Poem: The Loon's Tale

A conversation with a friend brought this poem back to mind, and I realized I didn't have it up on the internet anywhere handy. I wrote it back in '96, for a market that was looking for work about shape-shifters, in a traditional metered rhyme. I prefer writing in free verse, but I still had fun with this one.


The Loon's Tale

I tired of your campfire tales
and slipped away to sandy shore.
I listened to the whisper waves
that tempted me with wilder lore.

The star-lit ripples led me on,
with lilting cry of laughing loon.
I puddled clothes on dancing dock
and dove through shining shards of moon.

And as I swam to rocking raft
I sensed his presence by my side,
all skimming sleekness, easy grace
not even darkest night could hide.

Quicksilver shift to human limbs,
ascending ladder to our nest.
I cuddled into feathery touch
and nestled head upon his chest.

Our evening sped on ebon wings--
he told of wonders swift and deep,
wrapping 'round the liquid words
until I drifted off to sleep.

And in the glow of morning light
you found me lying naked there,
an ancient knowledge in my eyes,
a feather tangled in my hair.

-Melissa McCollum
4/2/96

Poetry: Creative Process

This is really my favorite part of the whole thing...



Creative Process

An idea sparks
and whirls round and around in my head.
Cool! I wonder if...
Examine it. Poke at it.
Drag out the books and do the research.
Nope, that won't work.
But, maybe if I...
Pull it and stretch it
and read some more
until rough outlines take mind form.
Hmmm...that might do.
Dig for pencil and paper. Sketch.
Fiddle with color,
proportion, swapping out elements
until the image feels solid.
Oh! I see it! Yes.
Now, make calculations
and hammer out details.
Ok. First this, and this, and then I...

Time for the alchemy
of thought stream into matter.
The best of the work
is done, and only the action
remains.


Melissa McCollum
11/05/06

Poetry: We Want a Simple Action Flick

In November, I did a poem a day challenge, which I really enjoyed. But I haven't written much since then. So now that the school year is drawing to a close I'm going to try adding a weekly poem into my rotation here. I'll label them as poetry in the title, so you can easily skip them as you choose. (Or, I suppose, look for just the poetry if that floats your boat too.) (Hey, it could happen!)

***************

We Want a Simple Action Flick

...And then in the thrilling climactic scene
the Good Guys, in a heroic
blaze of muscles and deadly firepower
finally take the Bad Guy down
with a decisive one-two tap to the head.
Cut to scenes of jubilant crowds,
and then a brief denouement
of a shrouded body
tipped into a vast ocean.
Roll credits.
Movie over.

But...

Life is not
made of Hollywood magic,
no matter how much we wish it were.
Good and Evil
aren't so easily scripted.
Meandering plot lines
get hopelessly entangled,
and instead of credits
all I see
are the words

...to be continued...


Melissa McCollum
5/2/2011

Poetry: Cotton Candy Men

Cotton Candy Men

Note to self:
Artists and actors
and gypsy musicians
are sooo very tasty...
They're a heated carnival midnight
full of light and excitement
lost in sensation.
Savor them
as they melt on your tongue
in a spun sugar moment
one step removed from reality...
And then go home.
Because a steady diet
of cotton candy
will only give you indigestion.


Melissa McCollum
3/31/10


*****************

I write poetry fairly regularly, and share it here now and again. A conversation I had today reminded me of this one that I wrote last year. Yes, I have a soft spot for those lovely, sparkly personalities. 'Cotton Candy' is now my personal shorthand for them.

Obsession (A poem about beading)

Several years back I wrote a poem about beading. I submitted it to the 'Beadfairies' site online, and it was published there. I kind of forgot about it after awhile. But yesterday I was doing an idle Google search on my name, and found that the poem had been quoted on two web sites that I'd never heard of. Which makes me go 'hmmmmm...' on the one hand, with copyright and all that. On the other, I'm kind of tickled that folks liked my writing enough to pass it on. I really enjoy writing poetry, but I do it more for my own pleasure. It bemuses me (in a good way) when folks connect to my words enough to take something out of them for their own.

Anyway, I figured I'd reclaim my poem, and share it here again.

******************

Obsession

Cramped back cracks as I crinkle
into bed. Needle pricked
fingers gather soothing sheets,
and aching neck nestles deep
into 3 AM pillow. Light switch click,
itchy eyes finally close...
...and phantom bugles flash
cobalt behind twilight eyes.
Freshwater pearls shimmer,
swimming through my veins
as Delicas dance my spine.
Cool garnets slide memory
smooth through fingertips
twitching for pointed precision
as the beads stalk me deep
through the night...


