Without Squinting

Without Squinting

Without squinting, I almost see it
the joy of Christmas is still out of sight
made invisible by the snow that is
falling and the wind that is howling
and the blanket of cold that surrounds all
but I do know it is there somewhere
just beyond the snow-laden trees
and the mounds of drifted snow
Christmas smiles will appear one day soon.

Night

Night

Night
cold and dark
I enjoy home
everything accomplished
relax, slow down, decide
what I will do with the hours
I have left tonight,
bliss in peaceful moments,
too few, way too few.
Tired, I know tomorrow
will be another long day.
My eyes begin to close.
I sleep.

Resolve

Resolve

I cannot do anything about the passing of time
I cannot slow it down, but I can control how
I use time, how I lead my life. Whether time
will be a blessing or time will be a curse, the
mental choice is mine. I control my outlook.

The only time I have is the moment I live now.
I can remember and learn from the past, but
I cannot change it. I can hope and plan for future,
but I cannot live it. I resolve to live today
in the best possible way. I control my destiny.

The Angel's Voice

The Angel's Voice

You who still live on earth do not need to be obsessive
about time. Just relax and enjoy and know that
all will happen according to plan. Know your life
is eternal, that the segment of life you live on earth
is only a small part of your existance. I was here
when time began. I witnessed your earthly birth;
and I will witness your earthly death and witness
every moment in between. Know that earthly minutes,
hours, days, weeks, years are nothing. Now that
you exist you will live, not only here on earth
which is only a fragment of eternal time, but forever.

Optimism

Optimism

I am thankful and filled with joy
one year ends another begins.

Thus has it been since time began
so will it be until time's end.

I ring out the old and in the new
celebrate rebirth of my soul

along with beginning of new year.
I set aside my past mistakes

January brings a fresh slate.
New year, I will welcome you.

Finis

Finis

Eventually all will end
past, present, future
all will be concluded
no more moments
no more possibilities
no more hopes
no more dreams
no more chances
no more regrets
no more memories
Life lived, book sealed.

No Excuses

No Excuses

No excuses accepted
you must take responsibility
for your life's decisions and
actions which brought you to today.
You are no exception
and you cannot go back.

Time

Time

Young time ahead of us seems infinite.
Old we count the years we think are left.

Young each year brings new possibilities.
Old each year possibilities fade away.

Young we are often idealistic.
Old we are more likely realistic.

Young we save money to buy a house.
Old we save for a a nursing home.

Young we experience many firsts,
Old we experience many lasts.

Young we realize we will outlive our pet dog.
Old we hope our pet dog will not outlive us.

Young the future is decades ahead.
Old the future is next year.

Shared with Open Link Monday -Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

The Blues

The Blues

Some days feel hopeless
I don't know how i will survive
one thing goes wrong after another
I wonder how I can go on.

There have been special challenges
God has put me through and
so far I think I am doing all right,
I am not one to complain.

I generally keep a postive outlook
keep negativity at bay, I just keep
plugging along, one day at a tune,
though sometimes inside I cry.

I've Been Everywhere

I've Been Everywhere


I've been everywhere, so many places in the world,
too numerous to mention, all of them interesting.
but in the end what matters most is the kind of
person I was, what I did with my life. Places visited
in the past and present are icing on the cake.

Response to Mother

In Response to Poem Written on November 18

To Mother

It has been twenty-one years next week since you died.
Though it has been a long time I still see you as you were then,
still hear your words, your voice. Twenty-one years ago
you'd been planning Thanksgiving dinner, all fixings

in the refrigerator awaited the family gathering. At your house, all
was ready to be prepared. Then you died. Suddenly. Heart attack.
We had the turkey, the one from your refrigerator, the day before
your funeral. It was prepared at my sister's home. we knew you would

have wanted the family feast to go on, even though you weren't there.
We had an empty plate at the table. Yours. Two decades have passed.
I think of you again this Thanksgiving. Not that I don't think of you other
times. I wonder if you planned the time of your own death for a time

when the family would gather, so we all would be together in support.
Thanksgiving seemed appropriate as there was a lot to be thankful for,
in your life and even in your death. Mother, I did learn your lessons.
People are most important. Family comes first. Even if you are quiet,

you can do brave things if you have to. One person's voice matters.
If you don't like the way things are, you can go somewhere else where
your voice will matter. Or you can make a change. You can always write
for yourself and for others. You never know where your influence ends.

Your influence lives on, Mother. Know that.

Confession

Confession


I confess I no longer contemplate future.
My only future is tomorrow and what will I buy
at the grocery store and the day after tomorrow,
what movie will I see with friends? I no longer
think about what I will be doing in five years,
ten years. I no longer have a long term plan.
I live in the moment now. Who knows if
in five or ten years I will be alive at all?

Ghosts

Ghosts

Sleepless nights, I sort through my mind
for ghosts from my past, people almost forgotten,
but not quite, those I knew long ago, weeks or months,
a year or more, even two or three years,who might still
be important to me yet today if only they had not walked
out of my life, if only I had not walked out of theirs.
Sometimes the exits were not deliberate Someone moved
or graduated and went their own way. Sometimes the exits
were intentional. A friendship didn't work out. A relationship
didn't gel. Someone just walked away no reason mentioned.
Those were the hardest times. I still wonder about some of
these people, only during sleepless nights. Sometimes I wonder
if I made mistakes the times it was my choice to walk away.
I wonder if those who walked away wonder the same thing
during their sleepless nightsor if I have been totally forgotten.
If only their stories had not ended abruptly, never to be
updated, I might know what happened to these people from
my past, and they might be friends. I wonder where they are
now, the ghosts from my past. Sad that I'll never know.

The Big Picture

The Big Picture

I am Life Itself.
Birth, Death, and all days in between.
I am Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow
Alpha and Omega on one page.
No past, no future, only present.
All lives that ever were, ever will be
exist now on this day, in this time.
I am Life, I am God, I am Love
This is my plan, Follow Me.

Words from Mother

Words from Mother

Twenty-one years ago next week I died.
I have kind of lost track of the exact date,
as I have been so busy here in heaven since
the time of my death, but i know I was looking

forward to preparing Thanksgiving dinner. The
menu had been decided on. The food was in
the refrigerator. It was sudden. My death.
My heart just stopped. No warning. I didn't

mean to leave so quickly without saying
good-bye to everyone I loved, but maybe it
was for the better. Good-byes sometimes
can be long and drawn out, not to mention

being filled with much pain for those dying
and those left behind. For me, it just happened.
God called me home. He must have had His
reasons. I know my husband missed me.

You know how quiet he was and how he
depended on me for social things. He hadn't
made a lot of friends here in heaven since
he'd arrived. No surprise, he had been waiting for me.

I suppose you'd like to know what I've been
doing here, but there's no time for that right now.
Just know that there is more than enough to do,
but also all the time in the world. Here in heaven

there is no real past and no real future. Everything
is the present, and present is eternal and perfect bliss.
No pain, no one ages, everyone is happy. Yes, just
as you learned in Sunday School. But don't rush

to get here. Enjoy those moments, months, years
on earth. They are special, and you will never forget
your experiences or the people you know. Your
memories last forever. God does have a plan.

He is yesterday, today, and tomorrow. He is
eternal, and you are also. Know we will meet again!

(In Memory of my mother who died November 24, 1987)

To Mya, With Love

To Mya, With Love

I love you, Mya, in all of your innocence,
unexpected child, but welcomed into the world.
You smile and laugh, delight in your surroundings.
Your eyes eagerly explore, and your legs are
almost ready to propel you across the room.
But this moment you sleep soundly, warm in your blankets,
no fears of tomorrow, no memory of the past,
alive in the present, relaxed, trusting your world.
Happy birthday, Mya. May your world always be
as warm and nurturing for you as it is today.

(In honor of Mya's first birthday, which will be November 26!)

If it Lives

If it Lives

If it lives it will die
a fact of nature
to be accepted
not ignored or denied.
Live the moment.

