In Those Last Moments

What must it have been like
to know that you were about
to be torturously beaten and
brutally crucified? I wonder
if He reviewed His time on
earth in the Garden of
Gethsemane, flipping
through the slide show of
His mind. Did He think of
His family -- His father's
smile, His mother's embrace,
His siblings' laughter --
His favorite adventures,
His favorite foods, His closest
friends? Did He rub His hands
and feet, nauseous at the
thought of the massive nails
ripping their muscles and
snapping their bones? I wonder
if, in His mind's eye -- with the eye
of the Spirit -- He saw the faces
of those He healed and
delivered, and the faces
of all those yet to be freed.
Ultimately, in those last
moments, He saw the face
of God, the will of His Father.
He said "no" to His flesh and
His emotions and "yes" to the
Kingdom of Heaven, as
He knelt one last time and
said, in essence,
"Your Kingdom come.
Your will be done."

(lost my appetite)

lost my appetite
waiting for the elevator
outside the restroom

Except for Earl

Tea is subtle and understated.
It's quiet and underrated.

Except for Earl.

Although Earl Grey doesn't
bust down your door like his
cousin Joe, he does knock
pretty hard.

He tips his hat when you
come to the door and,
before you even say so
much as "hello," he's
inside your house
sitting on your couch
chatting about the morning news.

Earl is chipper, but serious.
He is a man of the world,
sophisticated, up to date
and timeless, all at the same
time. He's a philosopher,
a morning man.
He's the kind of guy
you want on your side.

Today Will Be Okay

I've come to depend on
my morning cup of tea.
I survive interstate traffic
and my own stringent
a.m. primping routine
each morning without a
single drop of caffeine.
When I finally get to
the office, I need to know
that this day is worth all
the effort it took to get
here -- moisturizer, makeup
and mousse, cleaning up
cat vomit and dodging
suicidal drivers and
scraping bubble gum off
of my heel in the parking lot.
I need to know that
everything is going to
be alright. I rely on that
first steaming cup of
comfort with a kick.
I need its warmth and
strength to focus on
the tasks ahead.
And each day I accept
the gift of the black brew,
I know that -- come paperwork,
paper cuts or pervasive
newspaper headlines --
everything is going to be
okay -- at least for today.

(After nearly three)

After nearly three
years of silence, a hello
left his lips today.

Poetry Open Mic

This evening I will participate in Landmark Booksellers' monthly open mic poetry night.

(leaving a bag of new books)

leaving a bag of new books
in the car -- almost as hard as
leaving your newborn at the hospital

(careful to savor)

careful to savor
the first Girl Scout cookie of
the season -- then more

(her name on the)

her name on the
distribution list for
her own death notice

(upon hearing that she has)

upon hearing that she has
metastatic cancer
frantically checking to see if her last
e-mail is still in my inbox

Steaming

spent four minutes
with a spoon and a knife
squeezing every drop out of
the stringless PG Tips tea bag
only to watch it plop back in the cup
in an instant
with a splash

Coffee by Domination

Coffee is a man's drink.
It is robust and hardy.
It's earthy and militant --
even when it's dressed up
with pumpkin spice creamer
and Sweet'N Low.
Coffee doesn't tiptoe like tea.
It busts down the door
and makes itself known.
It takes command and
shows you who's boss.
It drags you through the yard
or the office like a soldier
and takes you to the other side
of the mountain or your morning.
Coffee doesn't disappoint.
Whether it's a buzz or a BM
that you seek, coffee doesn't
let you down.
Coffee is a man's drink.

(driver making the car)

driver making the car
her makeshift makeup studio
and making us nervous

My on-Again, off-Again Bedside Companion

She doesn't like to cuddle
or be held.
She likes to be in control,
to call the shots.
She comes
when she's ready.
She comes
to get what she wants
and leave.
And she practices the most
peculiar positions.
She often prefers to rest her head
near my hips
and press herself against me,
begging to be stroked.
When I pet her in just
the right places,
she purrs with pleasure
and lets me know,
in no uncertain terms,
that she's glad to be
my pussycat.