By Melissa McCollum

*********************


And with that, I ought to get myself off to bed. I was weaving today instead of beading. Do you think I'll dream of cloud-soft fibers and interlacing patterns...?

November Poetry Challenge: 30/30: Unwrapping the Ornaments

And finally, here is poem #30 of 30 in my November Poetry Challenge. It has been a fun ride for the most part. There have been evenings that I've sat here in front of the computer screen, at a loss for words. And there have been nights where the images wrote themselves. But I've managed to churn out something resembling a poem for 30 days in a row! Some are quite good, some are not so wonderful, and most are probably somewhere in between. But almost all of them wouldn't have been written without my annual challenge pushing me on.

Thank you so much, those of you who have been reading and cheering me on. The feed back has kept me from throwing up my hands in frustration on those nights when the words were awfully slow to come out of hiding.

See you again next year?




Unwrapping the Ornaments

Choose some mellow holiday music,
brew a mug of honey sweetened tea,
and turn on the colored lights that wind
around our man-made pine tree.
All set? Yes. It is time for
a cherished seasonal ritual.
I put the large plastic tote on the table,
and carefully crack open the lid.
Inside are layers and layers
of tissue paper wrapped treasures.
The cheat sheets are on the top.
Almost every single ornament
has a pencil scribbled entry--
who it was for, and from,
and what year it was given.
But I won't need them today.
For each sparkling prize
holds vivid flashes
of memory.

Unwrap...here's the stained glass unicorn
from my high school crush.
I'll hang that one up front and center.
Unwrap...there's a glass globe
with a dusting of fuzzy fake snow.
That one was on my parents' first tree.
Ah...here's a whole cache
of hand made gems.
I have a very talented family!
Unwrap...be gentle! It is the precious
glass pine cone
from Grandma's tree.
Unwrap...A lacy leaf that I picked up
on family vacation through Yellowstone...
and here are the herons
from Sioux Narrows. Same trip? Ummm...
(Ok, I'll check the cheat sheet.
Nope, different trips.)
Unwrap...Ah ha! The unassuming
white plastic ball, found in the attic
in my grade school New Jersey home.
I claimed that one fair and square.

Unwrap....
unwrap....
each uncovering of old friends
brings bemused smiles
and moments of quiet reverie.
My hands pause,
touching my past,
turning people and places
over in my mind.
And then, I place the jewels
just...so...
on the twinkling branches,
and ring them round
with an exuberance
of golden tinsel.
There...finally complete.
Again.

My Christmas tree may be artificial,
but it does grow beautifully
year to year,
and its roots go so very,
very deep.


Melissa McCollum
11/30/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 29/30: Spinning my Wheels

Here's poem #29 of 30 in my November poetry challenge. One more to go, and I'll have made it! The goal was to write 30 poems in 30 days. And I haven't had to resort to bad haiku once this month. Yet...



Spinning my Wheels

There's many an afternoon
I just sit here,
spinning my wheels.
Mind drifting,
meditative...
hands wandering through the same
sequence of actions again...again...
unthinking motion...
foot tapping...tapping...

...and fiber slipping soft
and sure through my finger tips,
transforming into luscious
lengths of pettable, practical
hand-spun yarn.
Because, for me?
Spinning my wheels
is a wonderfully
productive activity!


Melissa McCollum
11/29/2010




(Yes, that is me in the picture, taken a few weeks ago while I was modeling for a life drawing class. I got 2 1/2 bobbins spun up that day, and the students came up with some cool artwork as well. A win all around.)

November Poetry Challenge: 28/30:The Hunter

My kids say I have a secret superpower--I can track things down. All it takes is time, patience, and a discerning eye...which leads us to poem #28 out of 30 in my November Poetry Challenge.

The Hunter

Lurk...scan...look again...
That one? No...
too common to bother...
too far away...
too much...
that one is broken...
yes? no, can't use it now...
OOh? Perk...Maybe?
...pounce! and...nope.
Came up empty.
Dang. Waited too long.
Back to the slow stalk...
days...weeks...
be patient...wait for it...
There!! That one is perfect!
"Hello? I'm calling
about your ad on Craigslist..."
A quick dash...and...YES!
The primal hunter
lurking deep in my genes
grins with the exhilaration
of a successful hunt.
Drag the spoils
back to my studio lair,
gloat, evaluate,
and then...maybe...divide the bounty
with my chosen tribe.