Surrounded

Surrounded

I am surrounded by a circle of clocks: old clocks,
new clocks, alarm clocks, cuckoo clocks, grandfather
clocks, small clocks, large clocks. Each clock ticks
loud, then louder, as the horrid procession moves in closer,
tighter. Each clock face sneers, jeers with intense eyes
and curled toothless mouths. Clock hands reach away
from the clock faces, attempt to seize me as I attempt
to run; but their spindly legs grow long, strong. The
unwelcome intruders move in so close I can smell
stagnant breath as the wire fingers begin to assault
my body. The clocks stop ticking. I cannot scream.
I cannot run. I'm trapped in time. No escape possible.

Warning

Warning

If you do not take the time to do
what you want today there may be
no opportunity tomorrow. If you live
in the past, you won't appreciate
the present or you will not see
the opportunities before your eyes.
If you live in the future, you will be
old before you know it and you
will have accomplished nothing.
If you lack time consider your
priorities and readjust them. Know
that you cannot escape the ravages
of time, so be sure that you use time
in a way that is valuable to you so when
you reach old age you can look back
with pleasure and satisfaction and know
your life was well lived. Time the most
valuable gift you can give yourself
or someone else. Time is limited.
There is no fountain of youth. You
will not escape death. Meanwhile
heed these words and live.

One

One

One day is all I have
one moment, one hour
this moment, this hour
live right now.

One life is all I have
one chance, one path,
my choice, to get it right,
live right now.

One day, one life
this moment, one path
this hour, my choice
live right now.

In One Second

In One Second

In one second life can forever change;
someone becomes pregnant, falls
downstairs, opens the door to the
intruder, hears it's cancer, it's over,
it's too late, sees a look she was not
meant to see, speaks words without
thought, cannot pull them back, pulls
the trigger, encounters black ice, skids
can't stop. All it takes is one second
for life to twist down an unforeseen path
and directions to the former path are lost.

My Perspective

It is a fact that past
led to present which
will lead to future,
inevitable that people
disagree about politics.
What good to discuss either?

To Survive

To Survive

I try to bounce back
from difficult times in life
sometimes with the help of angels,
a plan, random luck, or passing of time.
But most often it takes will and energy
to survive a challenging time.
Is it survival of the fittest
or the most determined?

Nightmare

Nightmare

I stand on the edge of a cliff,
vultures of the past surround me,
and grunt, flap their wings, hiss.
l Iook into the abyss of future,
know If I jump I am doomed,
I cannot see the bottom.
If I do nothing I will be prey
to the vultures whose hot breath
I feel on my neck. With their bald
heads ready to feed, they sense death
is near, present will soon be past.
it is my choice how to die.
I jump.

A Fact

It is a fact that past leads to present
and present leads to future, also
a fact that all we have is the present.
We can never experience again what we
experienced yesterday nor can we know
what will happen tomorrow. We have
only one moment, this moment
to live. If we ignore or waste this moment
it is lost forever, never to be reclaimed.

Cerberus

Cerberus

Cerberus, three-headed dog of past, present, and future
you guard your iron gate with vicious and awful fury.
What an ominous task, a gruesome chore for you who
stands in the place neither dead nor living can cross.
You alone watch the gate. Innocence of birth, youthful
dreams,old age regrets all converge in your domain. I cower
before your serpent tail, hair of snakes, fearsome face.
Your shadow looms along the River Styx. I await my time.

Praise

Praise

This poem is in praise of nothing
I have nothing to praise tonight
one of those bleak times I have
from time to time. Somewhere
there is something praiseworthy,
but today it escapes my view.

Buried Treasure

Buried Treasure

Treasures from yesterday
stored in boxes bring the past
to life as I retreat into the attic
late at night when I cannot sleep.
It is bitter cold in winter, sweltering
in summer, sometimes musty,
often dusty. I close the door,
choose a box, open it with care,
explore its contents, whether
it be books, dolls, old photos,
certificates, framed pictures,
nicknacks, old wallets, jewelry.
With so many treasures to investigate
during late night exploration, I lose
myself in my finds, embrace memories
brought by each, then bury them again
in the boxes of my late night hideaway
where they will be until I discover them
the next time I am unable to sleep.

Soap Box

Soap Box

We are on the cusp between the past and future
I watch television as wins and losses are projected
and I wonder how they know who will win a state
when only one percent of the votes have been tallied.

Everyone thinks their candidate has the answer
It will be a late night, I am sure, as I watch somberly,
hope people look at issues, not only party,
hope people know George Bush didn't speak for all.

I believe many people are following a Pied Piper
someone who speaks well and inspires hordes
but I do hope that his words have substance,
that he will accomplish what he states he will.

This may not sound like much of a soapbox
but it is all I can muster tonight as I
look back at the past, ahead toward future,
so tired of the word 'change,' fear tomorrow.

Ghosts

Ghosts

I sort through my mind for ghosts of my past
people almost forgotten, but not quite,
those I knew weeks or perhaps months
who might have been important to me if only
their stories had not ended abruptly, never
to be updated. I wonder where they are now.,
the multitude of faceless ghosts of my past.

A Lesson

A Lesson

Remember, you who care about the past,
take more heed of your present and future.
Life is today and tomorrow, not in ghosts
of yesterday. Embrace your present as you
look ahead. The past is fixed, unchangeable
a book that has gone to press, no revisions
possible. Do not be trapped within its pages.
Look forward, not backward. Lessons learned
or teachings ignored may influence how you live
your life today, but are not today. Live now to
the fullest and your mind will stay forever young.

In Remembrance

In Remembrance
(College Speech Class - 1963)

This is the only speech I remember:
Jerry spoke about his brother Gene,
captured by the Pathet Lao, early 60's,
then held until he and others attempted
escape. He was recaptured, tortured,
later seen alive, but never attained freedom.

I 'd forgotten about Jerry for decades,
but he sprang to mind last week, a phantom
from my past, and I tried to discover what
had happened to classmate Jerry and Gene
who in the mid- 60's was listed MIA Laos.
I hoped I would find Gene had come home.

I discovered Jerry journeyed to Laos
after the war to search for his brother,
never found Gene, though live sightings
were reported into the 1990's. Jerry remains
an advocate for his brother after forty years,
still considers Gene his mentor.

Despite the likelihood of Gene's death,
I want to remember and honor his life,
and that is why I wrote this poem.

Good-Bye

Good-Bye

It is hard to say good-bye to you today,
not to know when or where we will meet
again, on my side of the Atlantic or yours.
We have known each other for thirty-five years,
have always managed to arrange a way.
You are my best friend in all the world. We can
talk about anything, understand each other,
and when we see each other every few years
it is as if no time passed, and we begin
the conversation where we left off, never
mind the passage of years, but now that
we are older I wonder how many years are left,
how many more meetings before something happens
to prevent them.I like to think there will be many,
that each of us will live a long life, that our life
paths will continue to cross, but if that doesn't
happen, I want you to know I consider myself
fortunate to have in my lifetime such a friend as you.

Blues

Blues can visit on a cloudy day
or one that is blessed with sun
It can be caused by a happening
or by something left undone.

Blues can sap one's spirit
bring a strong person to her feet
but Blues can also be music
hear the harmonic beat

One can see blue in a boy's cap
worn on a windy fall day.
or enjoy blues with young and old
hear the saxaphone play.

Joseph McCarthy's Funeral Day

Joseph McCarthy's Funeral Day

Joe McCarthy, US Senator from my hometown,
found communists everywhere, a hero
to some, a villain to others, died at age 48,
when I was eleven years old. Alcoholism.
His body returned home in glory to some
in shame to others and thousands filed
by to see this man who was brought down
by his own demon while those he sought
to destroy were redeemed. Mother tuned
our kitchen radio to his funeral service
broadcast from our local St. Mary's Church.
During the service we argued, Mother proclaimed
I'd remember forever how I acted on Joe McCarthy's
funeral day, but though I never forgot her words
I don't remember my specific act. She was wrong.

Election Day

Election Day

Mother worked long days at the polls, enjoyed this,
talked with neighbors, returned home after polls closed
with news of people who lived on blocks around,
that she knew from political canvassing, selling Avon.
Mother wished elections were held more often.

