Category Archives: Poetry

Poems in many categories: Loss, NaPoWriMo

What’s Wrong with Your Mom?

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What’s Wrong with Your Mom?

My husband’s language is so curt that lately I’ve been wondering
if these moody epithets that he has been thundering
have anything at all to do with my consistent blundering.

Ashtrays in the ice box and ice cubes in a puddle
on the shelf where glasses go? I fear I’m in a muddle.
I see him with the children, over there in a big huddle.

Now and then, they look at me. I think they are suspicious.
It’s me they are discussing, and their looks are not auspicious.

But still they feel that questioning me would not be judicious.

Why don’t they remember that  I’ve been this way before
exactly three times in the past, and this is number four?
By now I am surprised it hasn’t become family lore

that mother always gets this way during a certain time
when thinking gets confusing and moods turn on a dime,
but in the end it’s worth it as the outcome is sublime!

It seems I cannot  count on them to interpret the clues,
so I think that it is time that I give them all the news

that will solve the puzzle and resolve Daddy’s blues.

They see me coming towards them and it looks like they might scatter,
but they realign their faces as though nothing is the matter
until they hear these words that I contribute to their chatter:

“The secret that I’ve kept from you is worrying as a blister.
This surprise that I’m carrying might be our first young mister,
although I know you would not mind if it were a fourth sister!”

 

Prompt words today are language, puddle, auspicious and wondering. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/02/27/rdp-wednesday-language/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/02/27/fowc-with-fandango-puddle/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/02/27/your-daily-word-prompt-auspicious-february-27-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/02/27/wondering/

The Heel

The Heel

Rumors are abroad that you don’t know how to act.
You like to dig the needle in and haven’t any tact.
If you don’t reverse your ways and learn to get along—
if you stubbornly refuse to right your recent wrong—
I won’t be held responsible for trying once again
to cover up your misdeeds and atone for your sin.
For once you’ll have to face up to your social gaffes—
your misogynistic humor and  inappropriate laughs.
When you’re lying bruised and bloody, helpless on the floor,
you’ll finally discover what high heels are really for!!!

 

Prompt words today wre needle, reverse, abroad and act. Here are links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/02/25/rdp-monday-needle/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/02/25/fowc-with-fandango-reverse/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/02/25/your-daily-word-prompt-abroad-february-25-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/02/25/act/

Phases of the Moon

Phases of the Moon

When you whispered you’d be leaving with the waning gibbous moon,
I let your words escape behind the music of the loon.
I let the truth go bankrupt in the lapping of the wave.
Underneath the full moon, it was easy to be brave.

Beneath the waxing gibbous and the first quarter moon,
I seldom thought about the truth that you’d be leaving soon.
I turned my back to moonlight to ward off future pain.
My joy could not be sabotaged by its wax and wane.

Under the first quarter, I stifled my duress
lest memory of your leaving undermine your fond caress.
And though the new moon brought again reminders you’d be leaving,
I sealed my eyes against the truth to circumvent my grieving.

Under the waning crescent, resolution slipped away.
I pleaded for our meeting to be done in light of day.
I was wan beneath the moonlight as our time as one grew shorter.
How I dreaded what was coming as we viewed the moon’s last quarter.

Tonight I greet the moon again, standing all alone,
listening to your whispers over the telephone.
In spite of my avoidance, your leaving came too soon.
I finally face its truth beneath a waning gibbous moon.

 

The prompt words were wan, undermine,bankruptcy and seldomly. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/02/21/rdp-thursday-wan/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/02/21/fowc-with-fandango-undermine/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/02/21/your-daily-word-prompt-bankruptcy-february-21-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/02/21/seldomly/

Wordsmith

Wordsmith

He manufactures, word by word,
sentences that are absurd.
Each construct is a little joke—
an irony or  equivoque.

If you wish, I’ll let you know
when he’s ready to stage a show.
I guarantee, his recitation
is sure to win your approbation.

Making each word serve as two
is something that he’s driven to do.
Each double-entendre an education
in the art of revelation:

one meaning clear to any child,
the other more obscure and wild.
Thus does a punster get his fix
by stirring up a wicked mix:

a word cocktail whose piquancy,
cleverness and frequency
in any form or any guise
promises a rare surprise.

So come with me and in two winks
my friend will tell you what he thinks—
his discourse rare and smart and funny,
acerbic and right on the money!!!


