Wednesday, February 5, 2014

There's No Place

"A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write . . ."
-  -  -  Virginia  Woolf

"I'll settle for a pen that no one steals."
-  -  -  Mama  Zen

There's no real place,
just a space in my head
between the elephants to juggle
and the chicken to fry -
sometimes, I write a poem there.

There's no play of light 
or white, wind swayed curtains -
just a sudden seed of something
tendrilling up 
through the concrete everything.

It's not a room of my own,
it's just a space in my head -
bare and spare,
but for my breath and my beginnings.
Sometimes, I write a poem there.

For Kerry's Challenge at Real Toads
Still being edited.


Sioux said...

What a great poem for writers.

(By the way, I was thumbing through your newest book, and was blown away by one I read last night--the one about the stepfather and the school counselor. Powerful stuff.)

Audrey Howitt aka Divalounger said...

Boy isn't that the truth! Loved this MZ!

Fireblossom said...

I love the description of the seed "tendrilling up" through the concrete everything.

Sometimes you write a book there, too!

Helen said...

This one speaks volumes ... just ordered your newest book which will arrive on Friday .. in time for me to pack and take with me to Los Angeles! A week away from gloomy, cold snowy weather. Yea!

Susan said...

Bless the tendrils and keep them coming! But no wonder for the bursts too, like bricks through walls, like wind-ups let go to riot and play with us. I think it was Toni Morrison who said she couldn't have written her many early novels if it were not for the squished one or two hours around raising her son that taught her efficiency. I'm paraphrasing a lot.

Kerry O'Connor said...

This is so perfectly true - when private space, either literal or figurative, is hard come by.. the space inside our heads is the only one we own.

Anonymous said...

there really is no real place, is there? ~

Gail said...

One of my favorites! So very true.

Every time I try to make a space it's invaded.

Sam Edge Author said...

Nailed it.

Kathryn said...

Love the way you've expressed this especially the seed through the concrete.

Mark Kerstetter said...

And you do so much with so few words. Loved it.

steph said...

I love it. And I love the phrase 'tendriling up through the concrete everything.' wonderful and apt.

Hannah said...

LOVE that tendrilling up through concrete. Did I ever mention I think you ROCK in that space in your head?! ♥

Susie Clevenger said...

So true...I have journals everywhere, but it is at my desk I put it in a form the web can digest. :)

blueoran said...

This is why you are so productive, I think, MZ -- no space required, just a spaciousness of mind in a moment and enough ink to write on the wind. Eavan Boland once said she had to learn to write poems piecemeal throughout the active motions of motherhood -- and what a gift it is to learn that, as you almost daily exhibit here. My study is in my head more than anywhere else.

Lorraine Renaud said...

I get that...I use to write non-stop now I can only do it in the dark and still...I've lost

Love this as always, mama zen

Robyn Greenhouse said...

I have a hard time finding a space to call my own in my house, but at least there's always that space in my head too!

hedgewitch said...

The original cubicle, monk's cell, garret and scriptorium--the space that insists on making itself, and gives us the strength to keep living our words. I also liked the tendril phrase.

Marian said...

i know this place. :)

Jim said...

I am glad that you let us sample that little space those
"sometimes", Mom Z.
Thank you for explaining how this is with you.

Ginny Brannan said...

"just a sudden seed of something
tendrilling up
through the concrete everything."

Loved the imagery in this! Words, ideas climbing through the cracks. Nicely captured.

Margaret said...

…still being edited. Sheesh. You unfinished poems run circles around most others. Adore the whole thing (I've got elephants to juggle and chicken to fry as well :) Fun.

Kay L. Davies said...

I love the first stanza...and everything that comes after it, too. You are a fantastic poet.