(snacking on Brussels)

snacking on Brussels
sprouts and agua during the
Golden Globe Awards

(the elevator)

the elevator:
the only place the "code"
allows her to speak to me

A Rework of an Earlier Haiku

I think I like this one better:

first sniff:
got makeup on the
pages of my new book

First version:

got makeup on the
pages of my new book while
trying to smell it

(Christmas cat)

Christmas cat –
bedside greeting
begins with a pounce

Open Mic Night

Tonight I plan to participate in Landmark Booksellers' open mic poetry night, hosted by Victoria Clausi.

(prescription to beat)

prescription to beat
the blues: increase
daily musical intake

And Then There Were Five

Last week my friend Sam shared the goings-on of his recent winter jog and asked me to write a haiku about it. So far, I have five versions. Do you have a favorite?

++++++++++++++++++++

December jog
railroad crossing
eleven turkey vultures

++++++++++++++++++++

11 turkey vultures
1 deer
death = dinner

++++++++++++++++++++

1 deer's fall
is
11 turkey vultures' ball

++++++++++++++++++++

December dinner --
Eleven turkey vultures
dine on deer.

++++++++++++++++++++

fresh venison
feast for
feisty vultures

++++++++++++++++++++

(sampling of the city)

sampling of the city:
snaking post office line
10 days before Christmas

(still dreaming of Sep-)

(after discovering my dislike of Corona)

still dreaming of Sep-
tember – root beer instead of
ice cold Coronas

(dreaming of September)

dreaming of September --
ice cold Coronas on the
screened-in porch

(said a prayer for the)

said a prayer for the
accident victims, thankful to be
on the other side of the median

(Locomotive-like sounds)

Locomotive-like sounds
coming from the apartment upstairs --
Here's hoping it's the washing machine.

A Full Canvas

Unlike most compositions, newspaper blackout poems are created from a full canvas (rather than a blank canvas, page or screen). The goal is to "discover" a poem within the existing article(s) and eliminate all the unnecessary words with a marker (or graphic design tool). The articles above constitute the full canvas with which Austin Kleon's November contestants began.

Saucer Eyes

This is the "newspaper blackout" poem that Austin Kleon selected as one of three runner-ups last month. I will be awarded a free copy of Kleon's forthcoming book. Best of all, my poem will be published alongside his in the HarperCollins release, due out next September! I've included the text below for easy reading.

Saucer Eyes

Puzzling sauce

should be removed

from the table.

Anxiety lies

in her eyes.

A Runner-Up!

I just returned from my Thanksgiving travels to find that I was named a runner-up in the November Newspaper Blackout Poems contest! More on this later!

Newspaper Blackout Poetry

I submitted an entry for the November Newspaper Blackout Poem contest today. I'll let you know if my piece fares well!

On the M-I-C

Tomorrow I plan to participate in the open mic poetry night at Landmark Booksellers. The evening will be hosted by Victoria Clausi.

(driving into the)

driving into the
sunset to vote on a warm
election evening

(bathroom concerto)

bathroom concerto
simultaneous poopers
workplace harmony

Rock 'n' Roll Mama

When my hair dresser
was 13, her hippie mom
made her and her
9-year-old sister sign
an affidavit, vowing to
always love rock and roll.
Though she has kept her
promise all these 26
years, mane master
Melissa regularly
tunes her ears to jazz,
gospel and bubble gum
pop ditties, as well.
And every time she spins
a Martina McBride
disc, her mother cries.

(I look to the bottom of)

I look to the bottom of
my tea cup and wait
for the webcast to end.

Southern Festival of Books

I am planning to attend the Southern Festival of Books this weekend in downtown Nashville. The event is free and open to the public.

Joe and Lenny

A Jolt and a Jam

Friday mornings
are meant for
Lenny Kravitz tunes
and a good cup
of java. A
steamy, creamy
cup of joe and
Lenny's retro
rockers get me
bobbin' my head,
tappin' my feet and
sippin' to the beat.