The World Waits

The World Waits

The world is waiting for a repairman
who has the answers. Many profess to
know solutions, but are claims based on
facts and substance or mere image,
smoke and mirrors? Is there real hope in promises,
or is hope a childlike illusion? Stand with your flag,
cheer, strike up the band, put faith into the unknown,
believe change is the answer, no matter what direction.
Smile, clap your hands, cheer, different will be better.
Close your eyes, believe verbiage matters.
Someone knows what is right, what is truth.
The Pied Piper enchants. Follow. him!

Mask

Mask

I struggle to put life into the plaster mask
before me with its clay beige hardness
not quite the color of skin, grooves to
represent the furrows of years, mouth shaped
into an eternal smile a little too broad. I try
to simulate lifeblood with brush and paint
but cannot find a way. Who can show me how to
give shape to experiences, accomplishments, failures,
hopes, dreams, all the things that make up a life?

Dark Images

Dark Images



Still dark, early morning dream,
I cannot sleep, so many images,
mostly unwelcome, I have lost Tulip
and am devastated. Problems
multiply, no easy answers. I must
find Tulip, see her in my mind,
scream soundlessly, she is nowhere,
nor are answers. I am thankful
Violet is here, hold her tight,
will not lose her. I pray Tulip is
safe, that I will find her somewhere
within the chaos. I try to wake up,
reach for consciousness, push
apprehension from my mind.
I turn on television, watch CNN,
view the gloomy state of the economy,
seek something heartening but there is
nothing positive to be found. All is dire,
Tulip is missing, predicaments
have no easy answers, economic
situation is irresolvable, it is four
in the morning and I have two hours to
try to sleep, and this is so hard.

Don

Don

I met Don when I was in high school
working at the savings and loan.
Good looking, personality, intelligent,
sensitive, funny. We worked together
for six summers, went dancing, got into
mischief, fun stuff for us, but if we were
caught in some of our pranks it could
have been bad for both of us.

I went to college, he did not.
And after I became a teacher
we still stayed in touch, still
talked, still danced, still played
pranks for fun, listened to Simon
and Garfunkel, he played the guitar,
sang folk songs, even though
we didn't work together again
I thought we were forever friends.

My daughters arrived, life changed
for me, and some things happened
that didn't make sense to him and
what had been a good friendship
ruptured and we became estranged
and I doubted we'd see each other again.

Two years ago he sent a Christmas card
with a note, I responded and we
are now in touch again, our history
intact, friendship reclaimed, as
almost fifty years of knowing
cannot be taken lightly.

I asked him if he still plays guitar
He says he only plays perhaps
one time a year now, but in my mind
when I think of him I see him again
young with his guitar embraced
singing beautiful songs!

Nine

Nine


Nine years old
I ride my bike everywhere
swim in the city pool
lie under a tree and read
write stories for fun
play kickball, softball
jump on a pogo stick
gallop on my pretend horse
play school, house, hospital
starlight moonlight after dark.

Nine years old
I don't want to get older
no age with two digits for me.
Ten sounds old,
many yearn to be teens,
to grow up, wear makeup, drive.
I would rather stay nine
ride no-handed on a bike,
unafraid, hair blowing, free.

Fire #1

Fire

Fire of hell
inescapable
relentless heat
sears scalds
penetrates mind
and body of doubters
disparagers cynics
who heard but
did not listen
eternity

Fire of passion
inescapable
relentless heat
love ardor this
once a lifetime
inexplainable
wonderful longing
bright flame
caring fervor
wonderful longing
love yes love

Fire of destruction
inescapable
relentless heat
clandestine arson
scorches forest
suffocates burns
living beings that
scurry to escape
hurtful weapon evil
accomplished

Fire #2

Fire

Fire
house on fire
mind on fire
fire the man
ceasefire
fire and water
fire and rain
fire and brimstone
baptism with fire
firewall fireman
firestorm
ready aim
fire

Ice

Ice

Frigid black
immoveable harsh
attitude unbending
unyielding frozen
tundra chills the body
freezes the soul
nothing canflourish
in the presence
of such cold.

Ice
frigid black
immoveable harsh
car tires skid
no control
spin scream
crash crack
shattered glass
broken body
stillness now
sirens blare
hurry


Ice
cubes swirl
cold iced tea
refreshes
cools tongue
mouth throat
revitalizes
spirit body
on a blazing day

Sometimes At Night

Sometimes At Night


Sometimes at night I put myself to sleep
by watching television, or perhaps it is
more true to say that usually I put myself
to sleep by watching television. I think
this started after I had my accident and
television helped me to forget my pain
and much of the night if I did not sleep
I watched telecision until I did finally sleep.
And still when I awaken in the night
with thoughts swirling in my brain
I cannot restrain myseld from watching
whatever looks interesting on telecision.
I always hope for it to put me to sleep!

I Love You

I Love You


In the back of "I love you" stands "good bye"
as there is nothing permanent. At some point
someone or something will leave. At some
time what one loves will be no longer with you.
Either I will leave, perhaps not of choice, or
the other will leave. Death is inevitable;
good-byes happen. What is good eventually
comes to an end, so enjoy while you can
before the good-byes which will happen!.

Child to No One

Child to No One

It saddens me sometime to think that I am child to no one
both parents dead, and I must admit to being old!
A dreadful word, a wakeup call, a truth to face.
I would like to deny it, but I cannot. My life is closer
to conclusion than beginning. No child any more.

Future

Future

Future

Because I don't trust the future I enjoy
what is now and do not think far ahead.
I don't know what will happen tomorrow
or the day after that. September 11
approaches, the day I never expected,
the day I'll never forget. After that
how can I really trust future again?

If Dogs Think About Death

If Dogs Think About Death


If dogs think about death they do not show it
they live now, today, happy, looking forward
to the next meal, walk, game of fetch.

If dogs think about death I do not see it
perhaps that is one reason I love dogs
they accept and appreciate what is today.

If dogs think about death they hide it as
they go about their everyday lives
inconsequential, they say, what will be will be.

Questions, No Answers

Questions, No Answers


What is important to you?
What are your goals?
What will be your first step?
What then?
Who will help you?
Who are your friends?

Finding Faith

Finding Faith

Faith is not easy when
there are many questions
possibilities, contradictions,
explanations, so many people
who claim to speak truth,
so many books called holy,
so many proven wrong
but yes there is God,
one God, but which path
among all offered?

Spiral

Spiral

Spiraling into the abyss
down down down
overwhelmed I'm frozen
unable to act
drowning in life
unable to ask
I hide my pain
deny what is
hope for a miracle
a rope to hang onto
a net to lift me up
reverse my direction
help me rise again
please oh please.

Dueling Haiku

(1)
Hope is the sun that
brightens my path each morning
I greet a new day

Doubt is the cloud that
darkens my path each evening
I hide from its sight.

------------------------------------------------
(2)

Awake is alive
with many possibilities
where will I begin?

Asleep is time lost
body rejuvenation
needed but boring.

My Life Should Leave......

Life Should Leave

My life should leave shoes well worn
from many journeys, thoughts and
experiences preserved in written word,
photographs, thoughtfully selected music,
art that stands the test of time,
mementos of countries visited, jewelry,
books, toys, stamp albums, old coins,
treasured letters, my own chosen style
of clothing, some things that are junk
to anyone but me, but mostly my
life should leave, in the minds of those
who know me, memories, preferably good.

Achievement

Achievement

If you work hard you will be rewarded
you will achieve, get the job, the recognition
people will congratulate you for goal accomplished

If you have connections you will be rewarded
you will achieve, get the job, the recognition
people will shake your hand to near your friends.

If you work hard or have connections
you will achieve, get the job, the recognition
people will try to step over you to bring you down.

Candidates

Candidates

Candidates for political office champion their country
they are intelligent, honest, patriotic, altruistic
and formulate their intentions for the good of all.
They know they can positively impact the world.

Candidates who run for office seek personal power
they smile, dazzle, promise, attract money
ally their ideas with their monetary political backers.
They sell their own beliefs to glean more votes.

Candidates who run for office pursue ambitious goals
they spout strong selfless ideas within party lines
well-groomed magnetic hawkers for a point of view
they are benevolent puppets maneuvered by phantoms.

