Thank you, Devon PriceI curl like an egg inside a shell of blankets, await the impulse to hatch. I used to chide myself for even a whiff of laziness, used to break myself against the sides of bowls, making things I didn’t care to eat. But then I got sick— too sick to whip myself up to a solid state, too cracked to follow recipes that weren’t incubated in my own heart. So I guess that makes me double lazy. Except I heard a guy say that laziness doesn’t exist, and though this would mean that the hard work of breaking myself was less noble than it once seemed— I believe him. Because here I am, doing nothing, and the feathered little something of this poem just fell from my heart into my open palm.
Wow, I could see and feel all of this so vividly! I sure hope that little boy got to grow up and do something that was more fun than what he had modeled for him!
This one is definitely evocative, like Larry said. My bedroom window faced the driveway growing up, and I have similar memories of watching my dad leave first thing if I happened to wake up early enough (his work routine never liked like much fun, either).
This is quite evocative, Chuck. The story in various versions for so many of us, I expect. Reminds me of the Happy Chapin song "Cat's in the Cradle". Except unlike the son in the song, mny of us learned what you did looking out that window.
My heart space felt warm and fuzzy as a chick after reading your poetic gem <3. So many sweet chick and egg metaphors in it, and the notion of a poem falling feathered from your heart to your palm is too endearing.
I gasped aloud by the end of the second line, and then the wow just kept coming. The metaphor of idolatry and sacrifice is so powerful. Offering up delight as sacrifice, and selfhood as sacrifice- wow, oof, omg, I don't know what sort of mouth sound to type in response, but I know that I feel this beautiful poem deeply.
Snaps right back at you, friend. This is really powerful, especially "devotees spared no expense and made death out of life" and your acrostic at the end spelling the sacrifice of dreams (!!!) So good.
The religion of productivity -- ooooh wow, like Lisa, I also want to make a bunch of mouth sounds! So many of us are raised in this cult -- and it is so hard to escape! The sacrifice of DREAMS and all their constituent parts... all for the reward of turning life into death. This is good, Keith.
Mouth sounds = praise of the highest order! Thanks, Rebekah...and/but, I'm kind of sorry that you can identify from what sounds like experience. Thank goodness what can be learned can be unlearned (at least partially).
I will say that although I was raised in an evangelical church my parents were slightly rebellious and for that I am forever thankful. I saw so many people sacrifice family and time with loved ones to the idolatry and worship of the four walls of a church building and their “every time the door is open” policies. Ok. Well enough about me. lol.
Thanks for sharing your experience with that particular brand of idolatry, Karri - glad for you that your parents were able to resist the pressure being applied by the church through those policies <phew>
What a lovely ending, Larry! "May this be that lazy day" - so sweet. Labels are such awful weapons, and I love how you take the word lazy and show its beauty.
This is landing with me as a poignant reminder of the power of words, or *a* word. I appreciate how you artfully brought this back home to yourself and your own beautiful child heart, the same one that's still inside during the twilight of life. Your nature imagery is exquisite, Larry.
"A conversation got lost in the woods" is such a great way of saying that. I love how you turn to nature as a reminder to slow down and that you're allowing yourself that slowness and freedom now.
I love the stories you tell here -- about sticking up for Noah and Max only to realize their esteemed teacher is completely brainwashed (and small-minded), your own branding as "lazy" when you were a dreaming, nature-loving kid and your attempts to shake the label afterward. And the beautiful last stanza, embracing laziness and all its gifts.
Larry this is all beautiful - from your advocacy for Noah and Max with what seems like a most disagreeable teacher to the parallels of your childhood to the absolutely gorgeous description of settings in nature that "set your child heart free." And might I say, you most certainly must be known as one who does love with an ever opening heart.
Boy, this was a rabbit hole of a poem for me. I was thinking about my job and how increasingly meaningless it's been feeling, and about all the things I love to do outside of work that I feel perpetually wistful for, and about how I never have enough time and I blame my job, lol. I started picturing a river that gets diverted for the benefit/profit of others and is eventually left with nothing. And then gradually the poem became more about the river and less about my job. Though I want it to still be an analogy for hustle culture. Keith, I need your help making it bigger!
