Category Archives: poetry

IWWG at Brown, part 3

These are my final poems and a few pictures from the IWWG conference at Brown University in summer, 2010. (Some poems written at home just after.) The Remember the Magic conference has been going on more than thirty some years, a long time, mostly at Skidmore College. Last summer it was at Brown, this summer it will be a Yale, but smaller in scope. This is an organization in transition and like all transitions, personal or organizational, the outcome is not certain. The possibilities numerous and spacious. I am grateful for the weeks I had to go out on my own, with other women writers, and discover and be myself. The joy of creation and then coming home. What remains of all the glorious insight when I am back in the context of daily life?

8/4/10

To write on unlined paper
to color outside the lines

willing to be seen as different
not go along to fit in.

To be joyful
to carry a glass at least half-full.

To embrace change
as pure possibility, wait and see.

To practice
what I almost preach

to walk the talk
without squawking.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/5/10

For Kitt

You don’t know
what they say about you
but I do

“That Kitt Alexander,
I just love her!”
I’m not making this up

from fervent imagination.
It really happened.
Would I lie to you?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/5/10

Lessons in Self-Care

Every day, wake up
balance consciously as best I can
stay with it
brush teeth twice, morning and night,
shower, lotion, and deodorant.
Clothes in colors that vibrate and resonate.

Water often. Food as fuel. Walk. Listen. Smile.
There is more I’m sure,
just promise to pay attention
as best I can, as best I can.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/8/10

Post-Conference

Opportunities will arise
to gently exercise
underused muscles like
the muscle to stick up for yourself
to be assertive on your own behalf,
or the muscle to listen to inner guidance
without struggle or shyness,
or the muscle to hear the voice
that says time to rest.

Each an opportunity to practice
what you know is true.
This way you are is not the True-you,

just the collection of life choices
and circumstances up to now,
conscious or unaware,
added to what you came in with
and what you were given to work on.
And now is the chance to choose again,

begin to re-write the old story.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/8/10

Thinking of You

Time and again
I have faced the inevitable end

and thus far
it has always receded

to the indefinite future
where you still are.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/8/10

Lie Down

Lie down in the clouds above you

separate for a moment from the life you lead

float for a bit weightless

just for a moment

then drift back

light

breathe

and re-animate

wiggle bare toes, feel grass tickle

feet grounded but light on the face of earth

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/9/10

Monday Walk After Singing

Empty
Fill
Be filled

Empty
Walk to the lake
muscle kinks work out

mind stills with steps taken
See the new ivy shoots
on crumbling brick wall

Drink water
go on after intersection
Check in. Go on

Surprising how far goes
one foot in front of the other
Drink water

Turn back at the end
walking uphill now
comfortable stride

Left, right
walk with both feet
heel, toe, shoes re-tied

just right
Cut across church grass
not exactly explicitly forbidden

Drive off smiling
at workmen spreading out dirt
under very old trees

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/9/10

Someone Said

Someone said something
a small puzzle
a sliver under the skin

irritatingly hard to remove.
Why of all the kind words spoken
should these thoughtless ones remain?

Because of implication
because I want to please everyone
(including myself)

even though that is not possible—
there is no pleasing some people.
Let it go. Don’t you know.

Let it go, my sweet potato.
Talk and untangle.
Walk and calm.

Sweat and sleep and write
and bless all the teachers
who have come.

Bless and move on along.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/9/10

Home

Back home with
magic in my bones

how to sustain
in my usual domain

where it appears
nothing has changed

the demands, the constraints
the ties that bind.

How to be as I was:
most gloriously my own?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

Surprises of Both Kinds

Some surprises are welcome and others not. Recently we have had some of both. My husband and daughter went to Michigan to see his mother, who was in failing health. They had a wonderful visit at the hospital, though it was clear she was declining. When they were almost home, a call came that she had died. Last Monday we came back from her funeral. (In the first week of January, Stephen’s Dad, who had been very hardy, slipped on the ice in his driveway and died in the hospital days later.) They were both in their eighties and we were aware time with them was getting short, so we had made more trips than usual to Detroit last year. Still there is no way, really, to prepare, and losing both parents so quickly is especially hard. My way of coping was, as usual, to write. Here is a poem about my mother-in-law, Rae.

