Writers' Workshop

What brings us together
On this coldest of all nights
To perch like crows
On uncomfortable metal chairs
Clutching lukewarm
Decaffeinated coffees
Shuffling our papers
Like cats tossing in the litter box
Adjusting our sentences
With tick like movements
Of the wrist?

Is it a hope for Freedom, fame, and fortune?
Have we come looking
For our literary Vegas,
Our jackpot in print:
NATIONAL BESTSELLER LIST
Flashing like a neon marker
Drawing us to the inevitable collision
Like flames unto a moth?

Or is something subtler than this?
Perhaps a hope for momentary
Recognition
Perhaps an acorn for the soul
Stashed away so that one day
While folding the laundry
We may find something forgotten
In a pocket
And smile

Copyright Iole Damaskinos 2005

A Poem for My One Year Old Son Who Keeps Being Mistaken for a Girl

My little son
How can I begin
To talk about you
You–who burst forth
From me one year ago
A ball of pink
Delicately folded urgency
Screaming to devour
Foodsleeplove
Like a furiously animated
Rose bud
In a time-lapse film

My little son
You are on loan to me
For perhaps three
Half- a-dozen years
Before I must generously
Give you up
And already I am you:
A child
Forced to share a treasure
I am greedy to keep
So much more
Than ships
And sails
And puppy dog tails
Though undeniably
You are all these since
White porcelain ships
Adorn your attic haven
And dogs make you shriek
In primal delight

My little son
You are molding my soul
Into a cup
From which you can drink in life
And when time comes
To share you
You will not leave me
Unchanged

My little son
You are all cheeks
Hair like a caress
Eyelashes opening
To the most magnificent show
In town
Your glee
Shatters our winter home
With tropical abandon

My little son
I do not know
How karma works
Or whether the earth
Is destined for betterment
In this life or the next
My little son
I am not rich
I cannot promise you
The world
Or even part of it
But I can promise to
Be awed
Be grateful
In the ordinary
Hallowed now
With you

Copyright Iole Damaskinos 2005

Early

you say
if you wake up early enough
you can catch a worm
and that the bird in your hand
is worth more
than the one hiding
in the honeysuckle bush

i ask
where is the sport
in waking up early
to chase
and disembowel
a wretched worm?

i say
if you wake up early
you’re better off standing
beside the still pond
bearing witness to the quiet
and if you’re really lucky
you might catch
a glimpse
of your guardian angel’s heel
as she tiptoes away
moreover
i say
that bird in your hand
will not sing

you laugh
and there it is
the difference
between you
and me.

Copyright Iole Damaskinos 2005

American Desiderata (after Desiderata by Max Ehrmann–see Links)

Go rollerblading amid the noise and haste,
and remember what gains there may be in suing.
As far as possible without surrender
be politically correct.
Speak your truth loudly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant:
they too have their talk shows.

Avoid privacy and thoughtful persons,
they are too intense.
If you compare yourself with others,
you will diet harder and get breast implants:
For never may there be “less-er” or “great-er” persons than yourself.
Enjoy the hotdog as well as the game.

Keep interested in your own career
however many eighty-hour weeks you work;
it is a real possession when you no longer have a life.
Exercise caution in your private affairs;
for the world is full of Tripp-ery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive to get Saddam
and everywhere the world is full of McDonalds.

Be yourself, dude.
Especially proclaim yourself on bumper stickers and T-shirts.
Neither be cynical about L.A.;
for in the midst of all the smog and gang warfare,
Hollywood is as perennial as the grass.

Kick and scream against the counsel of the years,
get as many facelifts as it takes: old people suck.
Nurture a good relationship with your therapist
to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are borne out of knowing too much about Geography.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be a flake.

You are a child of the Universe,
no less than junk mail
and those little plastic fast-food antenna caps;
You have the Right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt business is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with Elvis,
whatever you conceive him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations
in the noisy confusion of life
make it to your spinning class on time.

With all its sham, deception, and broken dreams
America is still the greatest democracy on earth
Be cheerful.
Strive to be a teenager.

Copyright Iole Damaskinos 2005