Today’s prompt words are manufacture, construct, revelation and equivoque (an expression capable of having more than one meaning; a pun.) Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/02/07/rdp-thursday-manufacture/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/02/07/fowc-with-fandango-construct/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/02/07/your-daily-word-prompt-equivoque-february-7-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/02/07/revelation/

Possibilities

Possibilities

I don’t think it helps much to worry about past mistakes.  I think we make decisions according to our background and our chemical makeup and genes and “knowing” that different choices might have contributed to your life turning out differently doesn’t necessarily mean that you would make different decisions even if you knew how they would play out.

When I was a little girl, I always wanted to be around people.  I think this was primarily because I didn’t have a clear enough idea about what to do when I was alone.  If I’d had art classes or someone who encouraged me to write stories when I was small, I might have developed a need for lots of time alone earlier.  As it was, I started reading to fill out my days and nights, but even then, I probably would have traded in those books for more activity.

By the time I got to college, I was accustomed to “wasting” large amounts of time by doing nothing or by playing games, watching TV and listening to music.  I had never been anyplace where there had been clubs and activities to join other than the band, choir and MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship) of my junior high and high school years.  I don’t know if it was lack of confidence or lack of interest that kept me from joining activities in college where I would have met more people, but I am quite sure that I had a small town inferiority complex that made me think people would probably not want to meet me.

Although in the dorm and around female friends I was outgoing and a leader of sorts, at mixers with fraternities, I was shy and held back.  I didn’t go to the student union much–preferring the smoking room at our sorority house, playing bridge with the hashers and watching soap operas with the Lenzi twins–my partners in prevarication.  Somehow I fell back on the lazy habits of my youth, even though I was now in an environment that provided more stimulating possibilities.

I see this tendency spreading like a stain throughout my life.  Yes, I traveled all over the world, but once there, in an exotic or  unfamiliar place, I didn’t necessarily make use of all the possibilities for socialization or discovery.  Once again I fell back on nights spent alone, reading or puttering around the house.  It wasn’t that I didn’t meet people and make friends.  I gave dinner parties and big parties and went to the houses of friends.  It was just that I also held back.  Pulled out by friends, I would go, but if I had to make the decision myself, I would stay home.

Now that I am in my retirement years, I still feel this pull and push of life.  If someone asks me to do anything, I do it.  I have had a few big parties but in recent years I prefer dinner with one to four friends.  The vast majority of my time, however, is spent alone, even though I know I could be busy every minute of the day with one or another social activity.  I fill out my days with writing or, in month or two-month spurts, working in my art studio.  I belong to three writing groups, two of which I go to regularly.  The reading series I coordinated, I let die a natural death when the coffee house where we met closed.  Others have urged me to resuscitate it, but i haven’t.

The reason I know I would probably not change my college habits even though I now know I should have been more active is because now that I am in possession of this knowledge, I still choose not to change.  I am a social person who has an even bigger need for privacy and alone time, but now it is because I have two worthwhile activities with which to fill that alone time. Whether there is much value in what I produce is a moot point.  I think we create in order to recreate our selves, in a way.  It is a place where we have a power we grant to ourselves and perhaps in a way this is a success which, although unheralded by the world, creates a smaller world of our own where we can become whatever we want to be.

This is a rewrite of a piece written for one of my earlier blogs of four years ago. https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/02/05/possibilities/

Letting the Fish Guide the Way

 

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Letting the Fish Guide the Way

I have a side that is concise. It likes to plan and learn,
but it’s a side that I have found I sometimes have to spurn
to follow something else in me that doesn’t know quite where
it may next be going, and doesn’t really care.

Fate is a fish I follow: brilliant, sleek and swift.
It isn’t anything I’ve earned. It’s simply fortune’s gift.
If I give up and follow, the currents that it chooses
lead to healing waters that soothe my cuts and bruises.

I follow where it it leads me, sometimes swimming blind,
dealing with what ‘s dealt to me, working with what I find,
moving through life’s currents, living from day-to-day.
It works to turn the radar off. The fish can lead the way.

The prompt words today are fish, concise and learn. Thanks to my husband Bob whose line  in a poem “letting the fish guide the way” I have borrowed.

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/02/01/rdp-friday-fish/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/02/01/fowc-with-fandango-concise/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/02/01/learn/

Stasis

 

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Stasis

At the zenith of her powers, the glamorous Ms. Z
knew well the art of camouflage. No one could really see
the heretic that lived inside the one in the first pew.
Not even her most loyal friends knew she was a Jew.

Times call for extreme measures, whatever might protect
and preserve us from dark powers, who if they detect
any threatening differences might decide to strike.
One yesterday thought “charming,” today just labeled “kike!”

What small differences between us do we all obscure?
What hidden denials must we all endure?
Convention is a schoolmarm with a ruler in her hand
ready to dish out punishment for any action banned.