I decided to make it about an actual river in California that means something to me. Ironically, a lot of my work is in the Central Valley so it's because of my job that I know so much about the Kings River, ha!
This is so brilliant! Like A, I love the idea of a visual to go with each section, but the imagery is so rich that it's not needed. And I don't think you need anyone's help to make this "bigger." The lines "I didn’t want the race, but / gravity found me" spoke so deeply to the way many people's lives play out, maybe especially in corporate America. I love that you never named the metaphor of work, but it was still there in every stanza if you looked for it.
This poem is big and beautiful as-is, no help needed (from me or anyone else)! The origin context you provided aside, it did strike me as a metaphor for what happens to a human life in late-stage capitalism...every last drop of our wild preciousness mined and extracted for profit, often violently, leaving us deflated and quivering until we go back together into the field of wild preciousness from whence we came. Oooof, ouch, and outrage!!! So many delicious images and turns of phrase amidst the outrage. I especially love the image of an altitudinous heart. I hope your altitudinous heart has remained so <3
Yes, yes, yes! This feels so true for me, too. It feels true of poems but also, much of the time, of joy and awe. I have to stop or at least slow down, and that's when the magic happens.
Sometimes I get so busy reading and responding I forget your original post and pome. Lovely work as usual and although I haven't heard of Devon Price, I will just have to check out his work. I am tentatively on board for the May 11th experience. I have a nasty little habit of planning on doing things and then chickening out, so fingers crossed :)
I'm only vaguely familiar with Devon Price, but I have heard about his book before and the idea that laziness doesn't exist, which I fully subscribe to. I love your poem, especially the last stanza (the photo was perfectly placed, by the way, because I felt almost like I dropped down into it as I finished reading how the poem dropped into your hand, and it was just beautiful).
Also, I wish I could commit to the zoom. If it were in person (and you were nearby) I'd do it in a heartbeat, but I don't handle video calls well at all for some reason.
I actually have a really hard time with video calls, too. They do something funky to my brain and nervous system! If it helps, the first 1.5 hours of this call will be audio only - all cameras turned off so that we aren't even looking at screens. (I recommend using a phone rather than a computer.) After that, turning cameras on is totally optional . . . and hanging up is an option, too, once cameras start getting clicked on. But you should absolutely only do what feels good to you and only come if it feels like your right move!
The routine.
he was always up and gone before the crack of dawn.
Home around 6.
Parked in his chair,
it was TV,
Jim Beam &
Chesterfield Kings til 9.
Quiet.
Frowning.
Repeat.
Sometimes,
if i was quick to the window,
I could snag a peek of my dad's shadowy coat and black tie figure
heading to the car.
Crawling back into bed,
I would say to no one in particular
Doesn't look like much fun.
Wow, I could see and feel all of this so vividly! I sure hope that little boy got to grow up and do something that was more fun than what he had modeled for him!
Thank you lisa, and
ha, ended up on a submarine.
Oh wow! We’ve done a couple submarine tours, so my kids have spent a lot of time discussing/imagining what that would be like.
Thats pretty cool you all checked them out.
Two boys, right?
once we actually get out & on patrol, its pretty quiet and uneventful, reading lots of books and marking the days off the calender,
til something breaks, or we bump into something. (iceburg?).
In port, it is not pretty quiet.
a tribal kind of thing, comes with lots of sea stories.
DAMN. I felt this, Chuck. Days and days and days of this scene, embedded like glass in a tender psyche.
This one is definitely evocative, like Larry said. My bedroom window faced the driveway growing up, and I have similar memories of watching my dad leave first thing if I happened to wake up early enough (his work routine never liked like much fun, either).
This is quite evocative, Chuck. The story in various versions for so many of us, I expect. Reminds me of the Happy Chapin song "Cat's in the Cradle". Except unlike the son in the song, mny of us learned what you did looking out that window.