Childhood Augusts

Childhood Augusts

On August days Mother canned Colorado peaches, tomatoes, rhubarb jam and sauce,
we devoured garden grown carrots, squash, cucumbers, and tomatoes and more
fresh produce from the Saturday farm market. Mother stood outside early mornings
with hose in hand watering thirsty geraniums in ground and plants in pots.

On August afternoons neighborhood children moved from one backyard to another,
sometimes bored, everything we wanted to do already done, all games played.
Time became heavy, hot pavement scalded bare feet. We still rode bicycles,
camped out sometimes in backyard tents, played marbles, and read under shade trees.

On August nights we stayed up late and watched television from the couch,
yearned for breezes to waft through the screen door, open late into the night.
We slept uncovered and drenched in hot second story bedrooms, windows open,
fan in hallway running on high blowing hot air, whirring us at last to sleep.

On August weekends Dad's auto repair business was slow. So sometimes he took
Saturday off and we packed a picnic lunch, drove to a park and ate by a lake.
On Sunday, after church, we might go to a fair, tend to family graves in cemeteries,
or to visit some of Dad's relatives, as they perched on barstools in a small town tavern.

As August drew to a close, the days became shorter, the heat less intense,
we purchased new clothes and supplies for approaching September school.
My birthday came and went, the city swimming pool closed for the season,
baseballs and bicycles rested, and August came to a quiet end.

I Used to Think

I Used to Think

I used to think age sixty was old
that all successes would come before
but now I realize at sixty I can still
pursue my dreams, attain personal goals.

I realize now my dad was right when
he said old is ten years older than
you are. Thus old is a milestone
I'll not achieve, an age I will never reach.

Childhood Summer

Childhood Summer

In summer I lay in the grass under the tree
in my backyard, read library books gleaned
on weekly expeditions to the library with Mother.
She and I both returned home with a large stack,
and it was such a wonderful feeling to have so many
books and so much time to read.

In summer I rode my bicycle with friends all around
the neighborhood up and down the streets and courts,
even to the nearby shopping center. My parents
did not know my whereabouts but only the time
I would return. I never heard them express any kind
of worry. We all felt so very safe back then.

In summer I played kickball, baseball, and
kick the can. Sometimes starlight moonlight, tag,
stoop tag, and statue maker. We invented our
own game and called it driveway to driveway witch.
We played truth, dare, or consequences, occasionally
dared one another to do mischievous things.

In summer I sat on the front stoop with parents
or friends, told ghost stories in the dark, played
with flashlights, looked for constellations, chased fireflies,
greeted neighbors walking by. Everyone was outside
on hot summer nights keeping cool in the days
before anyone had air-conditioners.

In summer as days became shorter and shorter
thoughts turned to back-to-school and we shopped
for new clothes, school shoes, gym shoes, pencils,
crayons, ruler, and other school supplies. I realized
that my carefree days were coming to an end,
and soon I would trade my shorts for school dresses.

In summer when I was a child I felt very much the same
as I feel now. Summer days were wonderful and long
with their heat and cloudless skies. I loved to rise early,
go barefoot, soak up the sun, savor every moment alive
before the days became shorter and cooler, fall was on
the horizon, and another year of school began.

Just As I Am

Just as I Am

Me, just as I am, is perfect with me.
I feel good, and that is most important.
I can imagine myself anyway I wish
and mostly I visualize myself free
of wrinkles and the loose flesh that is
evident when naked I stand before
a mirror. But what good comes from
being unhappy about appearance?
I cannot change what is. I save my
worry for what I can control.

Vacations

Vacations

When I was a child we took few vacations
because my dad was self-employed, and
if he took off work there would be no money.
Our vacations were short, weekends
away, Friday through Sunday if we were lucky.
No vacations out West, out East, down South.
Holidays in Wisconsin, occasionally adjoining states.

Once we rented a Shawano Lake cottage, and
my dad traveled home to work during the week,
came back to the cottage at night. Mom and I
stayed at the cottage, heaven for a week.
Another time we went to Lake Geneva, and my dad
and I went horseback riding down the main street.

Sometime we visited my mother's sister in Chicago.
They had a small black and white television,
something I'd never seen; and burglar chains on windows;
I saw black people, homeless people, and
drunks on the streets. I couldn't ride my bike
around the block alone, so I read many of my
cousins' Superman comic books and even took
some home.

One summer we traveled to Dubuque, which seemed
so far away from home. Another time to Copper Harbor
Another to Northern Wisconsin. Also Door County.
Every time I stayed in a motel as a kid it was special.
Wherever they were, I always slept well!

How To Frustrate Yourself

One day you decide what you want to do when you get up in the morning
but instead start doing tasks, one after another, that need to be done,
demand attention and time so you never do what you want to do

At night you reflect on your accomplishments, all the important
work you did and go to sleep as you plan what you'll do tomorrow.
Next day you decide what you want to do again after you think of

what you must do first that should take little time but before you know
the day passes and you hope tomorrow will be the day you do what
you want to do.

Apology to Tulip

Apology to Tulip

Tulip, I am sorry I didn't take you for a walk today.
I intended to, but time got away. There were so
many things I had to do. I know they shouldnot
have been more important than you, so I'm so sorry
because you really never complain but just look
at me sometime with disappointment in your eyes
and forgive me each time there is no time for you.

Tulip, I'm sorry I took Violet for a walk, not you.
You know I hardly ever take her for a walk at all
because she is not a diligent walker, prefers
to dawdle and sniff things. Taking her for
a walk is no fun for me, though it is fun for her.
When I had only a few spare minutes today I
walked with her. You watched from the window.

Not the Last Poem

Not the Last Poem

This is not the last poem I will write
no final statement to read at my grave
nothing of great significance to anyone
imperfect, unrevised, rough. Words float
to the page, profound or unpolished,
it matters not, as there will be another poem
tomorrow and tomorrow after that, but someday
I will write the perfect poem to capture my life
will then be able leave this earth satisfied
that I have created the last poem I will write.
No revisions to poem or life possible,
life's work complete.

Dread

Dread

I dread the day I will observe rather than do,
the day I will no longer walk half marathons.
I wonder when that will be when I look at
completions in my age group they number
less than the fingers on two hands,
the next level less than the fingers on one hand.
It seems likely I will not be the exception,
wonder why others stopped competing, whether
it was health, loss of interest, or intimidation
of young bodies running alongside. I wish
for more time, more half marathons ahead of me,
wish I had started earlier when I could achieve
better times than I can now. I dread the day
I will mourn what I could have done but didn't.

Lemonade

Lemonade

I look at my face in the glass and see
contemplation among the condensation
tears for the passage of time,
goals not achieved, projects incomplete,
paintings unstarted, books unread,
life's passage too fast, no time
to do it all, little time to even start.
I raise the icy glass to eye level, then lips
hold it there for a moment, ponder
one more moment the image within,
then drink its sweet essence. That's life.

Lie(s)

Lie(s)

Her conversation begins with a lie
but the Other doesn't know it.
She answers fine to the question
How are you? She is not,
isn't fine at all. The Other is relieved
to hear the expected answer, the one
everyone gives with a smile. Fine,
just fine, fine physically, mentally,
emotionally, fine in every possible way.
The Other says Great to hear, me too.

Food Memories

(1)

Add the smooth biting flavor of plain yogurt
to sweet juicy blueberries in season, stir,
savor with a hot cup of coffee, one dog in lap,
another dog at feet, waiting for me to finish
to be the chosen one to lick the bowl clean!

(2)

Italian-style wedding soup, microwave two minutes,
add veggie slice cheese, top with croutons
heat one more minute, serve hot, accompany
with salad, a simple but pleasant lunch.

(3)

Take one warm tortilla, add cooked chicken,
onions, red peppers, green peppers,
all well spiced. Add shredded cheese,
as much salsa as tortilla can hold,
then wrap tightly, bring to mouth,
bite, taste, and eat with seasoned zest.

