months as I continue planning for the book launch, poetry readings, and hustling my book to bookstores. I must say my early efforts have been mixed. It seems everybody and their sister has a book to sell, and bookstores are claiming not enough shelf space or staffing to handle it all. I hope to survive the promotion of this chapbook with my idealism intact.
When I start to feel overwhelmed, I go back to writing, messing around with words trying to say exactly what a poem needs to say.
Here are the poems
Water Levels for Karin We were friends, but different. I loved her loud laughter as it ripped raucous down staid hallways. Proper professionals tried to shush her. Didn't work. She admired my cooking, the let's take it on the road headful of ideas, my penchant for planning. We both worshiped the water. Once visited Niagara. Shouldered our way as close as we could get. Got really wet. stood gaping at the spectacle. Each spring we skipped lunch to follow the river from the high pond the higher falls, lower falls, caught wild spray and crashes, down the ripple of rapids. all the way to the Kennebec River. Sat on the same rock together Wind blew our hair, voices drowned out Glancing from falls to rapids, back and forth, grinned at each other. Not even a drizzle now. She retired to Florida, I helped her cart it all off to Goodwill. Spring Coming in Maine Sun screams its bright. Rises up straight despite clouds, reflects brazen on snow. Not the bold of bright tulips the pale of daffodil— or any color, really but imagination fueled by intense light. One clear blue patch peeks through overcast skies and, in an instant, my eyes remember and invent the rumor of spring. Hope in the days of Covid-19 In the pale morning, hope is a child, willing to try anything. At the grocery store, arrowed aisles, sentries, sanitizer advertise the danger of getting too up-close. Eyes peer over masks—suspicious? Afraid? Angry? Hard to tell, but hope leaks through feeble cloth.. Do this, don't do that wears patience thin as masks. Home again, safe enough alone. Keep busy through the list of daily do-this, do- that, Hope slouches in a kitchen chair. At night, though, Hope is nowhere About 2 a.m. my mood droops, drapes itself over the bedclothes. Only get through the dark bits. I sit up, stretch my neck, remember dawn comes easily. Let the clock play out. The seconds— each heart beat the fragment of a long minute. The birds begin their babble. An uneasy light drifts up. If I'm lucky I sleep. If not, she yanks me up Through cracks in morning's floorboards. Anticipating the '91 Chevy Truck Is he coming? The "indestructible 350" has a familiar rumble. Triggers me to peer out windows, take down steps two at a time. The truck pulls up the long hill. I breathe deeply. A week of futile fears and uneasy sleep disappears with the dust in the driveway. Just to see the laugh in his eyes, touch his bare head, hold those scratchy curled fingers, his voice warm and cranky. The door creaks when it opens like my favorite song.
One thought on “The Raven’s Perch published four of my poems yesterday”
All of those writings were interesting, especially Covid. A real trial for everyone during that time! Nice, Jean..continued success!