After I take
first pick
of the kill.


Melissa McCollum
11/28/2010

(This was today's find. 63 light weight leather hides that will make great gloves or garments. I look forward to working with them...eventually. Right now, I'm just hovering over the new addition to my hoard.)

November Poetry Challenge: 27/30: Contemplating the To-Do Lists

Here's poem number #27 out of 30 in my November challenge. My mind was in spin cycle tonight, running over all the various things I just need to get done over the next few months...



Contemplating the To-Do Lists

Sign the cards, find the addresses,
dig out the boxes,
set up the tree, the lights,
(need to run to replace dead strands...)
ornaments, tinsel, creche, stockings...
Buy the gifts, wrap, mail...
This year cookies for sure, and fudge, and...
...and Christmas will happen
and will be Merry
even if I don't get every bow tied.
Relax.

But then I need to get ready
for the New Year's Eve party!
Clean the house, find firewood,
tweak the hot tub, send out emails,
get new games, find crash space,
figure out a menu,
drag out the coolers, and...
...and the New Year will come,
shiny and complete,
even if I don't get the party favors.
Relax.

But, Estrella is right around the corner!!
Get everybody pre-registered,
track down who is in camp, tetris their tents.
I want two more outfits,
Kevin needs pants, Eric needs shirts.
So much pre-cooking to do I should start freezing now
and I need to weave an arts entry! And...
...and Estrella will be a marvelous
gathering of chosen family,
whether or not I get that tunic sewed.
Relax.

Thanksgiving has passed,
which means I'm deep into crazy season.
For the next two and a half months
I'm up to my eyeballs juggling, organizing,
people are depending on me
and there just isn't enough time! And...
...and every detail doesn't need to be perfect.
What gets done will be enough.
The gatherings will still make memories
full of sparkling laughter and joy.
...Relax.


Melissa McCollum
11/27/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 26/30: Soup

Yup, I made up a batch of soup from scratch today. My tummy is very happy, and it gave me the inspiration for poem #26 in my November challenge. I'm looking forward to leftovers for lunch tomorrow. It should be even better then.


Soup

Some days
...ok, probably too many days...
I get by on drive through bags,
frozen dinners, take out
pizza, and restaurant offerings.
I'm in a hurry. Too tired.
Out with friends.
Feeling lazy, uninspired.
But while the grab and go
feeds the body,
every now and again
my soul
tells me it is high time
to slow down, and simmer
up a big pot
of simple peasant-fare soup.

Lets see...I'll need some liquid.
Reach into the freezer,
and pull out the zip lock bags
full of the picked over bones,
left over from those quick
grocery store roast chickens.
Into the stock pot, cover with water,
simmer a few hours, and strain.
And already, the house
smells like
a welcome home.
Something primal in me
straightens, sniffs,
and smiles.

A source of protein,
a batch of vegetables,
and some starch...
This is the fun part
as I scrounge around
the pantry and the refrigerator
for whatever strikes my fancy.
Lentils, the rest of the chicken.
Baby carrots, frozen corn,
dried mushrooms.
Noodles, rice,
dehydrated potato slices...
Ooh...that looks good.
Chop it up, add it to the mix.
And then a shake of Italian seasoning,
and a dash of white pepper,
a bit of rosemary,
and...hmm...this smells good.
Toss it in too.

And the longer it goes,
the richer the mix becomes
...and the more relaxed I get.
Time...slows.
As my hands chop and stir,
I can feel my motions
echoing back through time.
How many women
in how many generations
have cared for the heart of their families
with a similar simmering pot?
Yes, I could buy a can of Campbell's.
It would be much faster.
But I'd miss this gentle magic
of creating rib sticking nourishment
out of bits of seeming nothing.

And then, with a quiet
happy sigh, I sit
down to the table
and ladle out my liquid comfort.
I add couple of thick crusty slices
of hot buttered french bread,
and some nice sharp cheddar cubes.
And steep a steaming mug of tea
for good measure.
And then just sit,
and sip,
and savor,
in a timeless moment
of quiet contentment.

Yes. I needed that.
Tomorrow, I can return
to my usual headlong dash.
But today,
I'm having
Soup.