Family Math

At one time,
the five of us
lived in one house.
Over the years,
one house
has turned into
five homes.
Now, a couple
of times a year,
we are all under
the same roof.

(Noisy people don't)

Noisy people don't
belong at state natural
areas. Quiet!

Workshop 'til You Drop

This weekend, I will attend an all-day writing workshop led by the "godfather" of creative nonfiction, Lee Gutkind (pictured above).

Last Minute Invitation Turned Inspiration

Today I attended a talk by fiction writer Michael Snyder entitled, "How I Got Published," where I received a free copy of his first novel, My Name Is Russell Fink. To learn more about Snyder and his work, please visit his Web site.

(provokes a smile)

provokes a smile:
empty ketchup bottle fart
at the church picnic

Unglued

Yesterday I repaired
the bracelet you bought
for my 30th birthday
with super glue.
That icy February day
seems light years away
from today's August steam.
If only our estrangement
could be resolved as easily.

Burgers and Blankets

After we finished our burgers and iced tea,
we stretched out on the floor with blankets
for a Fourth of July nap
in the comfort of family;
in the warmth of sisterhood;
safe within the unspokenness of knowing.

Modern (In)conveniences

There's nothing like waking up
to the sound of the neighbor's
car panic button. I have yet to
use the red button for actual
safety purposes, but I have
managed to inadvertently
squeeze the screaming
siren a handful of times
over the past year. I'm
sure the neighbors in our
tightly packed subdivision
have appreciated being
shocked awake at 8:15 a.m.
I cringe as I imagine my
unintentional interruption honking
its way into my neighbors’
peaceful mornings -- lipstick
lines veering north to a nostril
or a hammer hitting a hand
instead of a nail at the sound
of the unexpected warning bell.
Somehow the peace of mind
that the panic button promises
to provide me cost my neighbors
their peace of mind.

(two police cars on)

two police cars on
the side of the interstate
like beetles courting

Sounding Off Southern Style

We talk with exaggerated
southern accents for fun –
even though Tennesseans
consider us “Yankees.”
Sometimes when I’m on the
phone with my dad, mom, sisters
or friends, I get concerned that
someone may hear me and think
that I actually do sound like that.
The fear suddenly intensified
when I moved south of the
Mason-Dixon Line.

parking

two police cars
on the shoulder of the interstate
side by side
with lights flashing
like two lightning bugs
in love

(living the life)

living the life:
shaving my legs to the new
Coldplay album

morning tea

like the allegiance of a faithful friend
like the familiar hand of a lover
like the loyalty of a family pet

Support the next generation of poets!

Loud and Unclear

Her voice was unnecessarily
loud and obnoxious -- making
it hard to concentrate on the
book about nonreligious
thoughts on Christian spirituality
that I was reading in
the salon chair next to her.

Why is she talking so loudly,
I wondered to myself, irritated
that I was re-reading the same
paragraph for the fifth time.
Does she have any idea how
annoying she sounds, I thought,
noting that her stylist seemed
to be put off, as well -- assumedly
speaking only once in a while
to preserve her own sanity.

Before I did anything I would
immediately regret, I checked
myself. Why was I so perturbed?
It wasn't time for PMS and it hadn't
been long since my last meal.

Suddenly, it hit me like a hummingbird
plowing into a glass door.
She was insecure, I reasoned,
and unable to rest in silence, let
alone enjoy it. She had to fill
every moment with some sort of
blabber -- followed by nervous
laughter and a new batch of jabber.

She doesn't like herself, I
suspected. Has she ever
felt cherished and celebrated?
Does know that she was
created to be captivating
and valuable, even irreplaceable;
who is going to tell her the truth
about who she is meant to be?

I watched her hair dresser
finish her cut, then blow dry and
style the woman's strawberry
blonde hair out of the corner of
my eye, and noticed when she
walked toward the front
counter to pay her bill.

I felt as helpless as a hostage
in my chair. How could I
make a difference in an
absolute stranger's life?
I said a quick prayer, asking
God to bring someone into
her life to love and help her,
and went back to my book.

