LaDonnaWitmer

Just a Little Taste

Mood: Dabbling | Drinking: Soon

nibble

A bit of poetry housekeeping, if you don’t mind.

I’ve been neglecting to mention that I have two poems floating out and about in the world of print, and now seems as good a time as any to mention them.

Last fall, Donna Marbach published an anthology of poems about women called Remembering Faces, and I have one poem in between those pages, “Little Sister”.

Donna is on the east coast, so you’ll probably have better luck finding the book there — if you want to hunt it down, contact Donna through her Palettes & Quills website.

A more recent publication came off the presses just this month — the latest (4th) issue of Nibble, a poetry magazine published here in the Bay Area by Jeff Fleming.

My poem “Farm Cat” is featured in that publication, along with a great many other fabulous (and short!) poems. To get your own copy or find out more about the magazine, visit the Nibble website.

And last but not least in this newsy little update: I am no longer languishing in the land of the unemployed. I am, as of last Monday, once again writing for the man. Which means my sushi habit and shoe shopping sprees are no longer endangered. Huzzah!

More to come later… I believe I’m going to be posting a new poem shortly, as soon as I run it through my writing group one more time, and I’m already working on a new cinépoem for “Bright Neon Love.”

No rest for the wicked. Or the Type A’s.

-Lo, doing that thing she does.

Applique Something Shiny

Mood: Endless | Drinking: Tea

car_lex

Oh. My. God.

I have been waiting sooooooo long to show you this cinépoem and at (very) long last, it’s finished!

Homeland Security is up on the cinépoems page and also on YouTube.

We shot it in Santa Cruz, CA in August with two gorgeous ladies, Carly & Lex, and a couple of masks. The poem (which is included in The Secrets of Falling) is a very dual-natured sort of beast, as you’ll hear, and so is the cinépoem. Michelle & I are really happy with how it all turned out.

Big ups, too, to our fine composer, Aaron Purvis. He created a delightful soundtrack that fits perfectly with the mood of this little poem, and I can’t thank him enough.

So go. Enjoy our new little story…

Lo, with Elmer’s edible paste.

Bernal Reading

Mood: Industrious | Drinking: Sweet Tea

berrygood

Starting the new year off with poetry and a berry photo. Just because I can.

On January 17th, I’ll be reading a few poems as part of the Bernal Yoga Literary Series in San Francisco.

Each reading is followed by a reception, and there is a suggested donation of $5 to $10 to cover expenses.

The Winter Series on January 17th will feature poets Roxane Beth Johnson and Brian Teare, novelist Suzanne Rivecca, and several local writers and poets including myself.

I will be reading three poems: two new ones and one from my book The Secrets of Falling.

You can find more information about the Literary Series here.

Hope to see you all there!

-Lo, finding new words for the New Year.

Wishful Thinking

Mood: Chilly | Drinking: Water

leaves

Begone already, 2008! Begone and take your bad juju with you.

I am ready for the new, for the nines, for the next. I’m ready to get on with it.

Out with your tired recession, with your fearmongering H8, with your lame duck, lame ass “decider”.

Out with your hopeless pundits, with your gloomy forecasts, with your insistence upon serving up more bad news with every broadcast.

Let’s bring in a season of change, 2009. Let’s bring in hope. Let’s bring in fresh faces with new ideas. Let’s bring in the motivation to make this place better, and do it together.

Whether I like it or not, my new year is barreling in with a world of change, and I am doing my best to be ready for it, to meet it head-on and make it work. So here we go…

-Lo, kicking out the old.

Like Lucy

Mood: Wishful Thinking | Drinking: The Usual Tea

lucypevensie

When I was a kid, I wanted to be Lucy Pevensie.

I wanted to stumble across a magical wardrobe and find myself suddenly transported to a strange world filled with all manner of bewitching possibilities and talking animals.

I believed that if given the chance, I, like Lucy, would be the fiercest ally of dryads and nyads, of fauns and other furry folk.

I would believe in Aslan. I would see him amid the trees when no-one else could, and would keep believing even when all hope was abandoned.

I deserved a chance at magic, I thought, and looked for it everywhere, always expecting to chance upon a clue, a key to Narnia or some other equally fascinating and decidedly non-Earth-as-I-knew-it realm.

Then I grew up.

And now? Now I find my magic in the small places and neglected corners. I find my magic in words and in rhythm and in drinking sweet tea. I find it where I can.

But I still wish I could be Lucy Pevensie. I wish I could believe so easily, hope so bravely.

Perhaps I still have a chance, though. I can’t exactly be Lucy herself (on account of my advanced age and all), but maybe someday I could be her mother.

-Lo, who sometimes believes her dog can speak.

Hope Is the Hardest Part

Mood: Determined | Drinking: Tea

darkwindow

A friend and I had a discussion recently about the nature of hope. She said, “Without hope, what is there?” And I agree.

But hope is so hard, and so painful. It’s the knife edge that cuts both ways.

With hope, you live on the edge of constantly being without, being proven wrong, being a fool. The object of your hope, the things you hope for, may remain forever elusive, may never materialize.

With hope, you feel the edge — the prick of faith, the sting of doubt.

But without hope, you’re so lost. No light in the blackness. No promise of a way out.

And so we hope. In spite of, because of, in the face of all fear and doubt and evidence to the contrary, we hope. What else can we do?

Years ago, I tattooed a mantra on the inside of my wrist. Written in latin so strangers couldn’t read my heart whenever they chanced upon it: “I am a prisoner of hope.”

The days of late have been dark, and not just for me. So many sad stories from so many people.