Melissa McCollum
11/26/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 25/30: A Thankgiving for my Family

Here's poem #25 in my November poetry challenge. I hope you all had as wonderful as day as I did!



A Thanksgiving for my Family

Just a typical Thanksgiving dinner.
My daughter was home from college,
and my brother and his family flew in,
so there were 11 around my parents' table
for turkey and stuffing
and card games.
I took pictures,
even though they'll look pretty much
like last year's shots,
and the years before that,
back through pretty much all my life.
I take it for granted sometimes...

...but not tonight.
Tonight I'm thinking of my uncle's
family dinner,
as they deal with the aftermath
of his illness. He's back physically,
but his brain is still drifting in transit.
And I consider my friends,
with an empty seat at their table.
It is their second Thanksgiving
without husband and father.
And there are the folks I know
who grit their teeth
and brace themselves
for their obligatory
family gatherings,
with their inevitable
soul ripping
fights.
And the ones
who for their own health
and mental survival
have cut blood family
out of their lives entirely.

Tonight,
I don't take my picture perfect
family Thanksgiving
for granted
at all.
I am so blessed
that my folks are still with me.
That my brother and I
can share jokes and stories.
That there is laughter, and honest delight,
and layers of family history to enjoy
and to pass on to our children--
who are soaking it all in
with grins on their faces.
Asking for more.

Today
I am incredibly Thankful
for my unusual,
wonderful
family.
And I will cherish
each and every year
that we can gather
together
at the Table.


Melissa McCollum
11/25/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 24/30: Thanksgiving Eve

Poem #24 of 30. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!



Thanksgiving Eve

I step outside for a moment
into the crisp midnight air.
A haze of high clouds
slips silently over
a ringed, glowing moon.
I can smell wood smoke
adrift on the dark.
I pause...motionless...
listening to the stillness
until the chill brings me to shivers.

Coming back into light and warmth.
I am wrapped in
the thick sweet scent
of pumpkin pies
cooling on the counter,
and the cinnamon laden apple slices
slowly cooking into tomorrow's breakfast.
A smattering of other ingredients
lies scattered on the kitchen table,
patiently waiting for dawn.

The family is snug asleep.
Tomorrow I know we'll drag out
old bespattered recipe cards
in our annual ritual
of giggling kitchen mayhem, told
and re-told stories, and shared connections.
But tonight...tonight I stand in serene solitude,
sending down roots, and feeling
the pulse
of the year.


Melissa McCollum
11/24/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 23/30: Cognitus Interruptus

Ok, given some of the folks I know are reading these poems, I almost didn't post this one. But, well, this is what came out of the pencil tonight, and this is me too. So, here's poem #23 of 30 in my November poetry challenge. (I've got a personal goal of writing 30 poems in 30 days. Only 7 more to go after tonight!)



Cognitus Interruptus

I had a poem forming
in the corners of my brain.
I'm sure it would have been very insightful
in a lofty, cerebral fashion.
But then I took a shower.
For two.
And there were steamed up mirrors
and hot pulsing water
and tasty droplets trailing down
tender flushing skin
and...
and...
the words are just gone. Poof.
All that's left
are lingering shivers,
vividly intense
sense memories,
and a very very self-satisfied
smirk.
Sorry. I'll be all profound
another time.
Right now I'm just going lie here,
basking
in the sure, purring
knowledge that I am
an extraordinarily
lucky
woman.


Melissa McCollum
11/23/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 22/30: A Life Drawing Model's Internal Monologue

Tonight's poem kind of wrote itself while I was working tonight. So here's poem #22 of 30 in my November Poetry Challenge:


A Life Drawing Model's Internal Monologue

30 minute pose.
I can do that.
Set the cushions up,
take off the robe,
give them a diagonal line and a
twist
for composition
and settle in...
dang. That pinches the hip.
Well, they're just 30 seconds or so in,
I can still shift. A bit.
There.
Now No More Moving for half an hour.
Set my spotting position for the eyes...
and I can't see the clock.
So much easier to hold on
if I know how much time is left.
Lets see...60 relaxed breaths = 5 minutes.
So, count 360 breaths, and I'll be close.
One...two...

there is a hair tickling my nose.
three...four...
that is really annoying.
five...six...
can I blow it out of the way?
Yes. Good.
nine...ten...
my side and shoulder are tight.
Ah well, they'll stretch.
Modeling poses are like pregnancy.
The first third is uncomfortable
until the body adjusts
to the strain.
30...31...
Bored.
Nothing but the scritching of pencils.
All quiet. Let the mind drift...