3/16/11

Rae’s Last Day

I can picture her standing there
in front of the living room picture window
small, fragile, vulnerable, frail,

wearing her tan jacket
and matching tan pants,
her hair done just so,

and I gave her a hug and said
we’d soon see her again
knowing it was nearing the end.

And today was the end
of that complex book,
the last page of dialog written

in a grace-filled hospital room
with loved ones gathered around.
All she needed to slip away

more or less easily, graciously, consciously.
To say and hear “I love you,” to laugh,
to be herself. To wrap up long life,

to breathe the last sacred breath…
and go.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

When preparing his mother’s eulogy, Stephen unexpectedly turned to my new book, Letting Go and New Beginnings: A Mother’s Poetic Journey. Over the 16 years of my poetry writing, Stephen has supported me in many ways. Often I read to him poems that I wrote for him. But typically he does not read my poems on his own. This time he was looking for something that would express the mother’s voice—in a sense speak for his mother—and amazingly he thought of my book to find something that fit. These are the three poems he chose to read in the course of his eulogy. I love my poems being used, in that sense, a good surprise.

1/20/06

Reset Button

In a sense
I have not allowed myself
to let go
of your small hand in mine
as we cross the busy street,

although I know you are ready
and you know you are ready.
Perhaps guilt over sometimes
letting you cry, when I
needed my own life,

but felt stuck in the apparent
confines of caring for two small children
—the life I had,
a life I had chosen.
But now, do you see it too?

It is time to let go
and walk side by side as equals,
each as tall as the other,
each as weak and as strong,
each sometimes needing a hand.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2006

7/1/06

Mother of Adult Children

You want me to be there
when you want me to be there,
and to disappear when
you are no longer—
presumably temporarily—
interested.

How fair is that? And,

that is OK with me…
up to a point.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2006

2/24/08

After You Left

Constantly
I am watching out for you.
Even when I am not watching,
I am watching.

I cannot say why this is true
or when it began,
it feels like forever
my love.

So do me a great favor
and become…not less carefree
nor less careless,
nor even more careful,

for being full of care
is not it exactly.
Be more aware of your choices,
more in tune with your inner wisdom.

For you are wise
dear one.

And if I am selfish
and want you to stay with me
when it is clearly time to go,
forgive…

and go.
Call me when you arrive.
I will be waiting.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2008

To read a sample of Letting Go and New Beginnings and the new lovely review go to https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/39211

IWWG at BROWN, part 2

Spent the week recovering from the flu. Came on suddenly right after I did my last post. I trust all is well with you. Here are more poems I wrote at the IWWG Remember the Magic writing conference at Brown and a few photos. Includes two more from my self-guided project on doors poems and photographs. Providence is a lovely place. Inspirational.

Let me ask you. What is the purpose of poetry? Do any of these poems or pictures evoke a feeling or memory for you? Are there any doors in your life that are closing or opening? Let me know below.

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8/4/10

Home Body

Some choose looks
over feeling,
unaware or ingrained,

mind over body,
emotion over body,
anything over body.

Body, the second class citizen,
mundane matter subject
to vagaries and whim.

Body that speaks one language
to get attention:
discomfort escalating to pain.

What is this disconnect
from home?
Why are feet not planted

firmly on the ground?
Pulled, lulled ever outward
attention paid to everything but….

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/4/10

Dramatic Reading

The words dictate
how to be spoken
to go out and sink in.

More than that emphasis
is drama, pleasing to the actor,
overlaying the meaning,

attention now on the reading.
What remains after
in the retina of memory

is not the words, but acting.
Do the audience a kindness
to remember them.

Deliver the lines,
no more, no less,
that is enough.

