For Ivy

she dreams of spiders
she walks the plank
she hosts midnight tea parties

his mental spider web
his grinning skull
his tea-spoon eyes

she sleeps on cat's fur
she dances with Morning Star
she sings weary

his silent step beside her
his plumed headdress
his sheet-music beard

---

Just last week, I mentioned the fact that Michael Wells ("defender of poetry in today's world") was among the poets exchanging postcards with Ivy. They are, apparantly, exchanging actual physical postcards. In a recent entry, Mike noted how odd it felt to send a "dash-off" out with postal workers, et al being able to read it.

Ivy had solicited folk to write her each day of the week. As memory recalls, she had Friday open. I know I'm a "johnny come lately," but I'd like to join the fun. I'll mail them, if Ivy asks. I'll certainly post them here.

So, here it is, my first Friday postcard-style poem.

For me, the idea is to write something as if on a postcard. I've found that the normal optimum is three stanzas of four lines each or four stanzas of three lines each. Beyond that, I don't worry about structure. I also strive to write in a "dash-off" style; in other words, a Ginsbergian "first thought, best thought" mode. Folk don't normally write multiple drafts of their postcards, and I apply the same standard to these postcard poems. I might change a word here or there between the page and the screen; I might rearrange the order of the lines. Otherwise, I make my inner editor go to another room.

Clearly, I need a little discipline to get the pump primed. So, along with Friday's cat, we're likely to have Friday's poem.