Screen Play

I can write about
anything but you

It’s always too early
or too late to incarcerate
my senses
uncoil thoughts into words
drawn from the infinite vat
of language

Can I forgive the
melodrama before you?
I lived around the
corner from despair

This time, despair is the
invisible man and you are
Bogie, Tracy, or James Dean
and I write about them
until I can write about you

Of Crows and Things

From this vantage point it is easy to watch three crows drink from the birdbath. They are huge and shiny. In between sips they chatter - back and forth - cawing loud and louder.

I want to join the conversation. Listen to them brag about the last worm or the cracker I set out this morning. I want to shout with them; tell them about the things I've found. The broken compass inside an old shoe at the thrift shop, a red plastic barrette I wore in 4th grade, love letters from my first crush, and five nickels as I prepared the soil for roses.

I imagine crow's don't make lists. In fact, I think they're only concern is the last find. There is no way I could live like that. I'm too connected to those little things that remind me of someone close, a great trip, an unpredicted event, or a walk that began innocently and ended with a pocket full of rocks.

Some people are collectors of things. Some, collectors of people. Everyone is talking about simplicity, clearing out the stuff, minimizing. This is supposed to clear your mind and release potential for new endeavors. I understand the logic in this and must admit, I do feel renewed when I clean out the closet or garage. Yet, my collection of precious finds gives me renewed energy. At any moment I can pick up a paper fortune from Chinese take out, a rock from the Sierra's, or a lucky penny found on my street. I can remember the moment and the reason I kept that treasure.

Still, those crows seem so free and unencumbered. I'd love to talk with them, just once, about the greatest thing they ever found. Now, wouldn't that be a moment? Perhaps they'd let me take a feather home.

As The Grass Grows....

we sit
sip dew from honeysuckle
reminisce
stare into the distance
beyond the weeds
and fire-bright lilies
you stretch
I yawn
toes touch before
eyes meet

The Short Reprieve

the moments stretch
time extends like
capsules filled with
liquid tenderness, open
to rain upon them

they are unable to sleep
without touch
reaching in the
night and
morning

in passion there is no
before, no after
just a roiling sea
to carry them on waves up
the crest
then down,
land softly on the sand
to rest
briefly
in each other’s arms

*************************
It's spring although you wouldn't know it by the storm that blew through yesterday. Still, I am hopeful. Slivers of sunshine, new growth out back, the lilacs that have come and gone - each a reminder - pay attention they say.

Soon, I will sit still, let the sun warm me and write of all that is good.

Constantly Reflecting

I like the idea of combining natural images with human behavior. Humans are perplexing creatures prone to getting in their own way. Many of my poems offer a social commentary and certainly, some are autobiographical. I believe this one is a little of both. Hope you enjoy!

Redemption

the day her wings were clipped
balance evaporated
like dew on citrus
the waltz, impossible

when her wings were clipped
clouds enveloped the groves
encapsulated their oranges
hardening juice to wax

with clipped wings
she fell prey to raptors
hair wound by long talons
brittle skin at edges

clipped wings
sold at market
for soups and potions
remind her of fairy tales
a cottage of ginger
viewed upside down

her wings were clipped
on a full moon
watched with yellow eyes
tendrils for arms
sand for feet

shoulders once bare
sprout wisdom
grow plumes between blades
feathers along spine

she feels the weight of mistakes
unable to fly home

Connections

Kudos to the Women's Empowerment Coalition for their Women in Art, Academia, and Community event on March 24th at WSU Vancouver. Their full day of great speakers, music, and thought provoking discussions was the best I've attended in a very long while. I was honored to be asked to read from Wind Wing and humbled by the connections I made with several interesting women. Below is a poem read that day by Cherry Muhanji that inspired all of us.

This Is My Beloved
By Walter Benton

Because hate is legislated . . . written into
the primer and testament,
shot into our blood and brain like vaccine or vitamins

Because our day of time, of hours --- and the clock-hand turns,
closes the circle upon us; and black timeless night
sucks us in like quicksand, receives us totally ---
without a raincheck or a parachute, a key to heaven or the last long look

I need love more than ever now . . . I need your love,
I need love more than hope or money, wisdom or a drink

Because slow negative death withers the world and only yes
can turn the tide

Because love has your face and body . . . and your hands are tender
and your mouth is sweet ---- and God has made no other eyes like yours.

Coffee Will Save Me

Free Market Blend
By Toni Partington

Somewhere south
in groves of beans
the flavor is born

everywhere here
in cups of paper
the flavor is tasted

it reaches your nose
travels right to
the brain
roasted beans so rich
they can connect
olfactory to saliva
without touching the lips

this is glory
the mother lode
the sweet spot
the perfect pose
the long kiss
the found penny, head’s up
the best seat in the house

this is your favorite song
the shoes on sale
the winning ticket
the snow day
the smell of lilacs
the dog’s greeting
the unexpected hug

this is the first sip
the half and half
the sugar
the cinnamon

This is morning.

Please Join Me on Thursday, April 15th, 7pm
I'll be reading from my book, Wind Wing
Paper Tiger Coffehouse
703 Grand Blvd.
Vancouver, WA 98661

Catching Up

I know it is time to play catch-up --- yet, finding the energy to get things done eludes me these early days of spring. I would much rather curl up under a blanket to watch a movie or read as my list of tasks grows more crowded around me. Can one smother under a list this long?

Still, the sun peeks and I move outside to be warmed. Shock! It is cold and the sun can't seem to penetrate my skin to thaw these bones. I slump back inside and find the blanket waiting, still warm from me and the dog.

Last year was ten years long. I would be content to deal with 12 simple months.

The dog curls up to fall asleep on the blanket which has formed a cocoon around my legs. I'm stuck right here for a while longer.