It was clear to me that she
needed to hear the truth, but
unclear as to how it would happen.
Part of me wanted to take off after
her in my salon frock and aluminum-
foiled hair to talk with her. The
other side of me felt like I do when
I see starving children from
Africa on TV -- hurting for them
but frozen in another land.

(Office breakroom zoo)

Office breakroom zoo --
is the workload so bad that
we seek solace there?

Ink on Ink

I have a problem
marking in a poetry book.
I can use a pencil, mind you,
to underline, applaud or question
a passage, line or word in a book
of poetry all day long. But I have
some kind of curious aversion
to doing so in ink – as if adding
my ink on the page would
somehow dishonor the existing
print on the page.
Stranger still, I have no problem
using a pen in a work of fiction
or nonfiction. But
a collection of poems
somehow commands a sort of
respect, a sacred care,
a reverent response – like
a sunset or the miracle of birth.

If Melody Is Nourishment, Harmony Is Healing

Do you ever wish you could
drink music – first in soft sips,
then steady swallows, and,
at times, greedy gulps?

I need consistent installments –
like doses of medicine
carefully measured out
by the hours, days, and
weeks of the month.

It moves me like the
majesty of a mountain,
the splendor of a sunrise,
the openness of an ocean;
like the moment you know
that you're home.

(By the time you finally)

By the time you finally
understand your job,
you no longer want it.

Matters of Intake

I have a friend who devours
poems like she devours
sumptuous chocolate cake --
with a feminine fortissimo,
speedily savoring each serving.

I, on the other hand,
experience poems like I
experience creme brulee or flan --
slowly, deliberately,
careful not to overdue it,
knowing that too much
of a good thing will ruin
the power of the moment.

I do not think either way
is superior -- only that one
approach is better for
that particular partaker.

Even now I am closing
a book of poetry,
instinctively knowing
when to say "when."

(sitting in a meeting)

sitting in a meeting
with no clue
dreaming of the beach

(excited to finish the book)

excited to finish the book;
sad to see it
end

(the cardinal)

the cardinal
sounding off
like the Fourth of July

with gratitude to Rebecca J. Davenport for a spectacular ending

(they lean in with)

they lean in with
eyes wide open and
mouths tightly shut

(a generous lark)

a generous lark
and her five fine, feathered friends
treated me to lunch

The Walk

We were like ducklings
following Mrs. Rempala
all the way from our
elementary school to
the nearest track for
practice. Our track team
was permitted to use
Riley Elementary's
facility for our workouts,
as our campus barely
had room for a jungle
gym. I remember walking
through the neighborhoods
between Kyger and Riley
and looking up into the
budding trees the springs
of my fifth and sixth grade
years. I breathed in the
April air and experienced
my first taste of independence,
responsibility and healthy
competition on that walk,
mentally preparing for
the 60 meter dash, my next
boyfriend and junior high.

Without a Honk

There were four
of them -- four
graceful geese
gliding over 65
North as the four-
lane interstate
backed up
farther and farther
south. In the midst
of the two-accident
Tuesday morning
turmoil, just as I
began to grip my
steering wheel
in frustration, I
saw the quartet
breezing over
all four lanes
of traffic without
a honk of their own --
so soft, so peaceful,
so content; so intent.
I watched them
split into two pairs
and continue on their
January journey,
as I adjusted my
hands and then
my attitude, without
a honk of my own.

Grounds for Investment

There's something about
a coffee shop. There's
a sense of life in
the scent of the brew.
It's the occasion to
have a conversation --
to share your heartbreak
with your best friend, to
give your heart to
the love of your life,
to reconnect with
the parent you haven't
spoken to in years.
It's a safe haven.
It's a place of
possibility. The
richness of the roast
grants a sort of
permission to relax
and invest yourself,
to invest your time,
invest your interest
in another. To drink
well, breathe deep
and speak often.

