Flower Moon

How does a tulip bulb hold so much green?
So much crazy red opening to the sun?
So much yellow-gold effrontery?
You too hold so much greenness
And a wild array of colors—
Splash of viridian, chartreuse and crimson.
Combine sun, warmth, and rain– –
Root down into the generous earth.
Does a flower ask its purpose?
Be rooted and sure in your beauty.
Bloom where you are planted.
Reach for the sun.
And when the gloaming turns cobalt,
then midnight blue,
Let the full Flower Moon seed your dreams.

Therese Guise is an artist, poet and friend of mine living in Eastern Iowa. We met at a writers’ workshop led by Judy Bridges called “Shut up and Write!” – which motivated both of us to do so. Her honors include Out Loud’s Best Poem of the Year and winner of the Upper Mississippi River Valley Poetry Contest. Publications include the Out Loud Anthology and the Off-Channel Anthology.

I am proud to publish her poem, Flower Moon, on loveandmedicine.

Happy New Year!

Love+Medicine - Anne

As this year comes to an end I want to thank my Love and Medicine readers. With so much out there to read, I’m happy you choose me.

You never know what you’re going to get when you read my blog. That will continue in 2018.

Here’s a look at what we’ve been talking about. Kick back and browse. I’m different from a year ago. You’re different too. Take a second look. Enjoy!


FASHION

The Men’s Outerwear Conundrum
Lovely Brazilian Workout Leggings
I love my Turkish Towel…and here’s why


POETRY

Object of Desire
Steady Hand

There was a Space. Part 1
1217 Miles
Most of All
Shadow Cookies


ENTERTAINMENT

The Psychiatrist in Film
What I’m Watching


LOVE

Love and Medicine - Candy

Let’s Talk About VD
Unconditional Love:A Murder- Suicide Mystery


ASK Dr. Annie K.

Are Your Ears Ringing?
Being There for a Friend

Transition in Parenting
Transitions From Nervous to Excited
Cannabis Oil


SEX

Sex and Familiarity
Why We Need To Talk About Sex
Got Passion?
Don’t Give Up on Sex


HEALTH

Hello darkness, my old friend
Lung Cancer: A Lonely Place

5 Tricks An Old Dog Can Teach You
It’s Just Like Riding A Bicycle
The Paradox of Water
Walking (guest blogger)


FOOD

410 Calories of Magic
Gogi Berries

Spending Time in Napa Valley got me thinking about Wine
Sociology and The Lemon Bar


TRAVEL

Yes, Look Back
10 Reasons to Visit Japan (that you won’t find in the guide book…)

Studenthue – The Student Cap
Love and Medicine Goes Global!


LIFE

Love+Medicine Meteor Shower

Life As a Gypsy
Hula Hoops

My Son bought Bitcoin…
What Happens in Vegas Does NOT Stay in Vegas
16 Things You Don’t Know About Me
The Winter Solstice and Other Musings
The Weekend is Almost Here
Things I’ve Learned this Week
12 Things I Want to Do This Summer
My Summer List Update


RELATIONSHIPS

Platonic Love
The Winter-Spring Romance


SPORTS

Somebody Turn On The Game

Object of Desire

On my last trip to Ireland we were in a pub every night for music “sessions”. Reciting poetry for me substituted for musical performance, as I am unable to carry a tune or play an instrument. 

My original poetry is a little over-the-top, borderline erotica. I did do a bit of that. This poem by Kim Addonizio rocked the house.  It was such a hit at the pubs, I had to share it with my loveandmedicine readers.

It is a great expression of the opposing forces that drive women and the reason men love us. 

 

What Do Women Want?

By Kim Addonizio

 

I want a red dress.

I want it flimsy and cheap,

I want it too tight, I want to wear it

until someone tears it off me.

I want it sleeveless and backless,

this dress, so no one has to guess

what’s underneath. I want to walk down

the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store

with all those keys glittering in the window,

past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old

donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers

slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,

hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.

