Tag Archives: Living Alone

Alone

Alone

Alone is not lonely
And single’s no sin.
Solo is only
a state I am in
because I need time
to do what I do.
To scan and to rhyme,
to create and to stew
both poems and soups
without watching the clock
or jumping through hoops
or having to talk.

I really like cooking
dishes for one.
I’m simply not looking
for “coupley” fun.
I like doing art
far into the night.
This freedom is part
of traveling light.
Going solo is groovy.
Single-handed is fun,
and it might behoove you
to try being “one”

instead of a brace
or a duet or pair.
You’ll have all this space.
You’ll have all this air.
Your closet’s your own
to fill up with shoes.
No sharing a phone
and no bathroom queues.
You won’t have to fiddle
with left or with right.
You’ll sleep in the middle
every night!

You’ll eat what you want to
and dine when you wish.
You’ll get to eat tofu
and never eat fish.
You can stay up till dawn
to finish your quilt.
You’re nobody’s pawn,
so you’ll never feel guilt.
Leave coffee cups sitting
all over the house?
It’s behavior most fitting
when bereft of a spouse.

Pop bonbons and read
all day in your bed.
You can meet every need
when you’re no longer wed.
On the other hand though,
you must walk your own dog
and when water comes slow,
must unclog your own clog.
When you blow out a fuse
and your lawn goes unmown,
there are no “honey do’s”
when you’re all on your own!

For LAPC: Alone

I wrote this poem 9 years ago when I had about 2 readers –one of whom has sadly passed away and the other who no longer blogs, so figured it was okay to run in through again.

Talking Turkey: Flashback Friday, Nov 26, 2021

 

For Fandango’s Flashback Friday  we are asked to reblog a post we made exactly a year ago. Oddly, enough, I found that I’ve written three different poems on this date for the past three years and they are all named “Talking Turkey!”  This is the one I wrote exactly one year ago today on November 26.

Talking Turkey

I’d rather be footloose, I’d rather be free.
No more will I languish on any man’s knee.
I’ll eat all of my gravy and none of my peas,

get up and retire whenever I please.
I’ll retrieve no one’s underwear off of the floor.
When I use the potty, I won’t shut the door.
I won’t cover my mouth when I burp or I sneeze.
I’ll open the window to enjoy the breeze
or shut my house up as tight as a drum,
eat all the cookies to the last crumb.
I’ll dine for a month on my Turkey Day turkey.
I’ll be selfish and weird and eccentric and quirky.
For as much as I love human interactions,

 living alone has its own satisfactions.

Prompt words today are: human, gravy, retrieve and footloose.

Solitary Interlude


Solitary Interlude

The luxury of time alone.
No lapses for which to atone.
No tasks assigned. No obligations.
Only personal tribulations.
No one to answer to or for.
A bolted gate. A locked front door.
No need to dress or comb my hair.
Leaving my room, no one is there.

Company is glorious,
but, alas, laborious.
The same is true of visiting.
A bird that’s always on the wing
has no time to enjoy her nest.
I leave it up to you what’s best—
company or solitude?
Activity or quietude?

I am no hermit. I crave no den.
I love the places where I’ve been.
A bit of each is what I’d choose.
Sometimes one and sometimes twos.
But as for now, I must declare,
my guest room empty with no one there
gives me the perfect company:
one-on-one, myself and me.

Talking Turkey

Talking Turkey

I’d rather be footloose, I’d rather be free.
No more will I languish on any man’s knee.
I’ll eat all of my gravy and none of my peas,

get up and retire whenever I please.
I’ll retrieve no one’s underwear off of the floor.
When I use the potty, I won’t shut the door.
I won’t cover my mouth when I burp or I sneeze.
I’ll open the window to enjoy the breeze
or shut my house up as tight as a drum,
eat all the cookies to the last crumb.
I’ll dine for a month on my Turkey Day turkey.
I’ll be selfish and weird and eccentric and quirky.
For as much as I love human interactions,

 living alone has its own satisfactions.

Prompt words today are: human, gravy, retrieve and footloose.

The Collector

The prompt: Digging Up Your Digs—500 years from now, an archaeologist accidentally stumbles on the ruins of your home, long buried underground. What will she learn about early-21st-century humans by going through (what remains of) your stuff?

The Collector

Tools, pictures, clothes, shoes,
too much food and too much booze.
Too many games and too much fun
for a house of only one.
A mystery why this big collector
didn’t have the proper vector
directing her away from things:
(potions, lotions, bracelets, rings)
directing to another track—
something that could love her back.

But, for the rest of the story about living alone, go here

Poetry by Prescription: “Alone”

DSC06650

Alone

Alone is not lonely
And single’s no sin.
Solo is only
a state I am in
because I need time
to do what I do.
To scan and to rhyme,
to create and to stew
both poems and soups
without watching the clock
or jumping through hoops
or having to talk.

I really like cooking
dishes for one.
I’m simply not looking
for “coupley” fun.
I like doing art
far into the night.
This freedom is part
of traveling light.
Going solo is groovy.
Single-handed is fun,
and it might behoove you
to try being “one”

instead of a brace
or a duet or pair.
You’ll have all this space.
You’ll have all this air.
Your closet’s your own
to fill up with shoes.
No sharing a phone
and no bathroom queues.
You won’t have to fiddle
with left or with right.
You’ll sleep in the middle
every night!

You’ll eat what you want to
and dine when you wish.
You’ll get to eat tofu
and never eat fish.
You can stay up till dawn
to finish your quilt.
You’re nobody’s pawn,
so you’ll never feel guilt.
Leave coffee cups sitting
all over the house?
It’s behavior most fitting
when bereft of a spouse.

Pop bonbons and read
all day in your bed.
You can meet every need
when you’re no longer wed.
On the other hand though,
you must walk your own dog
and when water comes slow,
must unclog your own clog.
When you blow out a fuse
and your lawn goes unmown,
there are no “honey do’s”
when you’re all on your own!

 

Today’s “prescription” came from my friend Betty Petersen, a wonderful artist, who asked me to write a poem about the single life. If you have a topic you’d like me to write about, please post it on my blog or send it via Facebook or email.