(having a hard time)

having a hard time
deleting her death notice
from my inbox

© Amy E. Hall 2008

(sick feeling with no-)

sick feeling with no-
where to go: knowing my co-
worker is cheating

© Amy E. Hall 2008

Perspective

For Marcy

She was on the e-mail list
that I administer each month.
I took her off the list
two months ago without
instruction to do so.
I had been frustrated that
she never responded to
my carefully constructed,
time-consuming messages
and occasional updates.
I wondered why, month
after month, she didn't
reply or at least accept
my offer to remove her
from the distribution list,
until I received notification
this morning that she just
passed away after a
three-year battle
with cervical cancer.

© Amy E. Hall 2008

Super Tanker

Strange that
my little, black
tank top takes
longer to dry
than anything
else in the load.
Is it too big for
its britches?
Does it have
super powers
that were not
described on its
tag or washing
instructions?
Or does it simply
long for summer
so badly that it
insists on defying
normal logic
until summer
arrives again?

© Amy E. Hall 2008

(simple pleasures)

simple pleasures:
my turn signal blinker in sync
with the song on the radio

© Amy E. Hall 2008

(kitty for keeps)

kitty for keeps:
quiet, self-cleaning,
committed companion

© Amy E. Hall 2008

(enjoying chips and)

enjoying chips and
salsa, and a new CD,
waiting on a poem

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(late dinner downtown)

late dinner downtown
a rented movie
Happy New Year

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(Miles Davis on tap)

Miles Davis on tap
grape juice in the stereo
a New Year's Eve day

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(finishing the last of)

finishing the last of
the egg nog as the
year comes to a close

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(running to the computer)

running to the computer
with cereal bowl in hand
to capture this moment

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Between Catnaps

Her silky, black paw
claimed a red circle
on the pillow
as if to begin
a silent, solo
game of Twister.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Living Room Cafe

I baked the last five strips
of bacon in a shallow pan
at 375 degrees on a Friday
night as the month of
October came to a close.
While the sizzle and scent
crescendoed in the oven,
my cat lifted her nose in the
air to sniff the pork as it popped.

Twenty-three minutes later,
I read an article on the history
of American music with one
hand on my bacon sandwich and
one hand on the magazine,
my living room now a sort
of makeshift eatery, with all the
comforts of home and the smells
and sounds of a corner cafe.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(crisp bacon sandwich)

crisp bacon sandwich
cold Coca-Cola Classic
quiet Friday night

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Clean Sweep

My heart is a
cavern housing
remnants of secrets
from my former
life -- memories
of you and
misgivings that
I wish I could
sweep out with
a fine-toothed
comb to reach
those lingering,
unwanted hangers-on
that hide in the
cracks, corners
and crevices.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(minutes turn into)

minutes turn into
snails as I await your re-
ply this afternoon

© Amy E. Hall 2007

My Reading Interrupted by a Kiss

They walked in the door
hand in hand, the mother
first, followed by her
abnormally slender son.
Her offspring obviously
suffering from a disfiguring
physical condition, she
led the way through the
busy repair shop's customer
lounge. As we waited for
our names to be called,
some read, some talked
with inside voices, and
others watched the Channel
2 Morning News. The
young man leaned over
to his mother's ear and
uttered a few indistinguishable
syllables and she responded
in hushed tones. With a
mother's understanding, she
got up and poured her special
boy a cup of coffee and
served it with a stirring stick.
As he sucked the steaming
beverage through the
makeshift straw, he held
his Styrofoam cup carefully
while she poured a cup of
joe for herself. Once she sat
down again, he leaned over
and toasted a cheer to his
mom, tapping his white cup
against hers with a crooked
smile. Trying not to eavesdrop
or interrupt their tender
moment, my tears increased
as she leaned over and
kissed his sweet, distorted,
beautiful, little face.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(cat dusty)

cat dusty
from her romp
in the windowsill

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Summer Simplicity

As summer begins to
close her eyes in
exchange for fall's
awakening, I want
to remember these
days; what it feels
like to slip into
sandals, and hop into
the car without a
jacket and drive to
meet some friends
with Tennessee's green
hills in front of me and
the sun on my back.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Return of the Herons