I acknowledge
different styles and cultures
different training and shaping influence,

not all of them resonant with me.
And so I listen, open,
and get what I can.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/4/10

Anything

What do I have to give up
to do what I suspect is expected,
to get my money’s worth?

I could head back
to class, to the grid, the schedule,
but this day stretches out

before me, hot and sweet.
Once set in motion
I want to follow where it goes

and where the energy flows,
I flow too.
Anything can happen.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/4/10

Doors (2)

Doors open, closed, locked, hidden,
the center of attention,

carved, worn, splintered, cared for,
spectacular, plain, old, new, fresh-painted,

peeling, wood, glass, all hard protection
against what might come.

Down steps, up steps, even with the street,
all colors or none, reflective, shiny or matte.

Inviting, inhibiting, used for everyday,
only for show, friendly, forbidding, functional,

what is behind, what stories told or unfolding
what crime, what passion, what apathy,

none of it in relation to me
except as the threads play out

and I am ensnared in a sticky web
not entirely of my own devising.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/4/10

Doors (3)

Back doors, front doors, side doors,
creaky doors, easy-slide patio doors,
temperamental doors depending on the weather.

From inside looking out
from out, looking in
perspective is everything.

Certain door types found in certain areas of town,
but the most worn so far, with the hole
in the bare wood splintered step

is one short block from the college dorm
and the chichi, multicolor-trimmed,
ornate pillared-porch door.

Doors with transoms, doors with fanlights,
double doors, single doors, slim or wide,
doors with chains, doors with brass handle locks,

doors with deadbolts, doors with beveled windows,
doors with gates, doors with peepholes,
gates with latches, wrought iron elaborate

or parallel bare bars like a fence,
multi-panel doors, or flat veneer or select fine wood,
revolving doors, automatic doors, doors to push or pull.

Doors that stay open, doors that swing shut
doors that slam every time, screen doors,
doors with jalousie window slats and aluminum frames.

bathroom doors, kitchen doors, bedroom doors,
doors where the top separates from the bottom.
In fifty-eight years, how many doors have I walked through:

school doors, library doors, store doors, church doors, restaurant doors,
house doors, rest stop doors, apartment doors, car doors,
public doors, private doors, doors to keep out or let in,

revealing or concealing everything.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/4/10

Empty Being Filled

Going down a path
willing to be directed

willing to take what comes
to make decisions

to avoid the valleys
by listening

I tell you
a thought is powerful

I am filled
with manifesting

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

Honoring The Body

Sometimes I feel at odds with my body or frustrated or discouraged or disappointed. So much has happened to me. I wrote the first poem below after the lessons of breast cancer treatment and recovery, the second one just before another cancer diagnosis nine years later. During rough times, I may read it aloud to myself. Perhaps you have those times too.

Let the Body Speak

if it wants rest…
give rest,

if it wants motion…
give motion.

Do not nag or numb,
poke or prod,
just listen

to the ancient wisdom
spoken in language
older than any other.

Let the Body speak
in quiet, even tones,

let the Body speak
without shouting in anger

at such long neglect,
at such secondary status.

We inhabit this particular Body,
which is in our care,

for good reason,
not to frustrate us

with tests we can’t pass,
not to beat on mercilessly

“no pain, no gain,”
but to protect our luminosity,

to enjoy, to love, to grow with.
Let the Body speak

and then listen
and act on its behalf.

The Body knows precisely
what it needs, just ask…

and listen.
Be gentle, approaching

as you would a wary puppy;
put out your hand and edge closer.

The Body is familiar with deceit,
with promises made and not kept.

Trust will take time to build;
it is so easy to fall back

into old familiar patterns.
But I tell you this:

we will not regain full power
until the Body is an equal partner.

Let the Body speak…
and listen.

4/22/07

Love and Only Love

Love with every stroke of the shaver,
with every lather of soap, slather of lotion, love.