One drop of blood not Aryan or thought that’s not mainstream,
any errant choice of style, any avant dream
might be grounds for action, for all good people know
the harm that comes from those who might upset the status-quo.

 

 

 

*kike is derived from the Hebrew word for circle, which is the mark many jews made on their immigration papers coming into America instead of an X for their signature.  Like many other racial slurs, it came from immigration officers who used it a s short-hand for a population group entering the country.

 

The prompt words today are camouflage, heretic, glamorous and zenith.

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/01/31/rdp-thursday-camouflage/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/01/31/fowc-with-fandango-heretic/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/01/31/your-daily-word-prompt-glamorous-january-31-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/01/31/zenith/

Southern Discomfort


Southern Discomfort

A barrage of dainty words like “Bless her heart!” and “Y’all.”
greeted me as I approached the entrance to the ball.
As I turned this and that way to fit me through the door,
it was then that I regretted the hoop skirt that I wore.
Finally giving it a yank and then one great yank more,
I fear I heard a ripping sound as something in there tore.

I grabbed a small mint julep from the tray that passed me by,
but waved away the country ham, eschewed the pecan pie,
for the merry widow that I was squeezed  into
already had me short of breath and slowly turning blue.
A few spins around the dance floor with something in my shoe,
convinced me that my southern ball experience was through.

We exited the ballroom, motored out of the plantation,
and in the backseat I surrendered to severe temptation.
Like those giant pythons that shed their skins in zoos,
I peeled off my merry widow and my ball gown and my shoes.
My hoop skirt parachuting out the window brought a smile
as I disposed of finery mile after mile.

As we drew up to the levee and approached the shrimping docks,
I drew on my old Levis and a t-shirt and my Crocs.
By then my southern gentlemen was through with me, I fear.
He was driving rather fast and grinding every gear.
So it won’t be any news to you that our romance was through.
“Southern” is just something that this northern girl can’t do.

 

 

Prompt words used in this post were news, dainty and barrage. Photo is stock footage from “Gone with the Wind.”

https://fivedotoh.com/2019/01/30/fowc-with-fandango-news/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/01/30/your-daily-word-prompt-dainty-january-30-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/01/30/barrage/

Levels of Agility

Levels of Agility

As I crossed the meadow, I saw a large tree
that seemed to be perfect for climbing to me.
Its shade was inviting and seemed to create
a suitable topic for a debate.
Could I ascend its formidable trunk
and my lack of agility thereby debunk?
Or would I fall down with a tremendous clunk
and wind up in a heap in a terrible funk?

I’ve a poor sense of balance and that could create
a fall that could ruin my mobility rate.
I could fall on my head and get a sound crack
or break both my legs or my neck or my back
or get tangled in branches to such a degree
that they’d need a buzz saw to extricate me.
All in all, my decision finally made,
I spread out a blanket and lay in its shade.

Prompt words for today are balance, tree, inviting and create.

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/01/29/rdp-tuesday-balance/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/01/29/fowc-with-fandango-tree/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/01/29/your-daily-word-prompt-inviting-january-29-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/01/29/create/

The Dogs Are Barking

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The dVerse Poets prompt requires that we write a quadrille–a poem of 44 words––making use of the word “steep.”  To do so, I rewrote an earlier poem so it became a 5 stanza poem, each stanza forming a quadrille. I wonder how many other poets share this experience as they are awakened from dreams by one means or another:

The Dogs Are Barking

They break the morning––a daily rite.
It’s just a warning. The dogs won’t bite.
Two strangers talk but pass unseen.
I doze, they walk, with a wall between.
I try to sink back into sleep,
once more to drink of waters deep,

trying to slip between the seams
of the surface of my dreams
but the dogs still bark. They leap and pace.
My dreams, not ready for this morning place,
lie dark and deep and intertwined,
wanting to creep back up my mind.

But its steep slope is much inclined
and provides small hope that I will find
once more that world well out of sight
where truth lies curled, still holding tight––
as an oyster cleaving, loath to unfurl
and reveal to light the priceless pearl

of that mind of dreams that slips the knife
beneath the rind of daily life.
Time is a brew of present, past
and future, too—all tenses cast
to bring to light those grains of sand
made pearls of wisdom by nature’s hand.

Dreams are stories we tell ourselves
and share, perhaps, on bookstore shelves.
Pinned to pages, they reach their height
and bring our sage self to the light.
But the dogs are barking. They’re hungry, cross.
When I rise feed them, the poem is lost

dVerse Poets Quadrille prompt is steep.