A poem written December 18, 2006

Masks
by this Elizabeth

Conducting
an experiment
in how many sides
I can play.

Deciding
by absence
to let it fall
as it may.

My mentor
so subtle
I will never master
his game.

For the winning
is in playing
no sides at all.

A poem written July 17, 2006

Hunger

by this Elizabeth

Like hunger
knawing
like dreaming
confused
like tides
washed away
like the sun
still rising
like anticipation
hunger

A Haiku written July 17, 2006

Haiku III

by this Elizabeth

I sliced at his hip
he fell to one knee striving
but lost his left arm

A poem written July 17, 2006

Katie K
by this Elizabeth

She denies the sun
and every other thing
in search of
what can not be had

She cries at thunder
and sobs frustration
not understanding
that she's still six.

She flies and flips
dances and sings
and forgets
she's years ahead of her time.

A Haiku written July 11, 2006

Haiku II
by this Elizabeth

Hug the stress away
pray for peace calm quiet sigh
when will I have rest

I admire Elizabeth Stoddard

I wonder how she met her husband, a poet.  I wonder at these couples who are poets - did they live poetically romantic lives, or were they stormy together, or like us, did they compromise their way to comfort?

The Poet's Secret

by Elizabeth Stoddard

The poet's secret I must know,
If that will calm my restless mind.
I hail the seasons as they go,
I woo the sunshine, brave the wind.

I scan the lily and the rose,
I nod to every nodding tree,
I follow every stream that flows,
And wait beside the steadfast sea.

I question melancholy eyes,
I touch the lips of women fair:
Their lips and eyes may make me wise,
But what I seek for is not there.

In vain I watch the day and night,
In vain the world through space may roll:
I never see the mystic light
Which fills the poet's happy soul.

Through life I hear the rhythmic flow
Whose meaning into song must turn;
Revealing all he longs to know,
The secret each alone must learn.

More poems.

A poem written October 18, 2005

Dragon Dreams
by this Elizabeth

I am from Begma
where skies are bereft;
thus our enigma -
our dragons have left.

So there are stories
and drawings on sheilds
but no more glory
do dragons there yield.

Perhaps they're sleeping
under verdant hills
perhaps they're resting
rebuilding their wills.

Or they have left us
and so we do dream
of magnificence
borne on strong wings.

Francesca the girl
in windows did sit
and sing a girl's song
with dragons in it.

Lord Wyvern the Cursed
Mihaly the Wise
Mispesti the Bold
and Devon who dies

drink round the table
drink round the lies
drink round the table
Sir Devon who dies

Sir Devon's a-stealing
Mihaly advised
from the West Dragon
who stares with one eye

drink round the table
drink round the lies
drink round the table
Sir Devon who dies

Damn my fool child
said Wyvern the Cursed
he who pokes dragons
well deserves the worst

drink round the table
drink round the lies
drink round the table
Sir Devon who dies

Mispesti the Bold
ruled all of the West
in mountains so cold
ruled all of the rest

drink round the table
drink round the lies
drink round the table
Sir Devon who dies

Sir Devon's a-shivering
Sir Devon's a fool
Sir Devon's forgot
Mihaly's gold rule

drink round the table
drink round the lies
drink round the table
Sir Devon who dies

Mispesti plays fair
and lays out the game
Sir Devon cheats twice
and then passes blame

drink round the table
drink round the lies
drink round the table
Sir Devon who dies

'A Cursed Man'd damn you
a wize man'd tell tales
but this bold dragon
won't give up his scales'

drink round the table
drink round the lies
drink round the table
Sir Devon who dies

Sir Devon is dull
some might say obtuse
so he cried 'damn you'
and tied his own noose

drink round the table
drink round the lies
drink round the table
Sir Devon who died

Mispesti the Bold
found it quite glum
and sent his best girl
out for more rum.

drink round the table
drink round the lies
drink round the table
Sir Devon who died.

A poem written July 11, 2006

Morning Bitch
by this Elizabeth

If you don't want
a morning bitch
put the pizza
in the fridge
get in bed
at a decent time
and don't act like
the fault's all mine.

If you don't care
to hear my stress
don't lay back down
after you dress
but put on tea
or load the dishes
and give me something
besides just wishes

If you don't like
my attitude
don't waste my money
or my food
and don't act like
I ask too much
unless you want
a big ole fuss

Don't tell me you
can't read my mind
or tell me 'bout
all the lights you find
'stead take my hand
and at least lie
and promise you'll
some effort ply.

I admire Elizabeth David

I and this lady share a love of mayonaise, and her description of it is perfect.

A poem unfinished from September 12, 2005

Tor of Anwnn

by this Elizabeth

I stood on the rocky mountain
with my prince firm there behind me
In the cool air we were still warm
from our toasting each other.

A golden harvest moon latern
in our search for knighted lizards
with the chill of heights among us
on the Tor of Anwnn.

Soon came challenges and callings
none too much for he, the witch king
and I watched as breath became words
and poetry surrendured.

In the valleys the clouds gathered;
on the peaks we waited, praying
wrapped tight in our elven leathers
on the Tor of Anwnn.

'Late he rises,' said the witch king
shaking my long dozing shoulder
and I woke to green and gold flight
silent in my vision.

A poem written July 10, 2006

Thirteen and Thirty
by this Elizabeth

Did you ever
have a friend
you knew
was a lie
and only
a matter
of time?

Did you ever
have a friend
you knew
was wrong
but allowed
no room
for correction?

Did you ever
have a friend
become enemy
when you
finally
spoke the truth?

I admire Elizabeth Alexander

Obama just chose her as his inaugural poet.

A little of her poetry:

Ars Poetica #100: I Believe

Poetry, I tell my students,
is idiosyncratic. Poetry

is where we are ourselves,
(though Sterling Brown said

“Every ‘I’ is a dramatic ‘I’”)
digging in the clam flats

for the shell that snaps,
emptying the proverbial pocketbook.

Poetry is what you find
in the dirt in the corner,

overhear on the bus, God
in the details, the only way

to get from here to there.
Poetry (and now my voice is rising)

is not all love, love, love,
and I’m sorry the dog died.

Poetry (here I hear myself loudest)
is the human voice,

and are we not of interest to each other?

A Haiku written July 9, 2006

Haiku I
by this Elizabeth

Waiting for the car
wind blows dreams and voices
and here they are now

A poem written July 9, 2006

Marketing
by this Elizabeth

Perfume Perfection
Lavender Colored
Smells more yellow
To a nose
Trained to Pessimism

A poem written July 8, 2006

pseudoephedrine
by this Elizabeth

Addiction
when my face tingles
when I can't feel
my fingers, my feet
when I hardly know
that woman in the mirror
high enough
to smile at her

Addiction
when I'm hot in the cold
when the bed sails
the type runs together
when I love myself
just another distraction
to wash
the world away.

Addiction
the refresh button
the jump in my heartrate
when new mail arrives
and no one knows
how connected we are
by electrons
and addictions.

I admire Elizabeth Warren

Elizabeth Bonestell established the Jefferson Memorial Fund at UC Berkeley.  In 2007 Elizabeth Warren gave one of the lectures sponsored by the fund about the collaspe of the middle class.  She has also written a book on the topic with her daughter.  This is an informative lecture considering the state of the economy today, compared to even a year ago.