The Practice of Creativity

National Poetry Month: Featured Poet-Mary L. Barnard

Posted on: April 30, 2017

This year, I have not done right by National Poetry Month. I have not had an opportunity to feature a single poet. I’m correcting that today. I’m welcoming back Mary L. Barnard, a friend and fabulous poet. She’s been writing poetry for a long time and I’ve learned much from her. I love the commitment that she has had for many years of writing a poem during the weekend and sending it out to her community. The poem below was published in the 2012 collection, Hot Summer Nights: a Collection of Erotic Poetry & Prose.

I’m delighted to welcome back Mary L. Barnard to The Practice of Creativity.

SURE PITCH, TRUE ARC

Then, when he came to her, he was Broken Man,
told her the prophecy of the New Goddess
who foretold twelve women waiting for
a man, if he be good and constant, would sire
with them the New Disciples between moonrise
and moonset on the night of the winter solstice.

If a man be eaten by twin worms of lust and harm,
the Goddess will know and the women will turn
from the face of ill-placed trust.

The man who has spent himself on women who
cuckold him will have his powers taken away.

She, unaware of any goddess, played horseshoes
with men and learned their ways as sportsmen.
Her sure pitch, true arc admired, imitated.
It was rumored that the clink against the stake
of her bronze horseshoes resounded in mountains
beyond the pit.

She met Broken Man when relations were still
new to her.  As he told her about the New Goddess,
she mused on the sound of his voice, which entered
her ear as the sound of a bird foreign yet welcome
in her yard.

She dreamed of sitting alone in the cloud forest
of Ecuador where the club-winged manikin
ticks and tings on the bones of his wings
knocking together as bow on violin
to make a sound alluring to all females.

She mused, touched him with her finger
on a place he had hidden from everyone.  He did not
push her hand away.  The eyes that looked into his
were dark hazel, almost the same color as his own.

Then she spoke, How does one come to be so wounded?

He said Some day I will tell you how I came to be
so wounded. 
The words on his tongue tasted bitter
and sour in turns but when he kissed her the friction
of their tongues sparked an electrical charge
whose current surged deep in both their bodies.

With her he reclaimed his power – he did not know
his true power until then – and their nights
were mutual and long.  She waited, as twelve
women might, for the good and constant in him,
for the answer to her question.

The New Goddess knew how it would end.  Broken Man
caught her notice as he slipped his net of shimmering
he-promises over the horseshoe woman as she slept.

Goddess began to plan a place for him in a desert
where his life would be golden:  gold sun, red-gold sand,
solid gold money, golden reputation, horseshoes made
of gold – a metal too soft for the rigors of the stake.

Mary L. Barnard

 

Mary L. Barnard, a Chathamite forever, plans to write poems from her little acre as long as …
In May 2013 she received a Certificate in Creative Writing from Central Carolina Community College’s (CCCC) Creative Writing Program. She was part of the inaugural class.

 

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Michele Tracy Berger

Michele Tracy Berger

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