I want to walk like I’m the only

woman on earth and I can have my pick.

I want that red dress bad.

I want it to confirm

your worst fears about me,

to show you how little I care about you

or anything except what I want.

When I find it, I’ll pull that garment

from its hanger like I’m choosing a body

to carry me into this world, through

the birth-cries and the love-cries too,

and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,

it’ll be the goddamned

dress they bury me in.

Steady Hand

Love + Medicine Steady Hand

Steady Hand

The Bris. The celebration of removal of foreskin
The first of his covenants with our Creator
Not in the presumed sterility of hospital walls
But done in one’s home surrounded by family and deli

Some choose to step back
Shout out the obligatory “mazel tov” on cue.
Others crowd around close to the makeshift surgical center
All are subject to the litany of moyel jokes that muster up an awkward chuckle

No one is as queasy as the infant’s father
Sweating, praying for a steady hand.
Questioning why didn’t we do this in the hospital, where it’s “clean”
Beginning to question why to do this at all,
Take a knife to his son, only 8 days on this Earth

Sucking on gauze soaked in Manishewitz,  the child lies peacefully
Placed on a pillow held by the Godfather, the highest of honors
He is then handed over to the  moyel who slices off the foreskin
The piece of flesh left on the table for burial In the yard.

As the generations before and the generations after,
Jews celebrate this act
Recognize the solemnity of the day
Feel a sense of tradition, respect and honor it

For the mother and father it marks a milestone
Of trusting and letting go
Loving, forgiving and coveting this child.
Always hoping for that steady hand

– Anne Koplin, M.D.

There was a Space. Part 1

I always wanted a screened in porch, a four season room. The outside of a house always interested me more than the inside. True zen, I believe, can only be found in nature.

In this poem, I parallel the changes in nature to the transformation going on between two lovers.

There Was A Space. Part I

There was a space shared. After the transition
from meetings in cafes, restaurants and such.
A place where strangers became lovers, the tide shifted to intimacy
It was the place where the journey continued, out of public eye.

An all season room, built lovingly over a period of years,
added on to a nondescript box of a house.
The one room that best captured the grounded spirit of its creator
Beams of solid wood and windows floor to ceiling
Wicker furniture, crystals, an ashtray
Floor unfinished, rough cement
A mini swinging door to accommodate the cats

The sunroom, for winter, crackling fires in the potbelly stove perched on cinder blocks
Sipping tea or red wine. Sharing stories, laughing or sitting silently, always touching. For hours.
Reaching into the basket for wood, replenishing the flames
At times making love, far too cozy to climb the steps to the bedroom.

The sunroom, for spring, watching the flowers burst through the earth
Every day looking for new pops of color
Listening to the river, water rhythmically rolling down the rocks, breaking up the ice.
Each stone in the water’s path placed thoughtfully to create the perfect sound

The sunroom, for summer, a cacophony of scents and color and sounds
Strolling in naked after showering, heat bearing down
Watching the birds as they delight in bathing in the cool, shallow river
Observing the cats, such hedonists, sprawled out in sunny spots

The sunroom, for fall, the swapping of color,
Screens replaced with glass as the wind shifts
Leaves changing and drying and shedding
The anticipation of winter, of turning inward

The sunroom, for lovers, a hidden oasis
A place unplugged, where feelings moved from simple attraction to soaring love
Where daily miracles outside in nature were fully paralleled inside
Two unlikely individuals, one earth and one water, merged to became one

Then the room was gone, like a hostile takeover
He, adept at handling the trauma of sudden loss, silently accepted his fate
She, incredulous, vowed to fight, to get it back.
His passivity was maddening
He insisted “it doesn’t matter where we are!”

The future of the lovers almost instantly became fuzzy and uncertain
Although they vowed not to attach to stones, they had lost their bearings
How much of it was space dependent
“A new start” he declared and she was threatened
Their fate yet undetermined.

screenedporch 2-2