Friday, November 13, 2015

wild all right

I hope Irene is still celebrating her 10th bloggiversary over at Live Your Poem, because I don't want to miss the party and my life has been--well, a little wild lately.

wild, all right--
in all the most ordinary ways:
the wild,
mild weather,
the threat and wet,
the unexpected,
microclysmic climate
change

wild, all right--
the wild
child changing,
the wrest and test,
unapologetic
shut-the-door-I'm-changing
change

wild, all right--
the wild,
piled letters,
the "better," "best,"
the unrelenting,
college-bound suggested
change

wild, all right--
the wild,
whiled passage
the ebb and flow
the unremarked
minute-by-minutiae
change...

all wild
all change
all right



10 comments:

  1. Some of my favorite bits from your poem: microclysmic, the wrest and test, the wild,
    whiled passage
    Nice wordplay! Are you going to the play or game tonight? If you go to they play, maybe I will see you there.

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  2. The phrase "all right" has so many layers and meanings in this poem, Heidi. Oh -- stanza #2 is so familiar.

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  3. "Wild, all right" is a soothing refrain despite the detailing of the wild change in your life, Heidi. I like the line "minute-by-minutiae change...", but not how it feels. I echo Laura's familiarity with stanza #2. =)

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  4. I like the wild child changing...
    for many years with children, every year is a wild year of change
    but good.
    Hope you have time to breathe soon!

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  5. I love the voice, Heidi, so loud and firm, at least to me. Hope all is calming some times. "minute-by-minutiae" - good.

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  6. gan good job, this article is very interesting to note, cool deh,, of course we have new insights that we get after reading it, thanx yah :-)

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  7. That "Shut-the-door-I'm-changing" is all too familiar. Love this wild word play. A masterpiece.

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  8. Never too late to be wild, IMHO. Sometimes loosening the reins is all we can do. Hang in there, Heidi!

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  9. Heidi! What a terrific pattern and rhythm you've created. And though my boy didn't go through the wild child phase, he was a changling, which was both bittersweet and curious to live through. Wild, indeed. Your poem and Irene's celebration remind me of the beauty of wild.

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