120...121...
and here come the yawns.
Must stifle them!
I'm not that tired, am I?
I got eight hours last night.
130...YAWN...131...
Oh yeah,
my torso is twisted and bent,
which compresses the lungs.
Hence the...YAWN...dang it.
Breathe deeper to compen...YAWN...sate.

203...my eyes are starting to close...204...
must keep them open.
Students are drawing the face
and I can't change it on them.
206...tickle the roof of my mouth
with my tongue?
Sensation helps a bit.
Too quiet. Heavy eyelids.

223...oh good. The teacher
is finally making rounds.
I'll concentrate on that for focus.
"Look at the negative spaces...
You've got the head at the wrong angle...
Bring the leg in a bit, and finish on a light tone...
Good structure, but add the drapery under her...
There's bounced lighting on the belly..."

240...Man, my arm is falling asleep.
I can't feel my right hand.
And my neck is really starting to ache.
That danged hip wants to cramp again too.
242...Oh yeah. Pregnancy again.
The last third of the pose
is like moving into the last trimester,
when you are so blasted uncomfortable
that you just want it OVER already.

...260...ow...Maybe if I flex the leg muscle
I can shift the weight just a bit
to ease the hip?
...270...now the leg muscle hurts too.
300...ow...ow...
Breathe. Relax.
Focus on the left elbow. That doesn't hurt.
330...just a bit more...
muscles starting to shake from exhaustion...
almost there...breathe...
I will make it.
Too close to give up now.
345...oh man this hurts.
Ow bloody OW just a bit more...

-Beep beep beep beep beep-
Thank God for the timer!
I can...

"Melissa, could you hold that
just a few minutes more?
Now, see if you shade it a bit more here..."

Aargh!

Smile sweetly,
deep breath,
and HOLD.
Of course I can.
I'm a professional.


Melissa McCollum
11/22/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 21/30: Practicing Joy

I ran into some of 'those' type of people today. You've met them--the ones who are never satisfied unless they're griping about something. The encounter inspired tonight's bit of writing for my poetry challenge. Here's poem #21:


Practicing Joy

When you practice,
you get better.
Everyone knows that, right?
And when you devote almost every
waking moment to the effort,
you'll get darned near perfect.
So tell me...
How come so many people
are practicing so hard
to be so...miserable?
They make sure every word
is a gripe
or a snipe.
They grab two-fisted onto mistakes,
and pounce immediately
on every single nit-picky wrong.
They cherry pick the awful from the news,
and for reinforcement
surround themselves with others
who are just as displeased
with the world as it is.
So much energy spent
on being so negative...
that after awhile it isn't an effort at all.
It's a very easy habit.
An unthinking one.
Life's...just a bitch.
Practice makes perfect,
and they are perfectly
cranky.

Me?
I want to practice joy.
I want a life of blissful happiness
and serene, loving contentment.
Wouldn't anyone?
But to get there,
I need to be willing to put in the effort.
Because grumpy
can come all too easily.
No, not everything is all sunshine and roses...

but I can find five things
that make my eyes sparkle
every day.
I can find a real compliment
to give
to others...
and to myself as well.
I can pause to look at cloud wisps,
and take time to rub puppy bellies.
I can hug my sweeties.
Real hugs--none of that A-frame
pat on the back stuff.
I can take five minutes out of a busy schedule,
close my eyes
and savor what is just
right
then and there.
I can find a reason to laugh
that is not at somebody else's expense.
And I can turn off the danged news,
and choose
to surround myself with the kind of people
who can see the sheer
wonder
that wraps around us.

I can find moments of merriment
until joy is just
...second nature.

So...come practice with me?


Melissa McCollum
11/21/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 20/30: Shared Magic

I'm up way too late again, getting this written in the wee hours of the night. I would have started earlier, but we were playing silly games until 2am. yawn So here is poem #20 in my challenge to write 30 poems in 30 days. And now I'm going to go to bed...