Yeah. Thank you.
We all managed to work thru it OK.
Powerful words Chuck. Rather sad but just ordinary life I suppose.
Yeah, we didn't know any other.
You can say that again! Great imagery (and visceral drudgery) in this poem, with a wry punchline to boot.
I'm not in the habit of naming my poems, but I'm calling this one Lazy Sundays:
.
"A day of rest,"
.
which implies that
every other day is
meant for productivity,
.
which implies that
rest is something
to be earned,
.
which is bullshit.
.
I will laze on
all of the days
.
and I will not
feel ashamed.
I wish you could hear my laugh and see my smile of delight! This is marvelous. I, too, shall laze on all of the days and not feel ashamed!
I wish I could, too! But I'm glad to know you enjoyed it, and I can imagine you lazing and laughing while reading my poem, which makes me happy. 😊
Fuckin' A bullshit!!!
Yes m'am.
WOOF.
I got so much delight from this comment lol thank you!
I do love the concept that rest is not something to be earned. It’s so difficult to counteract that productivity guilt.
It is! It's easier when I remember who wants me to feel that way and why. Then my rebellious side comes out and I am joyfully defiant.
A standing ovation for this one, friend! Thank you!
I love this, A -- yes!!! I so feel all of this, thank you for finding the words.
Snapping fingers <snapsnapsnapsnap>, I love the defiance of this, and the ending, BOOM.
My heart space felt warm and fuzzy as a chick after reading your poetic gem <3. So many sweet chick and egg metaphors in it, and the notion of a poem falling feathered from your heart to your palm is too endearing.
My poem, not so much sweet as bitter today:
Christianity was a cover for
the religion of my family
which, had truth
been a priority,
might have been called
Productivity.
I know this implicitly
because
sacrifice and devotion,
when offered consistently,
point to worship.
Hindsight being 20/20,
I now see it clearly.
The secret idolatry
long practiced by my ancestry
exalted Ponos,
god of toil and child of strife.
At his altar, devotees
spared no expense and
made death out of life,
offering up in sacrifice
*
Delight
Relaxation
Enthusiasm
Authenticity
Mystery
Selfhood
*
I gasped aloud by the end of the second line, and then the wow just kept coming. The metaphor of idolatry and sacrifice is so powerful. Offering up delight as sacrifice, and selfhood as sacrifice- wow, oof, omg, I don't know what sort of mouth sound to type in response, but I know that I feel this beautiful poem deeply.
Thanks, friend. That my poem caused depth of feeling feels like a huge compliment :))
That "when offered consistently" requirement really hammers the nail.
Snaps right back at you, friend. This is really powerful, especially "devotees spared no expense and made death out of life" and your acrostic at the end spelling the sacrifice of dreams (!!!) So good.
Thanks, A. I'm taking in the snaps :))
The religion of productivity -- ooooh wow, like Lisa, I also want to make a bunch of mouth sounds! So many of us are raised in this cult -- and it is so hard to escape! The sacrifice of DREAMS and all their constituent parts... all for the reward of turning life into death. This is good, Keith.
Mouth sounds = praise of the highest order! Thanks, Rebekah...and/but, I'm kind of sorry that you can identify from what sounds like experience. Thank goodness what can be learned can be unlearned (at least partially).
I will say that although I was raised in an evangelical church my parents were slightly rebellious and for that I am forever thankful. I saw so many people sacrifice family and time with loved ones to the idolatry and worship of the four walls of a church building and their “every time the door is open” policies. Ok. Well enough about me. lol.
Thanks for sharing your experience with that particular brand of idolatry, Karri - glad for you that your parents were able to resist the pressure being applied by the church through those policies <phew>
Lisa, this one brought the ghosts of labeling past right to the surface. Here goes:
Lazy Days
Picking up Noah from second grade one sweet spring day
He said “Ms. W. called Max and me lazy.”
An eight year old lazy I thought?