As for my own story, I’m working my way through a morass of anger, of fear, of helplessness, of sadness and loss. But I’m leaving room for hope. I’m turning my face toward the light.

What else can I do?

-Lo, who is getting better at waiting.

I Crave Fortresses

Mood: Heat-Seeking | Drinking: Iced Tea

fortress

Precautions

I crave fortresses.
High stone walls
cold deep moats
and perimeters
stalked by mastiffs.

I seek sanctuary
in earthquake kits
emergency flares
and fire retardant
safety blankets.

I take confidence
in escape hatches
and lookout towers,
fallout shelters
and exit rows.

I make shopping lists
for burglar alarms,
spice casseroles
with motion sensors.
I knit and purl
with taser guns.

I want to sleep
every night
in a panic room
clad in maximum security pajamas,
one titanium alloy bodyguard
hiding in the closet, another
beneath the bed.

I require invincible
Swiss bank accounts,
infallible evacuation procedures
and infinite Plan B’s.

There must always be
another way out.

I trust no-one now,
not even God.
Not even you.

-Lo, taking it out on paper.

Let There Be Dark

Mood: Low | Drinking: Watery Tea

nuuanupali

Although I’ve never been a big holiday cheer sort of gal, I have, in times past, managed to muster up a helluva lot more cheer than I am this year.

2008 didn’t come in looking like a brawler, but she’s going out leaving me battered and bruised and more than a little bewildered.

I’m no stranger to getting laid off. I survived the dot com bust of ’01, and I know such things are to be expected when you’re a creative person working in a corporate company while the economy sinks below sea level.

Funny thing is, I wasn’t expecting it this time. I’m the only copywriter in my entire company, and I thought that alone garnered me some job security. Not to mention the fact that I’m a damn fine employee. I work hard and fast. I don’t miss deadlines. I’m more organized than the average type-A office manager. My cubicle is fetchingly decorated. In short, I’m a gem to have on staff.

But it seems the hard truth of the lesson learned is this: Companies don’t give a shit about you.

It doesn’t matter how hard you work, how early you arrive or how late you leave. It doesn’t matter how valuable or singular your skills. When push comes to shove and you’re up against the almighty dollar, they will shove you out the door without a second’s hesitation.

Yes, I’m bitter.

I’ll get over it. I will. But when your entirely unexpected layoff is sandwiched in between the sudden death of your grandmother and your birthday; when said layoff means that the baby you’ve been postponing for 5 years has to be postponed even longer; when your CEO-dictated departure falls on the day after Christmas, well, I think you deserve a good wallow with a heaping spoonful of bitterness on the side. Don’t you?

In the meantime, my website has been down, my neck has a squinch, my dog’s eating dirt, and there’s a wee Asian boy outside my window screaming at his mother in Mandarin because she took away his favorite toy or some equivalent of toddler trauma.

*sigh*

Once the poor-mes are over, though, I’m going to fix my sights on a few things I’ve been promising you all for a long time and have not yet delivered. To wit: the long-awaited arrival of the newest cinepoem, Homeland Security; the long-overdue overhaul of this here fine website, including a real live RSS-feed on yon blog; and some shiny new poetry, fresh from my writing group revisions.

Sound good to you? Yeah, me too.

Now I’m just going to wrap up the boo-hooing and get on with it.

-Lo, keeping her silver lining intact.

Tunnel Vision

Mood: Whacked-Out | Drinking: Tea

ohare_united

So. You’ve likely noticed the site has been wonky lately. Missing blog posts, delayed messages, funky lookin’ things. This is the first time all week I’ve been able to get a post uploaded, too.

That’s because we’ve been shifting the entire site to a new hosting company, and there are a few bugs we’re working out.

Older blog posts are there, you just can’t see them right now for whatever reason. It will be fixed shortly, I swear.

Meanwhile, since returning home from my Nana’s funeral in Illinois, I’ve been completely focused on finding a new job.

If you are in or around the San Francisco Bay Area, and you know of anybody looking for a stellar Senior Copywriter, hook a girl up!

Life is far from normal lately, but there are lots of lights in the tunnel. Just have to figure out which ones are the oncoming trains and which one is the way out.

-Lo, who would like to believe this is all for the best, but will have to wait and see.

Passage

Mood: Un-birthday | Drinking: Warm Dr. Pepper

casket

Today, my birthday, was also my grandmother’s funeral.

I was asked to do a reading during the service, and I read two poems, one that I wrote last Tuesday, the day after she died, and one that my writin’ group friends, Melissa & Kathy recommended. I’d like to share them both with you…

The End

I hear the sirens
from the end of the driveway
winding up Meheula
riding to the rescue.

It has already been three minutes,
three minutes and a lifetime.

On the floor inside the house
daughter cradles unseeing mother
rocking,
waiting.

The end comes
sooner than you want it to
and no matter how much you prepare
you’re never really ready.

Today in the dappled green park
birds flocked
to wheelchair and stroller
as side by side,
grandson and great
grandmother
flung crumbs to waiting beaks
and flirted.

Her last day was lived in the sun
lit up with laughter,
encircled by love
high above aquamarine waves.

It has been four minutes,
four minutes and 85 years.
The sirens spin closer now.
There’s no more time
to say goodbye.

***

Remember
by Christina Rosetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
gone far away into the silent land;
when you can no more hold me by the hand,
nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
you tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
it will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
and afterwards remember, do not grieve:
for if the darkness and corruption leave
a vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
better by far you should forget and smile
than that you should remember and be sad.

-Lo, in remembrance of Mary Ellen.