Shared Magic

My fingers are still twitching,
reaching for the keyboard.
And I think my dreams
will be full of
sharp clawed moon beasts,
shambling zombies,
and deadly conjured swarms
of mucking big snakes.
And spiders. And scorpions.
Really really big.
See, I just spent hours
and hours

playing video games with my family.
With rapid fire mouse clicks
we merrily mixed spells
and tossed fireballs,
jogging together through
a simulated world
full of dastardly wrongs to right
and sinister forces to fight.
There were evil sorcerers
and hermit witches,
glowing rune stones
and swirling potions,
and enchanted creatures pouncing
from around every turn.
But the real magic
of the game?

My teenaged son
willingly got his homework done
--early--
so he could hang out gaming
with his parents.
On a Saturday night.

Now, that is wizardry indeed!


Melissa McCollum
11/20/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 19/30: Why I didn't get any sleep last night...

This is about how things went for me Thursday evening. Don't you hate nights like this? But at least I got poem #19 out of it, so I guess it wasn't all that bad...?


Why I didn't get any sleep last night...

Look body, it is 3 am. It is time to go to bed.
No, I want to make things! I've got this great idea, and...
But we need to be up early.
Just a check through the internet then.
You know that will suck us in for hours. We don't have hours. Go to bed.
I'm hungry.
We shouldn't eat past midnight.
But I'm hunnnnnnnngry!!
Fine. Have some crackers.
Chocolate.
Crackers, and bed.
Diet Coke, too?
Caffeine? Nice try. Water. Now get undressed and crawl in.
....fine.
SULK
Shhhh. Just lie there.
....I'm cold.
sigh We'll put pj's on. Better?
I'm not sleepy.
Well, pretend. We have to be up in 4 hours!
The cat is on my head.
Cats do that. Push it off.
Now the dog is scratching. You know we can't sleep if the dogs move at all!
Aargh! Then kick the dog off too! Just go to sleep!!!
...
...
...
But I wanna make things!!



Melissa McCollum
11/19/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 18/30: Heroes

I got kind of philosophical about the internet tonight, and poem #18 (out of 30 in my month long challenge) is the result.


Heroes

So, I spend a wee bit of time
on FaceBook.
Ok, maybe more than that.
And I read Live Journal
and a handful or so of blogs.
And, because I'm like that,
sometimes while I'm scrolling away
I consider what it is we're building,
and what we're saying with it.

I've seen an amazing community
emerge these past years,
one connection at a time,
as sooner or later just about everyone
dabbled at this internet thing.
It feels like a small town writ large,
with friendships forming,
support offered,
tips and tricks passed back and forth
(I've got to try that cold killing
ginger tea recipe--who had it again?)
and all sorts of avenues for gossip.
On a far flung, chaotic scale.
I even like watching memes go viral,
spreading from one person to the next.

In fact...memes. Those are fun
and quite revealing if you think about it.
Lets see. Today's crop:
Did you see the house cat
face down the alligator?
The elderly woman who got a standing ovation
for her jaw dropping audition?
How about the boy
with the biker escort,
and the depressed 91 year old
holocaust survivor
who posed for those cool superhero pictures?
And of course, the food blogger
who brought down the thieving magazine,
and the man
who took on airport security.
Awesome.
Engaging.
I smile, and click,
and on their way they go.

I have come to the conclusion
that the internet
loves an underdog.
No, more basic.
People love underdogs.
They yearn to see the unremarkable,
the ordinary person
--just like them--
face their fears,
take a stand
and become...extraordinary.
Something shining and wonderful
but not...quite...larger than life.
Still within reach.

I think...
I think when we click 'share'
we're whispering to the world,
Hey.
Look at this marvelous thing.
This is you.
And...maybe...this is me too?
And maybe...just maybe...
someday
we could be brave enough.
And we could become

heroes.
Big enough
for the whole world to see.


-Melissa McCollum
11/18/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 17/30: Opening Night

This is poem #17 out of 30 in my November poetry challenge. For those of you coming in part way through the month, I'm trying to write 30 poems in 30 days, in what has become an annual challenge for myself. I'm posting them here as a way of holding myself accountable, so I'll actually get them done. Thanks for dropping by! It tickles me that people are actually reading these. I hope you're having as much fun reading as I'm having writing.