And marveled at how quickly the labeling begins.
.
The next day, as I shared my concerns about the
labeling of Noah and Max,
award winning brilliant veteran teacher
peers at me, contempt and disdain
dressed up in a scowl.
She proclaimed that some parents
want great things for their children.
A conversation gone lost in the woods.
.
Mind flies back to that same label used long ago
as a weapon from family, teachers, coaches,
piercing the spark of carefree that fed
my sweet daydreams, my boundless wanderings.
.
I’ve spent decades running from that label and more,
determined to appear to be anything but lazy.
Still, the breeze across Nichols Pond on an autumn day,
the waves of rolling ridges spread across Shenandoah valley,
the ancient trees of wisdom in Joshua Tree
pull at the endless quest for approval, validation and affirmation,
setting my child heart free.
.
As twilight enters my final chapters,
I yearn for lazy days, again.
Time to hear without words spoken,
to see with more than my eyes,
and to love with an ever opening heart.
May this be that lazy day...
What a lovely ending, Larry! "May this be that lazy day" - so sweet. Labels are such awful weapons, and I love how you take the word lazy and show its beauty.
Thank you for the inspiratiom, Lisa!
This is landing with me as a poignant reminder of the power of words, or *a* word. I appreciate how you artfully brought this back home to yourself and your own beautiful child heart, the same one that's still inside during the twilight of life. Your nature imagery is exquisite, Larry.
Thank youi so very much, Keith!
"A conversation got lost in the woods" is such a great way of saying that. I love how you turn to nature as a reminder to slow down and that you're allowing yourself that slowness and freedom now.
I love that, too! Larry's poem made me think how sometimes gentleness and presence and awareness get branded as laziness - but they are so essential!
Yes!
Thank you A.
I love the stories you tell here -- about sticking up for Noah and Max only to realize their esteemed teacher is completely brainwashed (and small-minded), your own branding as "lazy" when you were a dreaming, nature-loving kid and your attempts to shake the label afterward. And the beautiful last stanza, embracing laziness and all its gifts.
Thank you Rebekah! You read and write with such a perceptive and understanding heart.
Larry this is all beautiful - from your advocacy for Noah and Max with what seems like a most disagreeable teacher to the parallels of your childhood to the absolutely gorgeous description of settings in nature that "set your child heart free." And might I say, you most certainly must be known as one who does love with an ever opening heart.
Karri, thank you for your kind, gracious and generous comment. As I age, I hope and pray my love and loving gets more expansive and whole.
Boy, this was a rabbit hole of a poem for me. I was thinking about my job and how increasingly meaningless it's been feeling, and about all the things I love to do outside of work that I feel perpetually wistful for, and about how I never have enough time and I blame my job, lol. I started picturing a river that gets diverted for the benefit/profit of others and is eventually left with nothing. And then gradually the poem became more about the river and less about my job. Though I want it to still be an analogy for hustle culture. Keith, I need your help making it bigger!
I decided to make it about an actual river in California that means something to me. Ironically, a lot of my work is in the Central Valley so it's because of my job that I know so much about the Kings River, ha!
.
The Kings River Goes to the Office
.
1. South Fork
I am a river falling out of the Sierra.
Yesterday I was lakes
too cragged for fish, in air
too scant for trees. I was
meadows cut through with snowmelt,
cornices at the glittering crown.
.
2. Pine Flat
I didn’t want the race, but
gravity found me.
It is not a thing you can
turn around from. I will go, but
I will keep my altitudinous heart.
.
3. Irrigation District (East)
I am in their world now, and
they have split me. They have
stuffed me into pipes,
heaved me into ditches.
They have filled me with carp and
muck, though they say that’s not
my job. My job is the alfalfa,
the almonds, their green lawns,
their shiny cars.
.
4. Irrigation District (West)
The race is not a race. It is
a brackish slide down
someone else’s gradient.
In a world this flat there is no agency.
I must trust the engineers.
.