I Cannot Escape

I Cannot Escape

I cannot escape the passage of time
I try to fight it, stop it, hold days captive,
stop wheels from forward motion.
I skid, shoes worn, legs scraped,
grip the hands of the clock, try to
reverse their perpetual movement
futile, all is futile. Spring proceeds
to summer, and in a blink it is fall.
I stand stunned, another year older,
breathless, eyes glazed with tears
another summer gone, one less
to live. Where did it go? And why
did I not do all I wanted to do?

Unsympathetic

Unsympathetic

The stench of sweat and cigarette smoke
hangs heavy as I walk past unbathed men
with fetid breath, yellow teeth rotted,
who wait for the shelter to open for the day
I am unsympathetic to their plight, angry
about men who smoke as they claim poverty
cigarettes in hand, money for that, not food.

You Do Not Know

You Do Not Know


Your presence overwhelms
I suffocate when you are there,
you are always there, there is no other
only you, intense eyes, loud voice
commanding attention. You move closer,
speak louder, I try to move, you move too,
I cannot escape, captured again,
fly trapped in web. I flail internally,
smile. You do not know, ever.

Five Shadormas (6-line Spanish poems)

Portland days
warm sunny weather
morning walks
smiling friends
a perfect combination
for enjoying life.

Hotel breakfast
many choices each day
too much food
hard to resist
cups of coffee drunk with friends
after food is gone.

What a treat
to see gigantic
puppets from
Lion King
Michael Curry puppeteer
extraordinaire!

I miss dogs
think of them often
know they're fine
can't help it
long for walks with Tulip and
Violet on lap.

Now we're off
to Portland market
and my quest
for treasure
souvenirs still elude me
this is my best chance.

Today I Left the House Where You Still Are

Today I Left the House Where You Still Are


#1

Today I left the house where you still are.
we've talked, I've listened, we've reasoned.
I've helped as much as I can, have to go now.
In the end it is your life, and I cannot protect
you from the choices you see before you.
I will worry but must trust you'll be all right
for my own good and yours. I will be back.

#2

Today I left the house where you still are
where so much of me remains as well
you both wave and smile in the window
but I know it is hard each time I leave;
I hold back my own tears, struggle to smile
wave long after your image fades away,
fear it could be the last time, wonder if I will
see you again, pray I'll see you another time.

#3

Today I left the house where you still are
it may have been a mistake to come
because I envisioned something different
wished for something better, embraced
the possibility of change. Now I realize
my pictures were unfulfilled hopes
and I'm sad now, stuck with undeniable
reality that really nothing has changed.

Barefoot at Hapuna Beach

Barefoot at Hapuna Beach

Bare feet sink into fine coral sand,
toes touch first, then ball of foot, heel,
sand surrounds, warms them, as they are
embraced by ocean, life, love, everything
good. Sun beats hot. Waves roll in, out,
footprints last only an instant in soft wet sand,
impermanent, unimportant, insignificant
among millions that once were, evidence
of existence erased, as will the imprint
of my life someday be washed away
by waves of passing time, no more relevant
to the world than my footprints in the sand
at Hapuna Beach.

Silence

Silence

Silence is heavy, there are no words.
I elicit conversation, make comments,
discuss the news, television programs,
music, children, work, anything I can think of,
non-threatening, ordinary life, and in response
nothing more than a few words, so I ask
questions, again only a few words,
nothing to grab onto, the ball immediately
back in my court. Silence again.
I give up, turn on the radio, wonder
how there can be so little to say, what
it is like to live in such a silent world.

Let's Play

Let's Play

Let's play
I run
you run
i will catch you
for a moment
we will be free

chase your dreams
enjoy the instant
no worry no care
the days pass fast
you do not yet know
run now.

Not Everyone's Cup of Tea

Not Everyone's Cup of Tea

She is one of a kind. not everyone's cup of tea
is outspoken, tells what she thinks whether
you want to hear it or not. Her energy might
drive you nuts but she keeps at a task
until its completion, can't stand things that don't work,
things that aren't done, dislikes waste of time or
resources, doesn't have to be the best but hates
to be the worst, hates to keep anyone waiting
as much as she dislikes having to wait.
She pours herself into what she does
keeps on track, intolerant of excuses,
an imperfect perfectionist, loyal to a fault
appreciates decisiveness, doesn't miss much
likes to walk, cuts herself no slack, expects
a lot of herself and others, honest rather than
simply kind, her compliment heartfelt, not just words.
She is opinionated, not wishy-washy, sees what you
want to hide, likes you anyway. Not everyone's cup of tea,
but mine.

Death (did not happen!)

Death

Found at the bottom of stairs
twisted body prone, unconscious
surrounded by a pool of blood
from an open scapular wound.

Her death was unexpected
no one knew how or why
she had fallen down steps
in the middle of the night.
where was she heading?
wny? does it matter?

People say at least
there were blessings
she didn't expect to die
died happy as she lived
didn't know what happened
probably was in shock
probably didn't suffer pain
internal wounds invisible
life just abandoned her
to death's silent embrace
she is at peace.

Walk

Walk

You sure walk a lot, the man said.

I stopped with a start, walking,
deep into my afternoon music.
Yes, I said, I do.

I saw you on Alii Drive in the morning.

Yes, I try to walk ten miles a day,
don't always make it.

Last Father's Day I walked twenty-one miles
Just because my daughter and son-in-law
came home from Iraq, safe. I said thank God.

I have a son in law who has been in Iraq twice.
I'm thankful too. I walk half marathons. You?

I never walk any organized events, just walk.
I'm 64, and I can still walk. Praise God.

I'm 62, and I can still walk too.

See you again. God bless.

Cactus

Cactus

I fell in love with a toy fox terrier puppy
the breeder said she never had one
like before. All white with a big
black spot around one of his eyes,
not on her website because
he looked strange. I couldn't get
this little dog out of my mind,
assumed she thought no one
would want this puppy. I thought
about him every day, even had
a boy flower name for him.
Cactus. I knew a third dog
would be crazy, but kept
wondering about the dog labeled
strange-looking. I didn't
want anything bad to happen
to the unusual pup I yearned for.
So I wrote the breeder
inquired about this boy pup,
already Cactus in my mind,
partly hoping someone took him,
mostly hoping no one had.
The letter's answer was
unexpected. The puppy was a girl.
I know it was said to be a boy,
I don't confuse those things,
and it was promised to
the breeder's grandchild.
I was crestfallen, sad there
was never really a Cactus
after all. And I still am.

Avon Lady

Avon Lady

My mother walked neighborhoods
with her large black Avon satchel
filled with lipsticks, cologne, lotions
samples for women to try, beauty
for all, pamphlets with promises.
She knocked on doors, smiled,
braved rejection, next house.
She trudged, bag heavy, smiled,
hoped, sometimes was invited in
with her enchanted bag to enjoy coffee,
conversation, sometimes make a sale.

A good day was the day she made
a sale or better yet two, and she'd
come home happy, spring in her step,
the assurance of a little more cash
in the days money was hard to come by.
Grocery money or new shoes.
Sometimes if I asked her, I could
play with old lipstick samples
pretend to be grown-up, beautiful,
a movie star even, in the days
when my mother who hardly
wore makeup at all sold Avon.

Hard Times

Hard Times

In today's economy,
there is a new kind of thief
middle - aged women who steal
plastic flowers, bows, styrofoam
from graves at Holy Sepulcher Cemetery
times must be tough, so tough
the cemetery, trying to be kind,
told the crafting thieves dashing
from gravestones to getaway cars
arms full of precious plastic wares
they are welcome to take from trash bins
not from graves to make desired decorations
next time I visit a craft show I'll ponder
the origin of the plastic flower displays
sold by sellers with smiles of innocence
picture stealthy clandestine women
who rob graves, ruthless determined crafters
hard times indeed, and pass.

Patriotism

Patriotism

Embrace our country
its imperfections and virtues
side by side good outweighs flaws
its imperfect people so often first
to find a solution, to discover a cure
to offer help, to give refuge
still land of the free, home of the brave
America, sweet land of liberty.