PLEASE JOIN ME THIS SATURDAY

I will be reading from my new book at 2pm
St. John’s Booksellers
2pm, Saturday, February 20, 2010
8622 N. Lombard St.
Portland, OR 97203
503-283-0032

WIND WING
Poems By Toni Partington

Upcoming Readings

In Other Words (special reading and free workshop with Eileen Elliott, author of Prodigal Cowgirl)
2pm, Saturday, April 10, 2010
8 NE Killingsworth St.Portland, OR 97211
503-232-6003

Paper Tiger Coffeehouse
7pm, Thursday, April 15, 2010
703 Grand Blvd.
Vancouver, WA 98661
541-400-8389

WIND WING is a collection of poetry inspired by the lives of women. The poems provide a glimpse into life on the edge of mental illness, transition and discovery. In three chapters, the poems expose the life of an only child with a mentally ill mother, the transitions of life, love and loss, and the societal and personal observations that lead to self discovery. Partington wrote the book over the past ten years as a way to reveal the stigma associated with mental illness and its impact on families.

At Frenchman’s Bar

Egrets assemble
levitate in slow motion
perfectly
above the Columbia’s glass top
framed by fifty-foot twigs
upright to the sky

in silhouette

parked barges resemble a life
stopped abruptly
await permission to dock
unload the steerage of this long journey

when will it be time for you
to sail toward unknown ports
where women gather in flocks
lean into each other and
beckon you to land

BIO:
Toni Partington is a poet, editor, and life/career coach. Her poetry has appeared in the NW Women's Journal, Selected Poems of the River Poets' Society, The Cascade Journal, VoiceCatcher (editions 3 and 4), OutwardLink.net and others. She is the author of a poetry chapbook, Jesus Is A Gas (2009). Her latest book of poetry WIND WING (2010) is now available for $10. She also serves as an Associate Editor for VoiceCatcher, an annual Pacific Northwest anthology of women writers.

As a life/career coach, Toni loves to work with writers and artists interested in exploring ways to integrate lifestyle and work. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in Social Work from Chapman University, an MA in Humanities with a major focus in Literature and Literary Editing from the California State University, Dominguez Hills, and post graduate work at the University of Oregon to become certified as a Global Career Development Facilitator. Before embarking on other adventures Toni spent over ten years teaching and advising women in transition returning to college.

Toni is involved in promoting poetry, writing and art in Vancouver, WA with a lively group of friends and peers. She facilitates Life In The Moment, Poetry & Other Riches, which can be found on the web at www.poettone.blogspot.com. Her circle includes poets, friends, family, and dogs, not in any particular order.

Book Announced in The Columbian

WIND WING
By Toni Partington


Women inspire Vancouver writer

Vancouver’s Toni Partington has been writing since she was 10 years old and has helped others with their books. Now the Vancouver resident has a book of her own, “Wind Wing.”

Partington launched “Wind Wing” during a Thursday open mic poetry night at Cover to Cover Books in Vancouver, where the book will be sold for $10.

The book of poetry has three sections. The first explores the experience she had being raised by a mother with mental illness. “It was rough,” Partington said, noting that at the time mental illness wasn’t openly discussed and many people didn’t understand it. The second section reflects the women in transition that Partington met through her social work; the third represents some of her
observations.

“The book has been a long time in the making,” Partington said.

BOOK RELEASE

WIND WING
By Toni Partington
Poetry $10 US

WIND WING is a collection of poetry inspired by the lives of women. The poems provide a glimpse into life on the edge of mental illness, transition and discovery. In three chapters, the poems expose the life of an only child with a mentally ill mother, the transitions of life, love and loss, and the societal and personal observations that lead to self discovery. Partington wrote the book over ten years as a way to reveal the stigma associated with mental illness and its impact on families.

Bio
Toni Partington is a poet, editor, and life/career coach. Her poetry has appeared in the NW Women’s Journal, Selected Poems of the River Poets’ Society, The Cascade Journal, VoiceCatcher (editions 3 and 4), OutwardLink.net and others. She is the author of a poetry chapbook, Jesus Is A Gas (2009). She serves as an Associate Editor for VoiceCatcher, an annual Pacific Northwest anthology of women writers. Toni is a regular columnist for Writing The Life Poetic, an online zine that complements the print version of the book by Sage Cohen, http://writingthelifepoetic.typepad.com.

As a life/career coach, Toni works with writers and artists interested in exploring ways to integrate lifestyle and work. Toni is involved in promoting poetry, writing and art in Vancouver, Washington with a lively group of friends and peers. Her circle includes poets, friends, family, and dogs, not in any particular order.

WIND WING

Sweet breeze
scented with orange blossoms in early summer
caress my face pressed against the
open wind-wing in her Impala.

These rides; a secret time to talk
while we forget she is crazy –
top down, headed home with drippy cones
Her – strawberry
Me – maple nut

Just enough time to adjust the wind-wing
while the red leather seats grow warm
she lets me push buttons to find
the right song for our sing-along.

These are the times I remember now
in melancholy middle age –
her hair cut short, dyed blonde
shoulders tanned above the halter-top
while shorts sprout bare legs
down to bright red toenails.

I picture this as her departure from upstate New York
and Catholic School rules
when California set her free
and took her down.

I watched her ricochet between two worlds –
safe home or padded room
delicacies or dry-mouthed delirium
green lawns or barred doors
Sunday Mass or shock treatments

her sanity – barely or not at all.

I long for the Impala
it is easier than longing for her –
a drive along Victoria Avenue
lined with orange groves and old songs
while we drift between dark nights and darker days.

Her life, like the wind-wing
unlatched slowly, one inch at a time
till the wind arrives at high pitch.

Throw it wide open and watch everything fly away.