They prefer to come out at night
by the light of the moon
when they have a captive audience
on a Tennessee patio deck
at the end of summer.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Nightdreaming

I want to stay up all night
and read books -- a book
about loving homosexuals,
one on how to help people,
and my poetry prof's latest
collection. I want to forget
about showing up at the
office at 8 a.m. and read
deep into the night, with a
strong cup of black tea with
sugar to start, followed later
by a mixed-berry-flavored
green tea, and filtered water
for a chaser. I want to read
and drink the hours away, full
of the wonder of words and
those who craft them.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Burning Bridges

I've been saving a candle
that you bought me 10
years ago. Tonight, I am
burning the candle, as well
as that bridge to the past.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(got makeup on the)

got makeup on the
pages of my new book while
trying to smell it

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Saving the Planet One Saturday at a Time

I set out on a Tennessee August morning
with a strong mug of black tea and
four plastic bags of recyclables. The
15-minute drive didn't seem out of my
way at all, on a leisurely Saturday with
the new Over the Rhine album spinning
and the beautiful houses lining the roads.
When I drove up to Granberry Elementary,
I saw children, parents and grandparents
in the parking lot emptying their bags
and bins into the large, green dumpsters,
each wearing a silent smile on their face.
I unloaded my car and placed two of the
four bags on the pavement next to my
Corolla and went to contribute my
glass-bottle and tin-can offerings to the
green gods. When I returned to the
Toyota to empty the other two bags,
I noticed that they were gone. Looking up,
I realized that a young mother and her son
had seen my bags and volunteered to
empty them, without a whisper. On my way
back home, I couldn't help but feel good,
knowing that I made a small dent in the
refuse relief effort that day, on a Saturday
morning in a matter of three minutes.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Boredom

Boredom

is

a

killer.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

I Deserve Better Than a Half-Baked Love

It's hard to wait for the
main course when you're
hungry. Ample appetizer
choices tempt you to
fill up on tantalizing tidbits
one bite at a time.

It gets lonely dining by
yourself -- one person
at a table set for two --
as pretty as the table
might be, with glowing
votives and romantic roses.

But I want the real meal deal --
not some fill-me-up
pick-me-up. It's easier
to hail the server and
order a cocktail than
to sit and endure
abdominal rumbles,
more-than-anxious
salivatory reactions
and sensory overload.

I've had my fill of
hors d'oeuveres
in the past. I'm
ready for the
complete entree --
the whole enchilada.
I will survive the
hunger pangs and
the craving for
that which truly
nourishes -- in
anticipation of the
special order the
Head Chef
is preparing for me
by hand.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(Once I heard)

Once I heard
your voice,
I could breathe again.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Freedom Friday

for Angela and Julie

I remember our evening at
Laguna Beach -- the perfect
blend of sun and breeze,
fish and avocado on the patio,
the lively waves sneaking
up on us and our rolled-up
pant legs, happy dogs
walking their owners, the
sparkling sand drying on
our feet -- all reminders of
the vastness of the
goodness of our Father.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

21-Day Turnoff

I will not be blogging between July 8 (12 p.m.) and July 28 (11:55 p.m.). I am voluntarily participating in a 21-day media turnoff for the purposes of "detoxifying" from the influences of American media and culture, and further cultivating my spiritual life and intimacy with Jesus Christ. For more information on the 21-Day Turnoff, click here. I shall return...

(bird in the airport)

bird in the airport
telling us how much he wants
to find his way out

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(Monday morning smile)

Monday morning smile:
fresh hot water on the Bunn
Omatic burner

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(a steeping black brew)

a steeping black brew
my favorite morning mug
nectar of the leaves

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(her record)

her record
beautifully haunting
like dark honey dripping thickly

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(realizing that)

realizing that
I am no longer the same
woman you once knew

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(on the way to work)

on the way to work
eating plastic-flavored cheese
old Monterey Jack

© 2007 Amy E. Hall