Modified Haiku in The Key of Sea - in three parts 17/30 by Nico Lund


#NaPoWriMo haiku challenge-4:9:4

Modified Haiku in The Key of Sea
In three parts

I
Another wave 
Won't stop for the shore because it can't. 
Energy's curse. 

II
Compulsive bursts 
Spit up the underbellies of thoughts
Then back to sea. 

III
Then back to shore 
Then back to sea, a marriage of fates
Without a truce. 

What is a Puddlepoem? by Nico Lund


The story of puddlepoems  

Puddlepoems arose one autumn day in 2014 as I was out on my usual daily walk with the pup. 

I live in the evergreen lushness of the Pacific Northwest, and even though I reside in the middle of a city, I am surrounded by big skies, dense foresty parks and plenty of tangible earth. 

Partly inspired from the lovely photography of Andy Goldsworthy I saw years ago, and partly a way to process my thoughts as I wander around through sun and rain and gray, puddlepoems have been a way for me to share the beauty, pain and wonderment of being. 

Puddlepoem are an invitation to glimpse into how I see my surroundings as not just objects, but extensions of my curiosity. 

Meditating on place, time, materials and textures, the words are the conversations between myself and my thoughts. The noticing and questioning of this very life. 

Why puddles?

I loves the way puddles arise and cease to be, Malleable, reflective pools of possibility.

I can't say how a puddle is chosen, but each puddle or watery image I choose just feels right.

What if there are no Puddles?

Hey! I'm an artist! I can interpret puddles anyway I like.

What's the deal with the Poetry?

After I create the visual, I snap a picture and then in a stream of consciousness style, I try to reproduce the thoughts that informed my manipulation of the elements. Poetry is like painting with words. I love to learn how to observe and slow down my monkey mind.

As far as the poem goes, I try not to labor too long on format, editing or even second guessing my sentiment.

I choose to leave these poems raw.

I hope you enjoy my poetry as well as my photography. 

I would love to hear your comments.

XoN
Feb 2015

All The Things Your Heart Is 16/30 by Nico Lund




Take all the things your heart is
      And all the things your heart isn't, 

Can them 
      Into a jar 
                                  And watch the flickering lights 
                                                                   Blink on and
                                                                                      off like summer 
                                                                                    Fire bugs on a 
                                                                             Dim lit hazy night.

Above stars will play
                                Hide and seek
                                                  With night clouds 
                                                                             And moon-shadows.

When you go to slumber
Your mind will buzz 
With a million thoughts 
Until 
        Sleep 
                 sets 
                         you 

                                 free.

All at Once Yet Never Together 15/30 by Nico Lund


Heart and mind. 
                                   A metaphor murmuring 
                                                          And melting evermore
                             Into puddles of 
       Desire and despair. 

    Always all at once yet never together. 

                            Which one could stand alone?

As the sea and the shore join endlessly 
                                                         Rock by pebble by 
                              Sand to silt. 

         I am left to reflect how the 
                                           Waning tide suffers 
                                                                          no remorse 
                                                       As it leaves me. 

                                                                    Returning later, 
                                           It will not grieve that
I have gone. 

Tomorrow is Tax Day 14/30 by Nico Lund


Each moment is significant. 

For example, this line at the post office. 
Tomorrow is tax day. 

That mom with the two young children. 
What she says to them: wait here. 
How they look at her. 
And they are watching, learning, learning about waiting. 

Children are always learning about waiting. 

The older woman behind me. 
How she chews her fingers and looks around. 
Once she was young and then after that she was somewhere in between 
like me. 

Each line has a memory of another line. 
Whether or not the end of any line gets you what you wanted, 
the wait is often noted, recorded, reviewed. 

Each anticipation of any wait-er has been solidified in the mind; 
calcified blocks of 
personal stories and vignettes. 

How our waiting settles into these clerks, 
perhaps to ground their slowness to slow 
and then seemingly slower.

Did someone press pause on this moment? 
Is it for me to finally notice?
Should I take this time for something significant? 

Conversely, sometimes it seems we believe 
that frantically looking around at anyone 
who will meet our eye will speed up the process. 

We are all waiting for our turn. 
Life is not waiting for us, but oh how we wait for it. 
For it to happen. 
For it to unfold and reveal its mysteries. 

Right now is always fighting our anxiety with 
elongated space between here and there. 

Every line in our life is like time passing. 

How we wait is telling. 
How we wait 
is who we are

In each 
significant moment. 

Somewhere Between Neither 13/30 by Nico Lund


Yesterday I said I will

Catch up to a breath,
Catch up to the moment.
 
But Today I'll be somewhere between neither.

Try to hold what it was,
It disappears. 

Try to hold it tight,
It begs to be let go. 

There is no future for wanting. 

There is no breath waiting to be had.

A Hard Truth 9/30 by Nico Lund


Waking up inside small circles
Still asleep. 
Still wrapping around and around and 
Around.

In truth,
The center is hard to locate.

The center has its own center.

Its own center doesn’t exist.

So what am I
Wrapping around if not 
Nothing at all?

This One to the Sea 11/30 by Nico Lund


Mother takes the hand of little fingers,
kissing them one by one.
This finger down the mountain,
This finger through the trees,
This finger touch the sky,
This one to the sea.

