Category Archives: creativity

My Lawrence Ferlinghetti Story, part 1

The time: Evening, Autumn, 2002
The Setting: A reading sponsored by The Poetry Center of Chicago in an elegant building, downtown.

The facts of that day are actual, not just metaphorical. Here is my poem inspired by Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s reading, which seemed to temporarily disrupt geography among other things, posted now in honor of his passing, at age 101, last week.

Let me tell you a story…

10/18/02

Ferlinghetti Speaks

Traffic is thick, but smooth.
Rain, not sleet, falls from mid-October sky,
trees reluctantly flame.
All directions lead to Rome.
Building disguised with scaffolding,
I walk past unnoticing and have to backtrack.
Remaining front row seats reserved
for important people, few do not come.
A woman, whose daughter is in a wheelchair,
removes her raincoat and umbrella from a prime chair,
offering it to me. I accept gladly.

Welcome. Introductions set the scene.
Gilded room filled and beyond.
Audience willing to be amused and amazed
with sharp use of language.
Ferlinghetti, blindfolded, steps groping onto the stage,
reading his first poem as if blind, but “cheats,”
turning pages as he reads. Or does not cheat,
reading from memory, turning pages for effect.
The crowd laughs, delighted at the ruse.

He continues, eyes uncovered now, twinkling,
having a good time—
born in 1919, still in mental prime.
About Willie Mays and Tito Fuentes,
about a dog who wants communion,
about peace and Prague, and painting with light.
Rapt faces of the audience upturned:
an unlined earnest Greek god face,
another face framed by fuchsia hair,
the faces of matrons, students,
artists, poets, professors, insiders, outsiders.
Now and then a camera flashes as he speaks,
hands clap after most every poem.
In expressive sing/song he reads eighty minutes,
stopping briefly for small sips of water from a sport bottle.

The poet dons aviator goggles and leather cap,
ending with “A History of Airplanes”
from Wright brothers and Lindy to 9/11.
He stops with a smile—pleased.
Admirers line up to get a piece of him to take home.
I consider the long line and turn to go. Outside on the street,
a dollar in a cup for an invisible newspaper.
Leaving in rain to meet husband waiting at train.
Parking garage machine will not take my card—
three times it denies me before letting me leave.
When I emerge, driving north,
the streets of Chicago no longer run in their previous directions.
Confused, I drive south on an east/west street
and keep circling to find my way until
I decide to go with what I know.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2002

From my poetic journal.

Tomorrow part 2, what happened next (well, more than a decade later).
My Ferlinghetti Story, part 2

From Across Michigan Avenue, Copyright 2012 by MD Mikus

Later Looking Back

3/22/20

Later Looking Back

Good will come of this
you will see, not now but later
looking back after this crisis is over

While the old life is crumbling away
it feels like loss, and the unknown overwhelms
the usual complacency. But

at some point farther than this minute
the future is playing out in all its
various possible strands to weave

And as we choose, we create
we become aware, more or less
of the ongoing co-creative process

Some will settle in, take the pill back
to previous unconscious oblivion
but some will stay completely open

And that may be enough

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2020

From my poetic journal.

Only Me, Only You

Only Me, Only You

If
you tried to write these poems
you couldn’t and
if I try to write them
I can’t, but
if I let them flow through me
mix and meld with my life,
deeply still and listening
allow the pen to move
with the words that come…well then.
But
if you
let the words flow through you
you will write in your own voice
not mine and it will mix and meld
with your unique perspective and experience
creating your poems, so
Don’t…
try to
copy anyone
Let, allow, flow
with what message
only you can deliver.
What we’ve been desperate to hear.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2017

Come Walk with Me

11/14/20

Evening Walk

Unassuming

I called to the words
but they did not come
and so I walked
and watched and waited

Gently I asked on the wind
but words did not fly
like a kite with a tail
I could grab onto

So I put one foot
in front of the other
breathing out, breathing in
in the dark heading for home

I let it be
until later, unexpectedly
these words softly came to me
and I promised to write them down

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2020

From my poetic journal.

Life Lesson (Albuquerque, NM), MD Mikus, © 2012

In this pandemic time of reduced contact in person, I look forward to the daily virtual walks of my friends on Facebook who post the most lovely photos. When I walk often short poems come to me from something I see or think about, a line at a time. I memorize them as I walk, sometimes editing as well and then write as soon as I get home. This time it was different.

For Krista–In the guise of advice on gardening

Fall Datura, M D Mikus Copyright 2013

4/14/16

For Krista

In the guise of advice on gardening

Something hidden is percolating
bubbling away, fermenting, brewing.
Something is cocooning, gestating
shaping a future shoot to break through.

Right now it looks like nothing.
From the outside the process seems blank
the absence of anything.
But no, believe me I have seen

I have been in and come out of.
You are healing, releasing, absorbing
as the shift happens from then to now
to what is coming.

If you forgot to trust
remember now…to rest
in the arms of. To not fret
(what is the point…

as energy leaks out your feet).
Trust your patience will bear fruit.
It always has…and will now.
Actively wait for it…as you plant

what you want…and no more.
We trust you
to do what you need to.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

I have been writing a poetic journal for 25 years, following healing from multiple sclerosis. This poem (from April, 2016) feels right for today. And still good advice. Take good care. <3