Not impatience, not frustration, not disgust
at varicose veins, sags, wrinkles, scars,

but love,
with every look, every caress

at the power, the strength,
the beauty of this body in my care.

Love with every glance in the mirror
every wry smile, every tear.

Love, love and only love.
Yes, other thoughts slip in,

let them slip out,
no recrimination, no justification.

Love with every stroke,
healing in my touch, breath

and blink of an eye.
Love, love and only love.

“Let the Body Speak” is from As Easy as Breathing

Also recorded on my CD, Full Blooming: Selections from a Poetic Journal Listen here

Long-Time Love Poems for Valentine’s

A few poems I wrote for my husband, my long-time love and inspiration. We met the first day of an English class at the University of Michigan on January 17, 1972. I was nineteen and he was twenty. I was a zoology major and he was an economics major, both of us stepping out. Who knew what lay ahead?

6/18/96

I Come Back

to your waiting arms
and put my ear
to your heart
and breathe
and feel safe.

From that supported space
I can explore
and risk
and grow,
knowing I can always go
back to your waiting arms.

3/22/99

To Stephen

(approaching our twenty-fifth married year)

I used to have
all the time
in the world
to lay in your arms
and listen
to your heart beating.

Life went on,
but nothing more important
has come along.

2/13/08

Mutually Lucky

When I told a bit of our story,
a 36 year long story,
Rich said you were lucky to have me,
and I felt we were mutually lucky.

When one would have left
the other held on
and when conflict arose
both worked toward resolution.

And when Alex asked me today
if we were getting special presents
I said “not to be corny—
for us every day is Valentines Day.”

And it’s true.
Thank you for going through
what we’ve been through.
I’m lucky to have you.

3/22/08

A Summing Up

You are my weakness and strength,
my ballast in time of storm,
the wind that blows through
my occasionally stale room,

my love.

My joy, my delight,
and if we sometimes fight,
my joy again in rapprochement.
To be held and consoled,

to laugh with and discuss
the news of the day, with wit if
not always agreement.
To be myself as much as

I would reveal, yet not
feel exposed and vulnerable.
With you I am safe,
supported and protected,

held in the strong arms
of love, my love. How long
has this gone on?
Years and years and years,

my love.

You want me to have what I long for
and I want you to have what you desire,
and together, hand in hand, we find
the path through and to Love,

my love.

5/29/08

New Mexico Vacation

What began with a coyote
walking across the high desert road
illuminated by our headlights
and ended with a gift box

of chocolate truffles given
at the last for our anniversary,
was filled to the top
with all manner of experience,

all forms of weather,
all levels of elevation.
One day easily melted into the next
with minimum of planning.

Love encircled us
and drew to us
beauty, peace, contentment, healing.
What was needed arrived…

with no fuss
and was embraced by us
with joy and ease
and awareness.

7/26/08

Far Away, My Love

You feel so far away my love,
though you’ve only gone to Michigan

and I stayed here to rest.
I reach over to pat your head

though you are sleeping in another bed.
Your presence is here strong

and real as anything.
And though I long for touch or smile

I feel you across the miles
thinking, loving, being with family,

and I charge you, dear one
to also represent me.

10/27/08

For You, Yet Again

(for my husband)

Some day you and I
will no longer exist in this form,
not just metamorphosis of aging:

wrinkles, gray hair, spots
where was pristine skin,
not raspy voice instead of mellow song,

but truly gone,
no hugs, no sparkle eyes, or smiles,
no encouragement or discussion of days events,

a photo as reminder two-dimensional,
what we loved as memento
of life well-lived.

Whatever we do next
the molecules of our bodies
will scatter in ultimate recycling.

What impressions our feet
have made on the earth
is all that will remain.

Yet I will talk to you
not needing words
and we will do as was agreed,

and if we stay together
or go our separate ways then
is no matter

for what was love
is always love
and that is that.

“I Come Back” is found in my book, As Easy as Breathing, in my Life Support Cards ™ and on my CD, Full Blooming: Selections from a Poetic Journal (2007).

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