Opening Night

Opening night for my daughter's
first college play
is in just a few days.
I listen to her talk of tech week,
and look at her backstage pictures...

and I'm back in high school theater.
I tried out for every play,
even though it scared me to death.
Actually? I'd try out
because
it scared me to death.
I'd push myself, just to say I did it,
and then retire back stage
to help concoct the magic.
Now that was fun.
I'd pound flats together,
and prime and paint.
I'd cobble together props,
build platforms,
and stay out of the way of the costumer.
(She had pins!)
And we goofed around a lot of course.
But I loved being part of a mass creation,
feeling the intensity pick up speed
in those frantic final weeks
as we scrambled to get everything done.
We'll never make it!
And then suddenly...

it was time.
Props were in place.
Lights were aimed and ready.
The set sat patiently behind golden curtains
waiting for the grand reveal.
And the actors were downstairs
getting in make-up, going over
lines one last time, and finding
that missing piece of their costume.
This...this was my favorite time of all.
I'd sneak upstairs away from the frenzy

and sit, stage right,
back against the brick wall
and look out over the empty house with its rows
and rows of waiting chairs.
I'd close my eyes...and breathe...and listen.
I swear I could feel the theater,
alive and eager,
gathering itself to fling open the doors,
usher in the audience,
and let the wonder flow.
This coming performance, whatever it was,
is what it lived for.
And yes, that play house did live!
I'd hug that still moment
of vibrant anticipation to myself...
and smile...
and then the theater would chase me
back downstairs to the bustle,
so we could get everything done
before curtain time.


I hope
on my daughter's opening night,
in that hush before the house doors open,
she gets a chance to go breathe
in the empty wings
and look out over the waiting seats.
And I hope her theater
speaks to her too,
saying, "Welcome.
I'm glad you're part of this.
Now get back to work--
it's time for us to make some magic!"


Melissa McCollum
11/17/2010

November Poetry Challenge: 16/30: Bell Range

Here's poem #16 of 30 in my November poetry challenge. As I was working today, something made me remember burrowing in piles of leaves as a kid. When I got home to the paper tonight this one came out...


Bell Range

When I was a grade school kid
we had what was probably a typical
suburban home, tucked away on a culdesac.
But oh, that place was magical!
Or maybe it was just that I was learning
to explore, a girl let loose for the first time
to run where I pleased--as long
as I was within Bell Range.
See, Grandma had been a one room school house
teacher, and Mom had her recess bell.
As long as I could still hear her ring the bell
to call me in from my adventures
I was home free.

There was a mysterious sunken circle
in the side yard. My parents
thought it was where the previous owners
had removed a pool.
But I knew it was a grand amphitheater
fit for staging all sorts of shows,
ringed with tiger lilies for giving
orange pollen nose make-up.
And in the fall it turned into an enchanted
labyrinth, laid out with crunching piles
of multicolored leaves.
I'd burrow through the walls
and come out covered
in bits of autumn.

The culdesac pavement in front of the house
was a giant canvas for chalk masterpieces.
And if you were careful to avoid pebbles
(and the occasional car coming home from work)
it was an awesome skating rink.
On long summer days we'd spend hours,
chalk in hand, laying out swooping road ways
and rectangle shops and schools and homes,
creating our own private city.
And then we'd skate our streets
in elaborate games,
impatient smudges altering
the land scape as needed
as our shared story unfolded.

And behind the house
there was a vast wilderness, hiding
lost cities and magical doorways.
If you were a careful archaeologist
you could dig through the dirt piles
and find bottle-cap treasures,
and Important Clues
to pressing neighborhood mysteries.
The grown ups thought
it was just an empty lot, and somebody
built a house in our space.
So we put toys down the cinder block
foundation, in our own personal
time capsule
to the future.

The future.
Now that I'm in that future,
something is
...missing.
When I was a kid, that small slice
of quiet neighborhood
held passageways to all the possibilities
the world could hold.
Now? My limits may have broadened,
but my vision...
Today I think I'm only seeing
a house. A street. A missing pool.
And a vacant lot.

I need...I need to coax that
grade school girl I was
back in from where she's wandering.
I need her limitless vision
and exuberant imagination.
I want to play, on a grand scale.
Somehow, over the years,
I've become an...adult.
Where is the fun in that?

But how? How can I call her home?

I know.
I've still got Grandma's recess bell
safely tucked away.
It's a little dusty,
but it should do the trick.
All I have to do is step outside
into a breezy, sun filled afternoon
and let the clapper clang
long and very very loud.
And in a little bit
she'll come dancing along,
breathless and bubbling,
back to where she belongs.

Yes. In fact, looking back
I think my inner child
has always been
just within
Bell Range.


Melissa McCollum
11/16/2010