"dazzle gradually"

"Dazzle Gradually" 2015 poems, paintings, new art & photography--a diary, a discipline, a delight.


Polly McCann

Saturday, May 23, 2015

The Doe

The moon waxes
outside the movie theater
couples stroll to their
cars. A pair of bats
hover over the AMC.
They chirp and swoop
for moths caught by
the buttery light.
Roses flash in
the headlights
of turning cars.
In the back of
David's Bridal,
now dark,
there is a side lot
in front of an empty
field. There under
the street light,
a small doe-- still
behind the tall grass.
Her white tail
a comma,
her ears glow
pink. She's
made it through
winter, escaped
every hunter.
We stare at
each other for
a long time.
The stars smell
like summer.
I wonder
what she will
do next.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Attic

Grandma's attic smelled
like 400 books baked into
dust motes. Just breathing
could make you smarter there.
Feather pillows in jailhouse
mattress ticking, bars from
which birds have already
escaped, but left you
a few feathers to sleep on.
Sheets ironed smooth
and heavy enough to keep
nightmares away, white
enough to starch your dreams.
Pink woolen blankets minus
holes for some nice
welcome mat for mice.
Floor boards stronger
than Jonah's boat. The
ironing board heaped
with clothes from 1968.
The moth balls have steeped
the air into syrupy camphor--
a match might make
the whole place blow, but
no it already feels like ashes
on the back of the sun.
So many words,
so many feathers,
so many tears
unshed.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

International Association for the Study of Dreams in VA Beach this summer



The IASD Conference is happening soon!  Join me and 120 other presenters from 60 countries at the Annual IASD Dream Conference, June 5-9,2015.  For details about this amazing conference:  www.asdreams.org/2015
I'll be presenting "Doorway to Dreams," a fun interactive workshop on why dreamwork helps deepen your writing for both authors and readers.
Click on my "dream poems" tab to the left to read some of my peoms about dreaming.  


Saturday, May 9, 2015

Under the Rainbow

Driving home from work
signs glide by
trees float
grass hovers like a sheet
when we make the bed
children's faces in the rearview mirror
smile or gaze out seeing nothing
seeing everything
sometimes I wonder
how can I keep doing this
living each day without
stopping.
I heard once that trees
do not fly by.
They stand still.
I can't remember
the last time
I spoke to a tree.
Kids think trees
can talk, or they
used to. Do my kids
know what a tree is.
Do they really know?
Have they ever sat under
one for long enough
to hear it breathe?
Here is my exit.
169.
I take it every day.
North.
North
and as I turn
up and up
and around
I pretend I'm holding still
I remember the day
we drove under a rainbow at this
exit. Under and through.
And I knew that when the
rainbow was gone,
it was my job to
remember
it's
promise.

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Published today

I have a poem published today. I'm so excited...

Here is the link to my newly published poem at Bethlehem Writers Roundtable May/ June issue. "When We had Little" is one of the poems I wrote in 2010 here on my first year of my poem-a-day blog. The idea for a daily blog was inspired by the film Julie & Julia. The poem was inspired by those post college years (or decades) when I learned how to cook from my favorite cookbook, "Extending the Table" by those lovely folks at MCC who know how to travel with purpose, and how to bring those great tastes home. 

I will post here below an excerpt of the revised and now published poem made even better by news today that another poem I sent was accepted by another publication. 

"This work was originally published in the Bethlehem Writers Roundtable, the magazine of the Bethlehem Writers Group, LLC."


sustenance from nothing
blossoms to bread
with only a bowl
I can accomplish anything.

Click here to read the whole poem.


Monday, April 27, 2015

169

The day the price of gas ran
a dollar sixty-nine, I took
a deep breath. Every muscle
down my spine relaxed
my anxious thoughts stopped
spinning, my forehead
smoothed into a golden
field along the highway
my smile, the road
paved to the place
where I felt rooted
like the old lilac
in the grey blush
of spring.
My arms the fields
of wheat, my knees
tips of early corn,
my hair the breeze,
my teeth country
music, my eyes
the Missouri sky,
my feet the rhythm
along the highway
going home, home
going north on
highway
169.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Remember This

Remember this.
This day walking
this steep slope
this bosom of lawn
where GG
climbed as a girl,
holding her sister's
hand. Blanche, their
mother determined
to have a picnic
after taking the
train. Union Station,
the same as it is now,
only full of...
trains. Kansas City
emptied out,
it's people
lost to a war,
influenza,
death by
words through
metal.
Now an obelisk
rises above
an unlit pond
glints as oil
in a pool like
tears from
the cherubim
who hide
their faces
melting
peace into
stone, for they
too know
wars come
and go but
memories
last forever.
Remember
this.