Perfect Moment

Updated for Poets United Poetry Pantry, in honor of the birth
of my 5th grandchild,
Arianna Noelle (above), on December 11, 2011

Perfect Moment

Moment of birth
what was to be now is
potential now existent
dream is reality
tiny hands clasp
toes squirm
eyes open
voice cries out
to greet the world
perfect moment.

Walk

Walk

Walk ten miles a day in Hawaii
difficult, but not impossible
a goal I will strive for, work toward
but I will cut myself slack
if I don't quite make it,
if I miss a day of walking,
or don't walk quite as far.

Nothing good comes from
berating myself for failures
real or only in my mind
so I'll merely commit to try
and that will be good enough.

Rain

Rain

Warm gentle shower
bathes garden with tenderness
soothes and restores
flowers bloom in joy
robins twitter search for worms.

Torrential deluge
pounds flowers to the ground
devastates and soaks
seedlings flood away
even the robins hide.

* * *

On a Day of Rain

Umbrellas dance on sidewalks
shoppers splash from cars
farmers delight as crop grows
roofers face a payless day
museums are crowded
no one plays in the park
road construction stops
baseball games are cancelled
taxicabs dart through the city
teachers bemoan an indoor recess
firefighters of wildfires rejoice
on a day of rain.

Fear of Flying

Fear of Flying

I sit in the plane
wait for takeoff
fidget, distract myself
watch people as they board
study the safety diagram
read the in-flight magazine
page through my book
smile, but the truth is
I am afraid,

The doors close and
the flight attendants
smile, discuss safety
demonstrate equipment
I watch, most don't
I study the plane diagram
plan for a fast exit.

The plane taxis
prepares for takeoff
my hands grip the arm rest.
I glance outside, pray
as the plane's nose rises.
We begin our ascent
slowly, above the airport
the trees, highways, water
everyone is still
most people look relaxed
read or sleep, not me.

The plane levels out
seatbelt signs turn off
I breathe a sigh of relief
hope for non-turbulence
escape into the movie
enjoy my beverage
try to read a book
study my watch
feel powerless each
minute closer to landing.

The pilot's voice announces
Flight attendants prepare
for landing, they take
one more walk through
the cabin, landing gears
crank down, comforting.
We're almost there now
slight turbulence, the plane
bounces its way down, I
hold on, look outside,
pray again, study others,
no one shows fear,
I grip the armrest,' inhale
and hold, we're coming in
to land. Ground, at last.

Movement

(1)

I cannot be still.
always must move something
foot, fingers, legs, mouth.
Movement is life when I'm awake,
exercise of mind is not enough.
If I do not move, I sleep.

(2)

Tulip walks with me
almost three miles a day
powerhouse of energy
loves to walk just to walk
to move just like me.

(3)

It is easy for people to forget
last September I couldn't
turn over in bed, could hardly
get out of bed to move from
bed to bathroom, could not
walk up three steps to the kitchen.
Movement is often taken for
granted but should not be. I know!

Mayonnaise / Hotdogs / Oysters

Mayonnaise


Cold, slippery, slimy creamy addition
oozes out of the jar innocently enough
insidious oily ruination of good food
renders hamburgers inedible
if spread on the bun as they do in Canada.
sickening anywhere if I sense its presence
tolerable in miniscule amounts in egg salad
but please don't add it if you don't have to.
Thank you, I prefer plain.



Hot Dog

Hot dog, I remember the taste
haven't had one in years
meat byproducts do not interest me
no matter how good the taste.



Oysters

Oysters
I bit into one once, unwittingly, at a buffet,
breaded, I thought it was something else,
had it in my mouth, began to chew.
Someone told me it was an oyster
I gagged, spat it on my plate in horror.
Who would voluntarily eat something
that contains every single internal organ?
Not me!

Walker Among Runners

Walker Among Runners


Walker Among Runners,
I stride over the starting mat,
chip activates, half marathon begins
caught in runners' energy I break into a run
my feet pound city streets, hard part first
uphill three blocks my heart pounds
I can't keep this up but I will for now
my knees throb, calves ache, adrenalin flows
I remember last year, thought I'd never finish
if it kept on like this, but I did and I will
keep moving with the swarm, well practiced
alive, I am swept upward past homes on left
lake on the right, then the incline ends
on a county highway farms and fields
not yet planted, I'm walking now
at a fast clip mile after mile watch the gps
keep my pace, walk then run
people ahead of me, people behind me
watch the time, maintain position
maintain pace, drink water, faster now
head downhill, harder than uphill, knees
hurt with each step, don't slow down
two miles to go, residential area again
breathe deep, I'm almost there,
a mile to go, harbor in sight, I can do it
my body feels strong, I, Walker Among Runners,
break into a final run, and finish the race.

Hope

In the absence of hope
there can only be dread
no motivation to arise
nothing to look forward to
nothing to care about
no goal to attain
no future, no dream
only when there is hope
is there a reason
to greet another season.

A Word

A Word

A word seems to be a small thing
sounds captured by a few letters
but its significance is momentous
its influence powerful and lasting.

A word can warm a heart, encourage
make a person glow, try harder,
feel important, loved, appreciated,
and that her presence matters.

A word can devastate beyond repair,
cut deeper than a knife, destroy faith,
shred confidence, deplete ambition.
A word spoken in a second can live forever.

Color of Life / Absence

A Color of Life

Spring leaves burst out on trees
perennials arise from the earth
new lawn ready to mow
hummingbird flutters among blooms
fresh mint tingles the tongue
buds for tart apples form on trees
moss grows, streams flow
life has returned again


Two Short Poems on Absence

*
Absence of words
Absence of thoughts
Absence of spirit
Mind sucked clean
Emptiness remains.

*
Rain today numbs my spirit
dampens motivation
provokes lethargy
I sit, absent, stare
at nothing.

Scar

The Scar

To open a stubborn milk carton
I took a kitchen knife, inserted
blade to pry, but it wouldn't pry
so I took the blunt knife again,
tried to stab the carton open.
It didn't work, so I stabbed even
harder,and it stabbed all right,
ricocheted off the carton and right
into the flesh of my left index finger.

Today I can still feel the unexpected pain
I felt as the knife pierced my flesh, finger burned
throbbed. I looked at it, saw blood and bone,
felt light-headed. It couldn't be my finger.
I acted fast, shocked, put ice in a plastic bag,
a robot, not thinking, held it with a towel,
told my daughters I was going to lie down
but if I passed out they should get a neighbor.

Eventually the ice numbed my finger enough
I felt I could drive without fainting, so I drove
myself to the emergency room where
they stitched my finger and the scar still
exists today; and if I close my eyes to remember
it is hard to believe it happened twenty years ago.

Endings

Today's poem challenge for the last day of April was to write about Endings. (Thank you, Robert, for a great month!) Here's mine:

Endings

I always hope for happy endings
in life or movies or books
someone lives happily ever after
evil is punished, good rewarded
lost child is found
sick child is healed
depression is lifted
every disease has a cure
gun is unloaded
bomb does not detonate
tornado doesn't touch ground
brakes take hold
drowning man is rescued
best candidate wins
most qualified is promoted
good deeds are recognized
a friend is a friend forever
families live in peace
every problem has a solution
if only it were so.

Today's poem was to be a poem on exercise. This would ordinarily be a subject which would inspire me; but yesterday and today I have not felt at the top of my form.....so I can't get into the exercise mood, though I have written on this subject which much more success before.


Walk

heart beats
lungs gasp
mind clears
sweat exudes
feet pound
body moves
feel good
one step
another
walk.

To Sleep, To Dream

The sestina form is complicated. Monday's challenge from Robert of Writer's Digest was to write a sestina, a form in which the same chosen words always end the lines of the poem in a prescribed pattern. The words I chose and used in the predetemined order were:

1. sleep
2. dream
3. content
4. mind
5. dark
6. clock

My poem is below. I am pleased that I accomplished it. Not easy.


To Sleep, To Dream

When I lie down to go to sleep
I always hope to have a dream
head on pillow feeling content
marveling at my peaceful mind
I lie quietly in the tranquil dark
unbothered by the tick of the clock.

