"dazzle gradually"

"Dazzle Gradually" 2016 poems, paintings, new art & photography--a diary, a discipline, a delight. Read over my shoulder as I post my unedited poetry ---you can see it in the raw.

Polly Alice

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Easter 2017

It’s Easter morning 2am
Thunder rumbles,
and so I upload books of
poems to Amazon.

The girl at the checkout
wishes me a pleasant evening
despite the line of dozens
of last minute shoppers
for wine and pink bunnies
at 10 pm.

Cold Chicken for dinner
and we may not make
 it to church in the morning
with a ham that takes six
hours to bake and last week’s
church marathon with the
boy’s choir singing
joy brassier than stained
glass still in our ears.

And we are pretty cooked.
We are tired with work
and garden, home
repairs and fighting off
what moth and rust destroy.

Life is impermanent of
this one thing I am sure.
Good Friday I get a French
Balayage --literally
my hair is painted
with sunlight.

And the boy in the
chair across the way
talks about his drag name,
Tequila Mockingbird and
having to leave church.
Last night  at the art gallery
reunion hugs and poetry abound
Druid, Atheist, and Philosopher agree
making things is what
makes us more human--
our art is needed.

And parties, too, I silently add.
Parties like this one where
the wine is poured and cheese
and bread laid out. Where the
Spirit blows across the roofs
of Midtown and Jesus is there
at the table with us as the sun
sets on our smiles and the
gallery windows light up with
paintings, carvings, the color
of Easter eggs.

We are all precious-- and together
at a party like this Jesus first
brought people together  with
a rare new miracle to
taste. So out there on the roof,
I was thankful for these friends,
and the love they want to
bless the world with-- no
matter their creeds.

Tomorrow all the family
will come and the table
will have yellow tulips.
Rosa will bring a pastry
and Andy will have cake.

The kids will arrive late,
but their baskets are ready
with the world’s smallest
pencils, erasers, and rabbits.

And Jesus will be with us
at the table.  I'm trusting
that here together we all 
might taste his grace 
and take his outstretched

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

unedited prayer garden

hands and knees in the garden
Our father who art in heaven
little plaster angel holding a puppy
succulents new growth as cute
as curled tales
Hallowed is thy name
among the carnations
shells and corals
hens and chicks
thy kingdom come
thy will be done among
the snails and wood lice
among the robins planning
up for spring
the paving stones that say
there's no place like home
on earth in earth and
around the mums
as it is in heavenly holy Basil
give us this day our strawberries
and peonies like heavenly clouds
like cherubs wings like all that
is good and holy let peonies
bloom like clouds
with silver linings and forgive
the little ants and wood lice
forgive the bees, the spiders,
the paper birch tree
forgive the dandelions who are
only stars on earth, forgive me
for when I forget this garden
forgive the stump cut short
with fungus of all kinds
the one I thought represented
me and what I have become.
Forgive the stump who
might have been a Japanese maple
whose roots make it hard for
any new growth. And when
I prayed for mushrooms I thought
surely they will slowly decompose
the embarrassing stump from this
garden and one day I'll be rid
of this dead end. But today
when I dug among the old dead roots,
the bits of rotten wood came up
and I knew the way to
get rid of that jagged wood was
to replace it with something new.
Here I've been waiting and
praying for that shameful
eye sore to be somehow digested
over time with air and water
but a shovel, a shovel was all
it took and the intention of my new
flowers, pansies, a rose or two
Lead us not, lead us not back
to waiting and to shame
deliver us from drought and scorch
from powders or an evil worm because
yours is this garden and
all of it is yours a prayer
garden the one place
I learn now and forever. Amen. 

Sunday, January 1, 2017


I don't have anything to say to you
despite the wide open
garage doors--
the cherry red car
parked in the starlight,
the frost shushing me
from the Christmas bow
on the white front porch
I don't have much hope for you
You might be a cow pie
You  might be a bird
I don't know
and I'm not sure I care
tomorrow is another day
just like today, what does
one number change?
One integer in one
direction north?
I wish I had flowery praise.
I wish I had a blessing,
to make you great, to make
you whole, to make you
mine. Mind your
manners 2017 is all
I can say. Let the hungry
be satisfied, let the lame
walk, let us hold hands
in peace.