Poetry & prose

Matryoshka Doll

October 2, 2012 — 5 Comments

Here’s a poem I wrote last year, about my multilayered identity of recovering good girl, wife, mother, and aspiring artist.

Matryoshka Doll

When they drop by the house
I am in my apron in the kitchen.
In their eyes I see a glimmer of worship
At sighting a domestic angel.
My young son is building superstructures in the living room
And I am baking bread
So I am a stay-at-home mom
(Apparently).

Once, remarking on my unpainted face,
Someone asked for counsel
About wifely submission.

They find me writing at the coffee shop
And praise my husband for giving me time off
From what (apparently) is my real work.

A little girl within
Believes them
Craves their favor.

A woman deeper still
Knows more
Feels lonely feisty misunderstood
Amused
Angry stuck sad useless.

At her heart is a human
Being
Living
Gestating
Faith hope love.

The heart of her heart
Throbs with the secret
And the strength
Of labor
The grip of death
That releases life
And, once more,
She breathes.

The Alien Race of Giants

September 12, 2011 — 1 Comment

Here’s a little bedtime reading . . .

The Alien Race of Giants
8/23/11 Julia Tindall Bloom

Around the campfires of some distant world
Stories are told of a race of giants
Who walk their planet continuously
From the first light of their sun
Right up until darkness
Sometimes even longer.

Then for the other half of their planet’s spin
They lie down and look dead
They hibernate all through the time of darkness.

When they rise with the light of their sun
They are terribly hungry
And half-dead
So they eat birds’ eggs and animal flesh
And drink a magic potion of roasted ground tree seeds.

These giants, it is said,
Can go on living like this for thirty-thousand turns of their planet –
Or more!

And then, usually, there is silence
As this stunning idea is pondered.

Proud Papa

August 23, 2011 — 2 Comments

Okay, it feels like time to post something again. Summer in Minnesota must be savored, which is why I don’t spend much time here in bloggyworld. But here’s a poem I wrote last month, based on a random idea that popped into my head as I was waking one morning. Don’t look for any deep philosophical point please.

Proud Papa
by Julia Tindall Bloom 7/24/2011

At the annual meeting of the divine council
(Which in divine time happens annually but in earth time has never yet happened at all)
God pulled out his wallet
And with a flick of his wrist
One hundred billion photos folded out like a long long tongue.
“My kids,” he beamed.
The rest of the divinity smiled politely,
Verbally noticed family resemblances,
Told God he was a lucky guy with a beautiful family.
But each to oneself they wondered,
“Are those children home alone?”

Perennial

May 26, 2011 — 5 Comments

It’s late spring in Minnesota. That’s why this blog has a bit of the echoing sound of summertime school halls right now. I’m outside whenever I can be. I admit that I worship the sun. I finished this poem from a pouty roost at the coffeeshop yesterday while it was raining.

Perennial
by Julia Tindall Bloom 5/25/11

Perennial means forever.
I remember this each spring,
When the bleeding heart comes all quick and tumbling out of the bare ground,
Lines of tiny pink and white clowns
Pouring out of a celery-stem car.
Plants, unlike people, do not age.
I ponder this
As I survey my wrinkling skin,
My gathering cellulite,
As I pull on my first pair of shorts
In this new spring,
And I wonder about resurrection.
It is inarguable that we animals
Rise again as plants.
Is that all?

MissUnderstood

May 12, 2011 — 1 Comment

Poetry time again!

MissUnderstood
© 5/5/2011  Julia Tindall Bloom

what you said
when you said
what you said –
i forget now
it’s a scribble in my head

what i heard
when i heard
what i heard
i keep hearing
it’s an endless loop of words

there is wind
there are waves
there are birds and fish
there is time
there is space
there’s a joke in this.