5. Derelict Channel
I am sand now, and they are
no longer interested.
I drag myself across the valley,
creeping around vestigial oxbows,
trying to remember.
.
6. Mendota Pool
I meet others like me.
We are all haunted.
The backwards canal sings
of the delta, and we blink,
not understanding.
.
7. Pacific
We get there together.
It is rest, it is death.
I stretch out in the sun and
start to quiver.
.
8. Water Cycle
I am a raincloud
climbing back to myself.
This is so brilliant! Like A, I love the idea of a visual to go with each section, but the imagery is so rich that it's not needed. And I don't think you need anyone's help to make this "bigger." The lines "I didn’t want the race, but / gravity found me" spoke so deeply to the way many people's lives play out, maybe especially in corporate America. I love that you never named the metaphor of work, but it was still there in every stanza if you looked for it.
This is stunning, Rebekah. I would love visuals to go along with this, but every bit is already so captivating.
This poem is big and beautiful as-is, no help needed (from me or anyone else)! The origin context you provided aside, it did strike me as a metaphor for what happens to a human life in late-stage capitalism...every last drop of our wild preciousness mined and extracted for profit, often violently, leaving us deflated and quivering until we go back together into the field of wild preciousness from whence we came. Oooof, ouch, and outrage!!! So many delicious images and turns of phrase amidst the outrage. I especially love the image of an altitudinous heart. I hope your altitudinous heart has remained so <3
This is outstanding....what a journey!
I decided to go lighter with this one because I have been rather dark lately:
If you must reach me
Between the hours of one and three
It better be an emergency
Because I'll very likely be
Taking a nap.
I dearly hope that this is true and that you are just barely stirring and stretching back into wakefulness right now!
It was more of a 3-5 situation today. Lol.
the rhyming of "three" and "emergency," along with your unapologetic ending make this such a delightful little nugget :))
I lose poetry in my busyness, as if I could hunt a poem down and slay it. Only when I stop can a poem find me.
Yes, yes, yes! This feels so true for me, too. It feels true of poems but also, much of the time, of joy and awe. I have to stop or at least slow down, and that's when the magic happens.
Oh, this is so relatable. Thank you for sharing.
I love this:
"I used to chide myself
for even a whiff
of laziness,
used to break myself
against the sides of bowls,
making things I didn’t
care to eat."
Thank you so much, Margaret!
Sometimes I get so busy reading and responding I forget your original post and pome. Lovely work as usual and although I haven't heard of Devon Price, I will just have to check out his work. I am tentatively on board for the May 11th experience. I have a nasty little habit of planning on doing things and then chickening out, so fingers crossed :)
Thank you, Karri! Chickening out is absolutely allowed, but I’ll be so happy if you’re there. ❤️
I'm only vaguely familiar with Devon Price, but I have heard about his book before and the idea that laziness doesn't exist, which I fully subscribe to. I love your poem, especially the last stanza (the photo was perfectly placed, by the way, because I felt almost like I dropped down into it as I finished reading how the poem dropped into your hand, and it was just beautiful).
Also, I wish I could commit to the zoom. If it were in person (and you were nearby) I'd do it in a heartbeat, but I don't handle video calls well at all for some reason.
I actually have a really hard time with video calls, too. They do something funky to my brain and nervous system! If it helps, the first 1.5 hours of this call will be audio only - all cameras turned off so that we aren't even looking at screens. (I recommend using a phone rather than a computer.) After that, turning cameras on is totally optional . . . and hanging up is an option, too, once cameras start getting clicked on. But you should absolutely only do what feels good to you and only come if it feels like your right move!
Thank you! I'm not sure what my plans are for that day, but I'd love an invitation just in case I feel like I can manage it.
This is a stunning poem you've provided! And what an interpretation of the prompt!
Thank you so much, Bethel!
"Because here I am,
doing nothing,
and the feathered little something
of this poem
just fell from my heart
into my open palm."
What a wonderful way to close this piece.
Thank you so much, Tom!
A pleasure Lisa!