As I glance at the face of the clock
I am appalled that I cannot yet sleep
the room comfortable and oh so dark
I am prepared for a pleasant dream
try to conjure visions in my mind
so that I sleep so happy and content.

Despite all I do to invoke pleasing content
I am mindful of the distraction of the clock
and enchanting images do not come to mind
despite all I do I cannot evoke sleep
and if I do not sleep I will not dream
will not find restfulness in the dark.

My thoughts transform from bright to dark
I twist and turn and am far from content
fear a nightmare will supersede a dream
would like to throw the ticking clock.
I struggle and struggle to bring on sleep
but cannot shut off distractions in mind.

I cannot fathom the workings of my mind
which is wide awake now despite the dark
will not turn off and allow me to sleep
continues to race with unpleasant content
as I turn my back on the irritating clock
fear its useless to yearn for a dream.

But then it happens I lapse into a dream
with a gradualness unfathomed by my mind
unaware of the incessant tick of the clock
I float through pleasant valleys in the dark.
happy and relieved and blissfully content
I lapse into an enjoyable night of sleep.

Joyful now I sleep lost in a dream
I feel content with tranquil mind
rest in the dark unaware of the clock.

Cell Phone / Walking the Track

The challenge for Sunday, which had me stymied for a while, was to write a poem in the form of a conversation in which you write only one-half of the conversation. "Inspiration" finally appeared today. Here are two:


Cell Phone

Hi, how are you?
Great,
I'm fine too
Anything new?
Me either.
How's work?
I'm glad
How are the kids?
Good
Glad to hear it.
Call if you want to
talk again.
See you soon.
I love you.
Bye.



Walking the Track

How many laps do you have?
I have 45, 45 to go.
35? You must have more than that.
You started before I did.
Click on another 20 laps.
No, click to 55, that's fair.
I have to grab my water
Hard to walk with so many people.
Oops, someone coming behind.
What are you having for dinner?
Sounds good.
I think we are having taco salad
Glad some people are leaving
Looks like spinning class is beginning
Yes I miss it
Have to get my bike down soon.
I have 75 laps now, and you?
No way, you should have 85 at least.
You're almost done.
Okay we'll walk until my 90
You'll have five-and-a-half miles.
Someone behind us, I'll move behind
Have to grab my water bottle again.
Wonder what we'll have for dessert.

Poems About Work

Today's poem was to be written about a job. I wrote 4 poems related to a job I had for seven summers:

Risky Business

With his key we clandestinely entered
the savings and loan after hours
wanted to borrow a tape recorder
shouldn't have been there, knew it.
About to leave, we heard other voices
in the building. We were not alone,
hid in a closet, dark and quiet.
Afraid we'd be caught, we listened,
recognized the voices of our boss
and one of the directors, rumors of affair
between them proved true. Silent, we
waited until it was safe to leave, left the
same way we came, never said a word.

Father DeGroot

When Father DeGroot came to the counter
almost every teller disappeared, no one
wanted to wait on the strange old priest
who smelled like a stale cigar, had thick
wet lips and a mouth that continued
to chew nothing as deposited his money.


Assistant Treasurer

She sat her desk with mortgage file open,
looked so busy, attended to her work. I thought
she was ambitious, doing important things,
didn't want to disturb her, later found out
she did little, often worked a crossword puzzle
hidden inside the file, carried it with her as she
purposefully walked around.

Teller

My favorite job at the savings and loan
was being a teller, standing at the counter
waiting for the next customer to walk in
the door. When it was not busy we stood,
talked, tried to appear busy until the boss
noticed and sent one or two people to work on
address changes, filing, stuffing envelopes.
Those were good days, long days but
unique, days when I figured out what I
wanted to do and what I didn't, gained
confidence and experience, learned
to drink coffee, worked as an adult
though I still felt I was a kid, made money
and good friends and then moved on.

Cardinal

Tuesday was Earth Day. It's poem had to have something to do with nature. Here is mine:

Cardinal

cardinal serenade in the backyard
beautiful and noisy bird
difficult to see in summer
hiding among the leaves
but easy to spot now...
and wonderful.

First Half Marathon

Today's assignment was to choose a picture and write a poem about it. I chose to write about the Lake Geneva Half Marathon I participated in last year and will do again this year. Except this year Vicki will do it with me. A photo from last year is above. Poem is below.

First Half Marathon

First half marathon
I pound the pavement
thirteen miles alone
I don't know what to expect
how long it will take
how warm it will get
or how lonely
up hills and down
along flat country roads
endless as I walk
wish for company
wish for music
to break the boredom
to keep me moving
no idea of my pace
I just keep moving
keep walking on.
Next year I'll do better.

Aging

Today's poetry prompt was: Write a poem about getting older. I've done that before in the past, but came up with another poem:

Aging

I try not to think future because
that's wishing myself older, and
I don't want to rush through life.
I try to savor every day, or at least
to accomplish something to make
that day count, even if the things
that count are a collection of
small pleasures such as walking a dog,
listening to music, watching a cardinal,
writing a poem, cutting the grass
for the first time of a season.

I have learned Age is relative.
At any given age a person might
be older or younger appearing
or acting than another of that age.
Part of this is under one's control
as affected by healthy eating or
exercise or attitude, but part is
affected by heredity or is just
a crap shoot. So far I have been
lucky, but eventually age catches
everyone. It will catch me. I
cannot escape, don't focus on that.

I Don't Have a Southern Accent/I Just Kind of Looked at Him

Sunday's poetry assignment was to listen to conversations anywhere and then to use a quote from a conversation in a poem. I wrote two poems, one based on the quotation "I don't have a Southern accent" and the other based on "I just kind of looked at him."


I Don’t Have a Southern Accent

She didn’t understand why it was that when she spoke
everyone there turned to stare at her. She speculated
that it must be because says what she has to say was
so interesting or perhaps she was dressed in such a way
that attracted attention. She said, “I don’t have a
southern accent,” so it definitely couldn’t be that!
It was an enigma to her, but obvious to everyone else.


I Just Kind of Looked at Him

When the good-looking man in jeans, t-shirt, and cowboy boots
sat at the next table, I just kind of looked at him, as I thought
he could possibly be a movie star, and I tried to think just who.
I was totally fascinated with his appearance, thought he
probably had a Mercedes parked out front, a beautiful wife
or a girlfriend or two. I just wanted to stare. And did.
When the waitress came to take his order, I watched
and listened, curious what such a handsome man would eat.
He opened his mouth, and oh no, it can’t be, my illusion
shattered, when he opened his mouth he had no teeth!

The day Grandma Died

Saturday's poem was to be one of something that happened to you, but you did not remember.....about something you were told about yourself. I don't know for sure if I really remembered this or was just told it a number of times........

The Day Grandma Died

When I woke up one morning,
my cousin was next to my bed
and I said to him Where’s Mom?
He said to me Grandma died,
and your mom is at her house;
I said Why didn’t she wait until I saw her?

Mya - Five Months Old

Sunday's poetry assignment was to write a poem about love:


Mya - Five Months Old

Love sneaked into my life
when I least expected it
an infant not anticipated.
but welcomed and cherished

Love grew with the days
of holding her, feeding her
looking into her trusting eyes
as she gazed intensely into mine.

Love stayed in my life
even when she was away
sweet essence remembered
potential yet undefined.

There is No Connection

Friday's Assignment was writing using the prompt "There is No Connection...." Here is my attempt:

There is No Connection

Sometimes it appears there is no connection
between the poem I start to write and
the poem I bring to completion
but this is not important, as the valuable thing
is to begin, to write something, to let words flow
to see where they will lead, and eventually I find
I have written what I have been meant to write
and the connection between where I started and
where I ended is clear.

The Race

The Race

The hardest part is waiting
for the half marathon to begin
ten minutes until race time,
loudspeaker blares
runners, find your positions
I pace nervously, watch others
feel the chill in the early morning air
will i be too hot, too cold
should i drink more water
use the bathroom one more time
are my laces tight enough, too tight
is the chip secured
five minutes to go
i study the other racers
firm tanned bodies
trim, sinewy legs
flat abdomens and gluts
how do I compare?
two minutes until race time
I pace back and forth
adrenalin in charge
no turning back
one minute to go
my mind is clear
in my position
poised to go
seconds now
heart beats fast
shoes shift
all is silent
gun cracks
and I’m off!