Mother touches so gently each blade of grassy hair on little heads.
Here sprouts the life,
Here the flowing gold,
Here flowering seeds,
Here the dreaming folds.

Mother walks with care, small steps and slowly.
First steps in the water,
First falling to the ground,
First dance with windy music,
First whispers in the round.

River Won't Listen 10/30 by Nico Lund


River rushing,
Messing through tranquility,
Upsetting soft grasses 
And still trees.

Calm sky clouds
Stay open for a wide sun.
But river shatters the rays
Upon rocks and edges.

River won’t listen 
To birdsong or deer hooves moving.
Instead, tantrum-ing down mountainsides,
And butting up against boundaries and lines.

Always running,
although towards or away from,
We may never know.
Whirl-pooled and streaming puddles of childish tears,
Crying until they’re all dried up.

I'm No Sooner Arrived 8/30 by Nico Lund

I'm back from the woods where I spend a few days off the grid...I couldn't post for #napowrimo, so the following posts will be catch up posts of what I put together at Breightenbush Hot Springs in Oregon.



Sooner and later I'm always
Looking for shadows and shapes
That disappear behind 
Each distraction,
Dissolve into every reflection
And dip beneath an under-looked depth. 

And later I awake to find 
I'm no sooner arrived. 

A Drop in The Bucket 7/30 by Nico Lund


Today's writing prompt from NaPoWriMo is: Write about Money

A Drop in the Bucket

It’s in our DNA,
To build upon and build upon.

To multiply, and increase.
To take up more space, 
To be our own. 
To identify what is ‘mine’. 

One penny connecting to another,
Becoming another form of currency, 
Attracting more connections.

The endless becoming of many pieces 
That together represent 
More than the whole.

Culturally the monies display differently, 
But underlying the structure, 
Their concepts, 
look the same.

Like with our own DNA, 
Money buys ninety percent junk, 
Only ten percent for what we need to function.

Often, our wallets suffer from disease and loss. 
Some feel emptiness,
Some are obese,
Some are tainted with bad blood.

Many submit to the God gene and feel all powerful,

While others are stolen
Disappearing into the masses,
Unnoticeable,
                  An insignificant 
                                              drop 
                                                                       in the bucket.

It’s in our DNA to make more.
It’s in our DNA to take over,

As we spend
                              we speak,
                                                                 Through our voices,
                                          we evolve.

Aubade to a Sleepless Night 6/30 by Nico Lund



Aubade to a Sleepless Night 


Let me return this to you. 
It was a long night,
Restless and aching,
With sheets damp with worry. 

Upon your dawning,
I thought to give this back
See if you could do better with it. 

With its colorless cast,
Soundless lamenting,
It's not so much that I tired of it,
It just didn't seem to take to my efforts. 

So, here it is,
With its soft luring,
Whispering and warmth 
It so cruelly withheld from me. 

I know as soon as you rise, 
It will nuzzle up 
To your sunny disposition 
And stop racing around 
Through the gaps in my breaths.

Murky Waters 5/30 by Nico Lund





Murky waters. 

A place to stay away from,
Perhaps a state to beware of.
Or rather something to not get mixed up in. 

It might be too deep,
Too dark,
Unclean or worse. 

Yet, from the womb we emerge
A sooty mess,
All muddy from pure beings blood,

And we arrive full of light,
Having endured the darkest 
Mysteries of life.

Birdy Told Me Nothing 3/30 by Nico Lund


A little birdy told me nothing. 

Nothing about what was to be. 
Not a tweet about love,
Or loss, or glee. 

Of pain, hope and joy, there was silence,
Only a lone crow caw upsetting the balance. 

No flits of light on my shoulder,
Or visions of happy life when I'm older. 

Just here and now, amongst sky and ground. 
Inside just this moments sudden breeze I am found. 

A little birdy said nothing to me,
                                         and as it will be, 
                                                   Only a song for its mate
                            High in the tree. 

Subtly Step More Solidly 1/30 by Nico Lund

April is National Poetry Month
Puddlepoems is Participating in NaPoWriMo 2015 and will post a Puddlepoem-a-day for the Month 


Something not quite right,
Out of place,

Can't put your finger on it,
But it's right there,
Waiting for you to say ohhhh,
Waiting for that stomach drop feeling,
Then, 
oh. 

The whoosh of realization,
Something doesn't belong,
You don't belong.

The word imposter spits at you,
Taunting you with "I see you"
"I know you." 

But it doesn't 
And you're not. 

You belong right where you stand,
Because, 
Well,
Because you are standing there. 

Then,
Something not quite right,
Out of place,
You subtly step more solidly, 
shift right
Then left. 

There,
On your place. 
You belong. 

#puddlepoem #napowrimo #1 #instagram 

Lengths of Time Like an Inch Worm by Nico Lund



Let me know when you take flight.
And how the air is sweeter,
That leaves a bitter trail as you go.
I’ll be watching from below.

How the air breathes sweeter,
Swollen with fertile scents and satiated longings.
Left with the bitter trail, here I stay
Watching from afar in the gap between the twist and fray

Swollen, with fertile scents, to satiate the longings,
The lengths of time like an inch worm.
Watching, from afar, the gap twists the fray
Alone I lay.

In lengths of time
you to will land, tired,
Near to where I lay below,
As you share your sweetened glow.