Sometimes I Pretend

Sometimes I Pretend


Sometimes I pretend
I live in a world where
everything I want
is possible. If I snap
my fingers, what I desire
will happen. Miracles
are possible in my
lifetime, in her lifetime,
in my fantasy world.
Sometimes I believe.

Poetry

For "Poetry Tow Truck"



"Poems are made by fools like me,
but only God can make a tree."
Joyce Kilmer

Poetry
Poems begin as images in mind but
are transposed onto paper, not only
made through ingenuity, but with help of God.

By now I question inspiration and wonder can
fools write poetry, can anyone choose to make
like they are a writer and decide to create a
me which can conjure magic from a tree?

Bitter Lemon

(Written for Poets United)

Bitter Lemon

I do not mean to complain
but I didn't need the lemon
you presented me yesterday
your legacy disguised as a gift.

I would prefer a sweet strawberry
a blueberry to melt in my mouth
a papaya to tantalize tastebuds
or a tangy tropical tangerine.


You chose to give me a lemon
with no sugar, bitter like you
Today I choose to give it back along
with durian fruit hand picked for you.

(Durian fruit below)




Wikipedia article about durian fruit

Crimson Winds

Crimson Winds
Crimson winds begin and end in cool dark pits
when children eat the soft peppermint grass
that grows in the place smoke blows dark

before the sun takes flight from asphalt.
The sidewalk knows white arrows burn slowly
that chalk is measured in soft blackness

Safety

(for We Write Poems)

Safety

Safety an illusion
nowhere is safe
danger lurks around corner
hides under your bed
lifeboat does not inflate
pseudo friend betrays you,
sneers in your face
bombs threaten
gun control fails
telephone rings bad news
thief steals money
deceiver steals pride
9/01 happened once
can happen again
cancer cells lie in wait
you trip on black ice
semi's brake fails
wrong place wrong time,
you are not immune to harm
cannot escape fate.

Recalled to Life

Recalled to Life


In the distance peals a bell,
be silent so I can hear.
Am I being recalled to life
bleakness claimed too long?
If so, I pray I'll heed its chime
consider its message true
harken its insistent knell:
Life is to live, please do.

Truth Be Told

Truth Be Told

If you cannot write your truth,
write nothing at all.

She told me she hated me,
for two years she hated me,
but she didn't believe in hitting
someone when she was down.

She told me I was self-centered,
selfish, not her kind of person.
I wish I knew that earlier,
wouldn't have wasted time..

I didn't think to tell her I was
so self-centered I hardly had
time for me. I wish I had.
I'm  glad I called her a BITCH.

If you cannot write your truth,
write nothing at all.

Amen

Poets United Prompt

Amen

Amen
so shall it be
sounds simple, peaceful;
yet is so complex
should give one joy
but it is hard to let be
when one wants to scream
to the heavens: damn you,
why does it have to be this way?

Isolation

(Poetic Asides - prompt:  Isolation)

Isolation

I feel the isolation this winter
don't have energy to see people
spend most time alone and with
a three-year-old granddaughter

who does not demand much of
me except a cuddle, a hug,
a book read, and today she said
to me that she could help when

she was older, and I said maybe
someday she would be a nurse.
but meanwhile I feel bad for her
because we cannot walk dogs,

will not be able to swim, but she's
adjustable and will take from life
what comes her way and will not
know what she misses, but I will.

And I know what I miss too. And
if only if dogs could go for a walk,
if only prayers were answered, and
and, if only, if only she could talk.

Sadness

Sadness

Sadness permeates everything I do,
though I am proficient at feigning
happiness at times, but when I smile
it is through sadness, feels unreal,
forced, the smile a Halloween disguise.
My face cracks as I try hard to get beyond
the hurt under the surface, under my tears.

In a Thousand Years

In a Thousand Years

A thousand years from now
it will not matter that I lived,
that you lived. Our lives will

be as inconsequential in
history as the life of the
nameless Viking of 1011.

Who will study the wars
we fought, music we played,
foods we ate, art, homes

we lived in, the technology
invented to make life easier,
but so primitive to life in 3011?

Which countries will be powerful
in a thousand years, or will we
humans, by then, exist at all?

If I Squint My Eyes

If I Squint My Eyes

 I don't know where you are
you seem to have disappeared
and I too am invisible but

the sun shines today
so maybe you will find me
and maybe I will discover you

in the cloudless sky
things are as they were
if I squint eyes tight enough

the snow will melt and
it will be summer again so
we will swim in crystal pool

as Black Eyed Peas serenade
in the background until we
drown in the sea of silence.

Shadow

I am sharing this for both Poets United (prompt - Shadow) and Big Tent Poetry. 

Sorry, Big Tent, I did try to think of 'happy endings,' and wouldn't it be nice if there always was one? And while everything is going well we can believe in them.  But sometimes, truth is... there is no relief.  Sometimes life just IS.  And that is the 'stuff' of my poetry at the moment, which cannot conjure the sun.

Shadow

Trapped in shadow seeking sun

I wonder if I will see light again.
I fear I am destined to lurk
in dark places until the end of time.

Will shadow become home?
I dread this, though it is likely.
My destiny is fixed now that we
can no longer communicate.

Hell for me who hates silence
and did everything to avoid it.
You knew it, with your many stories,
many words. We were never silent.

Now we are surrounded by silence,
your unwilling silence and mine
that screams out in shadows,
and I wonder if this is God's justice,

His punishment for an unknown sin.
I pray it isn't so, but is it? I choke,
trapped in shadow looking for sun.

Triptych Poem

Triptych Poem

 

Heaven, earth, man

beauty, bounty, brains

safety, savior, saved

blameless, blamed, blamer

spirit, splendor, spacial

perfection, perfected, imperfect

bliss, blessing, blessed

love, loved, lover

heaven, earth, man.

This poem was written for We Write Poems.

Where am I?

This poem was inspired, in part, by the poem Days of Me by Stuart Dischell, includd in his book Live Safe.

Where am I?

When someone says they miss me
I think how much I miss me too

The me who laughs, smiles,
stays fit, tries different restaurants,
takes little journeys, walks the dog,
goes to the zoo with grandchildren,
thinks what to do the weekend.

The me who thinks deeply, reads,
philosophizes, writes poetry, thinks
about other people, socializes
instead of  spending time alone,
thinking people are too much work.

The one who looks in stores for fun,
thinks of creative things for kids to do,
sous chef rather than main chef, helper
not one who does all, the one who
prefers to listen more than talk.

When someone says they miss me,
I think how much I miss me too.

Less Than Logical

Inspired by Big Tent Poetry: I am really not a fan of wordles, but in some ways they intrigue me.  I listed the words in random order and then used them, in that order,  to write a poem.  With wordles that I write, I am always surprised myself to see what results  Here is what I came up with this week:



Less Than Logical


How do I handle
the blade of a knife
when the angle begs me
to rotate it and dig in hard?
There is a remote chance
I will grind the blade dull
against uncuttable stone
contrary to its function,
hide it in the china cabinet
alert enough again to  float
above the abyss, darkening,
into oblivion, resistant to logic,
not unlike this poem!



Bucket List

Bucket List

 I have no bucket list.
I've done all I wanted,
more than I dreamed.
My wish now is only
for simple things, too simple
to mention. You'd laugh.
A person doesn't realize
their importance until
one doesn't have them.
Fame, fortune, possessions
all pale before simple things
when they are out of reach.
No one realizes this until
it is almost too late.

(For We Write Poems)