Palm Spring Follies Reflection

Thursday's poem had to be written in third person.



Palm Springs Follies Reflection

The trim woman in the red gown
strided across the stage, smiled,
glanced out at her audience,
embraced the microphone, began to sing.

Before their eyes her eyes brightened
wrinkles lightened, skin firmed, years
melted away, and as she sang
The Hills are Alive she was once
again the young singer she'd been
as Maria von Trapp on Broadway.

As they watch Anna Marie Alberghetti
now seventy-two years old, with
a presence and demeanor
that belie her seventy-two years
a voice and beauty so alive,

it is hard to grasp the passing of years
how age changes a person outside
but inside they feel the same
and If they close their eyes a moment
lose themselves in the music
they can easily forget their age.

I'm Lost

Today we had to write a "Alfred Hitchcock type poem," a one with a 'twist' at the end. I didn't have much time to do this justice... My futile attempt:

I'm Lost

I'm lost
but don't ever try to find me
because if you do
there will be a surprise
and it won't be pleasant
trust me this time
and imagine.

Insults

Today's challenge was to write an 'insult' poem. This was hard. I am not satisfied with these attempts; but at least I have completed them, and I will have a lot to revise in May:

---------------------------------

Childhood Memory

Is that how they're wearing their hair now?
my aunt asked as she touched my hair.
I don't even remember how my hair was
but never forgot the question, how it made
me feel bad at a time I felt awkward and shy.

I wish now I'd retorted who are they?
and what does it matter? why would I care?
and why do you care? and what is the right
answer to that foolish question anyway?
Instead, I just seethed and hurt inside.

----------------------------------

Heat of the Day

Your stupid big white truck
rested at the busy gas pump unoccupied
as we waited in line behind you to pump gas.

Every other line moved, but ours did not;
behind you we waited baked in the hot sun,
watched you saunter out of the station
at last, with shopping sack in hand,
not a care in the world, oblivious.

When we expected you to drive on,
only then did you begin to pump your gas
filling the gas tank of your big vehicle
after we'd foolishly thought you were done.

When you finished your task,
you climbed in your truck, rested a bit,
right in front of that gas pump,
took a bite of the sandwich in your sack
while we continued to seethe in the midday sun
until your truck slowly, ever so slowly, crawled away.

How My Mind Behaves

Today's challenge was "How ___ Behaves"


How My Mind Behaves

How my mind behaves when
I think about toy fox terriers
is sometimes irrational
but at least I recognize that
and know that in me is
the potential to be a
crazy old woman who
could be ecstatically happy
surrounded by a houseful
of small dogs which
I must always guard against

In The Spirit of Done too Soon

Today's poem had to be based on a song. I didn't have much time to think today, with guests, so I based this on Neil Diamond's song "Done too Soon," and the people who died were some who died in 2007.

In the Spirit of Neil Diamond's Done Too Soon


Luciano Pavarotti, Liz Claiborne,
Beverly Sills, Betty Hutton, Don Ho,
Kurt Vonnegut, Dan Fogelburg
Tommy Makem, Marcel Marceau,

Joey Bishop, Robert Goulet,
Debora Kerr, Merv Griffin
Evel Knievel, Benazir Bhutto,
Anna Nicole Smith, Tom Poston,

Norman Mailer, Lady Bird Johnson,
Ingmar Bergeman,Sidney Sheldon
Molly Ivins, Wally Schirra, Robert Goulet
Charles Nelson Reilly, Boris Yeltsin,

How quickly pass the years
all who died in 2007were children once
growing up with hopes and dreams
looking up into the same sky.

Life is short, moves right along,
doesn't stop for anyone rich or poor
famous or not, it's over for everyone
in a blink of an eye, way too soon.

I'm Sorry

Today's poem challenge was to be an apology:


I'm Sorry

I'm sorry I always had a hard time hugging you
after you rebuked me, as I tried to kiss you,
aren't you too old to be kissing me goodnight,
I never kissed you goodnight again, and I'm sorry as
I don't think you really meant what you said.
I should have got over your words,
somehow pushed them out of my mind
but I couldn't, just couldn't, ever get beyond them
even when I saw signs you wanted to be hugged
but could not reach out to me. I didn't make
it happen, and neither did you. Now I'm sorry.

Fingers

I decided to do another poem from yesterday's challenge...writing about an 'object' that is interesting or often taken for granted. How often does a person really think about fingers? They are something 'taken for granted.' (until something happens to one!)

Fingers

Four knuckled fingers
each with three bones
and patterned ridges
unique prints identifiable
attached to the palm
with ligaments, tendons
blood, strong, functional,
often taken for granted,
neglected, unprotected
beautiful, smooth or wrinkled
gnarled, lined, patterned
useful to manipulate
twist open jar lids, pry
button, unbutton, snap
grasp a utensil or violin bow,
play the piano, clarinet
pull a wagon, zipper, slot machine
type on a keyboard, brush hair
hold a baby's bottle, stroke
a puppy, used daily without
thought, perfected for
their purposes, miracle of
nature, fingers.

Swimming Pool

Today's poem was to be written about something either interesting or taken for granted. I chose to write about the "interesting" swimming pool that is right across from our unit here in Palm Springs, pictured above:

Swimming Pool

I sit in the tan beach chair
overlook the turquoise pool
asymmetrical and inviting
amazingly uninhabited today
surrounded by the pool deck
the deck surrounded by palms
with diamond patterned trunks
fronds that move with the breeze
homes to chirping birds.

Pool water ripples slightly, calls to me
maybe I'll be the sole swimmer today
I put my foot into the water, feel its crisp
coolness, another foot, whole body now,
move in the water, feel alive, feel
the breath of summer, a reminder of
my pool at home and all that is good.

I savor the coolness, the slight chill,
the clear view to the bottom, the breeze,
the sun, the warmth of the air,
and being alive, yes alive, and
swimming in this crystalline pool
free with no cares beyond today.

Palm Springs Oasis

Today's poem is a poem about a place. This is written about the place I am today:




Palm Springs Oasis

Picturesque eden of radiant warmth
paradise among towering graceful palms
brushstrokes of rich rose bouganvillea
white, purple, pink violets and petunias
watered, lush, manicured, rich green,
nine swimming pools, protected enclave,
tennis courts, accessible walking path
with backdrop of San Jacinta Mountains
restful island created out of desert sand.

Present

To write today's poem, one had to choose a word and use it in different forms. I chose the word 'present.' Here's my poem:




Present

Though I may be away from her today
Violet is present in my mind and heart
never an hour passes that I don't think of her
my sweet dog, one of the best presents
life has given me, and I know she will be
ecstatic to see me when we reunite.

She who lives only in the present moment
will not realize how much time has passed
since we were last together, and when
sweet Violet is presented to me at the kennel
in which she temporarily resides she will wag
her tail and wiggle with joy at the sight of me,
not realizing the number of days we've been apart.
and for me there can be no greater joy.

The Buck

Today's poem is based on Frida Kahlo's painting called "Little Deer." This painting would not have been my choice, but I am following the poetry prompts for the month of April, and this is what I came up with:


The Buck

Graceful beautiful buck rules the dense forest
master of its existence, king of its universe
alone many times but periodically seeking
companionship of fellow creatures to drink
together at cool flowing rivers and bed down
on soft grass and fallen leaves, protected
camouflaged from all invaders, safe and warm.

How could it happen that this wild peaceful being
could one day morph into a nightmare creature
with Frida Kahlo's face beneath its regal antlers
and thus be ostracized by the rest of its kind
who didn't understand the hideous transformation
poor lonely buck once proud now pitiful.

In sadness the buck loses his pride and will to live
and one day in fall when man invades his territory
he who usually is swift and proud appears
out in the open before the waiting archers
who take advantage of the unusual situation
and plummet the buck with a dozen arrows
and as the buck leaves this world as blood flows
from him and saps him of all strength and will
he remembers as he dies the days he was
master of his existence king of the universe
and free, yes free.