jopomojo

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The morning clouds came and went, came and went, and the breezes pink made mauve-gold dimples where green grass bent. The night was empty for having spent its last gold coin on a deep drink of morning clouds where they went across the ripples that lent the surface of the river's ink these mauve-gold dimples where green grass bent like the glassy eyes of an old gent staring out and starting to think about clouds that came and went, came and went into the tent of the day that was on the brink of mauve-gold dimples where green grass bent. Wherever my father went, I can only recall and blink, it was where the morning clouds were sent, where mauve-gold dimples and green grass bent.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit jopomojo.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit jopomojo.substack.com/subscribe

****** Click above to listen to a replay from the jopomojo poetry podcast, 2023 ^

Three poems from Tulips for Elsie, pp. 110-112 (Korrektiv Press, 2021).

* Note the correction in the last line of Sonnet #8

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This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit jopomojo.substack.com/subscribe

savannah of sky / sweetening the view / lightening the weight of day // my coffee cup half empty / my morning half full / of the joy to come

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the blood of the sun / is on the water / where the water and the air // for a moment become one / in the bleeding heat / and simmering light

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The point of this exercise is to walk the stepping stones of gold light from the sunrise, to let gold infuse one's bones with faith to walk on shards of light without submerging back to night. The sun has crept up behind a wall of cloud to convey an eye peeking through a blind, a line of sight to belay the boat that might today set sail to take me where it cannot fail. So I imagine taking my first step like Saint Peter or like a toddler making a move to walk and teeter toward the thrill of waking words and a murmuration of birds. So the sunrise charts my path and the oracle of days frees me from the risk of wrath, assures me of breezy ways singing my sails towards the sea to a new world awaiting me.

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A calm pink and blue sky sets the scene for a return to normalcy and light. There is a change in the air, a feeling of the mending of the structure of reality. The birds in the garden partake of the poetry of the replenishment of the water from the hose coming from miles and miles away to sparkle in the rising sun. Jesus said deliver us from evil and lead us not into temptation. And when deliverance comes let us relax and enjoy it — no need to yammer on and on. Yet we may also speak and our words may form poems to describe the rising and to celebrate the sky. Let us go then into the day. And let us go then, you and I.

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how the sun rises / how it never stops / can be easily explained // people can be taught and trained / science and theory / from old history

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A poem from my book, House of Words (Korrektiv Press, 2010, p. 11) and a recently unearthed earlier version published in The Whitman College Pioneer (Feb 12, 1987, p. 9).

Written and performed by Jonathan Potter (jopomojo poetry podcast, 2023).

Listen to the audio above and let me know in the comments which version you prefer.

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This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit jopomojo.substack.com/subscribe