Possible

Possible

I've decided to give up possible
you might say I've given up dreams
I look instead at what is reality
what is today, and what to do next.

You might say anything is possible
I'll answer: so what did you accomplish
I'll judge by what you achieve
not what it is possible for you to do.

I won't hitch my wagon to your possibility
in an earlier time I might have done that
I'm telling you now I've moved beyond
so look me in the eye with what you do.

This was written for Ella's prompt over at Poets United Thursday Think Tank, where the prompt was possibility.

House

"HOUSE" by Anna Archer

House
The house is so empty with you gone,
the key in the lock is left unturned,
your voice echoes off the bare walls
while your shadow skulks in corners.

I walk and hear your footsteps behind me,
but when I eagerly turn  no one is there.
The sun dances patterns in the hallway
and sometimes the waltz is you.

The floor is marred by dearth of compassion,
rusty door hinges scream  from loneliness,
your chosen paint once bright has peeled to drab,
lamps have no power to illuminate this place.

After the sun goes down for the day
the house, once vibrant with life and voice,
will be  nothing but a decrepit dusty shell.
The house is so empty with you gone.


This poem was written for both Margo Roby's Tuesday Tryouts  (Margo provided us with some Impressionist paintings to write from) and Poetry Jam (Dani gave us various choices regarding paintings, and one of them was to choose a painting as inspiration.)   I chose the painting House by Anna Archer, a Danish artist who lived from 1859-1935.  However, I set the poem in the present day, as the painting (to me) is timeless.  I am also linking to Poets United Poetry Pantry #101.

Turtle Sundae

Turtle Sundae

I seldom eat a frozen custard cone
now that she's gone,
though at least every few days
I drive past Oscar's and
dispassionately look at the flavors,
then just keep driving, not tempted at all.

It's almost as if I've lost my taste,
or maybe the memories hurt too much
of when we used to bike to Oscar's
five miles there, five miles back,
and enjoy a 'sinful' ice cream cone
knowing we biked off the calories and more.

We always used to watch the flavors.
Both of us hated mint chocolate chip
and used to laugh because sometimes
when we were in the mood for ice cream
we'd check and that would be the flavor,
so we'd wait to have ice cream another day.

We both liked caramel cashew.
butterfinger blast, Reese's peanut butter cup,
drumstick, and chocolate covered cherry.
I hated chicolate chip cookie dough,
though she would have eaten it.
But turtle sundae was a taste of heaven.
Turtle sundae was always the best.

So last Sunday when I checked Oscar's flavors
I noticed it was turtle sundae flavor day
so I decided I would indulge for the hell of it
and I brought her favorite dog Tulip in the car
and I ordered myself turtle sundae ice cream
in one of those sinful homemade cones.

And I ate it in the car as I drove home
Tulip beside me, tears falling down my cheeks,
and I didn't care,and I can't even say if I enjoyed it,
but it didn't matter, and I resolved every time
from this day forward that Oscar's has turtle sundae
ice cream as its flavor of the day I will be there.

Brian Miller is doing the prompt over at  Theme Thursday this week.  His prompt is "ice cream."  I will be linking this poem to it whenever Brian puts up Mr. Linky.  Thanks, Brian.

The Long Road

The Long Road


The long and winding road
is often filled with joy,
is sometimes filled with sorrow

but our only choice
is to continue walking
one step, one day, at a time.

For some the road is shorter
ends early and abruptly.

For some the road is longer
even drags on too long.

For most the road has twists and turns,
even switchbacks and setbacks,
but we just must travel on.


This poem was written for Keith's prompt over at Carry On Tuesday, which was "The Long and Winding Road."

The Predator

The Predator

Descending from her cocoon of superiority
she stalked her unsuspecting victim,
then seized his undivided attention.

Skillfully, she pierced his flesh with her flinty stare,
lashed him with her burnished tongue,
brittle as a barnacle.

Her austere demeanor harsh,
she demeaned him
until he faded like drenched chalk,

a jumbled blur on the rough walkway
that she could scrape her heels on
before walking unfeelingly away.

This was written for   The Sunday Whirl where we were challenged to use these words:  scrape, tongue, brittle, austere, barnacles, drenched, chalk, flinty, blur, burnished, cocoon, rough.   I also linked it to Poets United Poetry Pantry #100.

(As an aside, I had fun choosing  a picture for this poem.  I had no idea what I would find when I did a google search for 'female predator.'  I had SO many 'interesting choices.' LOL.)

Carnival Nights

Carnival Nights

There was something so alluring
about looking at the carnival guys,
the ones who worked the rides:
the ferris wheel and tilt-a-whirl,

They were handsome usually
with black jeans, white t-shirts,
hair jet black, greased, greasy,
distracted uninvolved, unsmiling
;
but they made us dream of
what would it be like to travel
with the carnival, stay a few days
in every city, then move on.

No roots, no home except a trailer,
no life beyond the tilt-a-whirl
ever moving, faster and faster
as we all screamed in delight

and fell in love with the unattainable,
the cute carni guy and the life
we thought we might have wanted
(but knew we really didn't)

as we went round and round again
on those hot summer nights
when we were young and romantic
and dared to dream hot, wild dreams.

Claudia today, over at dVerse, has challenged us to write about 'the fair.'    Anyone else attracted to those Carni guys who really were not your type at all?

Memorial Day

Memorial Day

Sometimes we need
to be reminded
to just pause and think of
all who served
their country
with honor
and even died
for the right
on behalf of us all.

Sometimes we need
to be reminded
of all those who serve
quietly with honor
behind the scenes
day after day
fulfilling their duty
in case they're called
to battle again.

Sometimes we need
to be reminded to
honor our veterans
and current armed forces
and not only picnic
and go to the beach
on Memorial Day.

This poem was written for Ella's prompt at Poets United Thursday Think Tank.   The prompt was "Honor."  I also linked it to Imaginary Garden With Real Toads Open Link Monday.  Also to dVerse Poets Memorial Day Prompt.

Cats and More

A Wisconsin bobcat

Cats and More

This morning when Tulip barked outside

I looked in the direction she was looking

saw a big cat dart into the woods,

larger than a feral cat

bigger than a house cat, I think, but

am not one hundred percent sure

as it happened so fast

I didn't have time to focus

so I googled to find out if any big cats

lived in this area

and found there is a slight chance

it could be a bobcat,

the only big cat possible

so I emailed a wildlife biologist

who'd know aabout bobcat sightings

and I hope to hear tomorrow

but today I won't be walking dogs

on the path that leads into the woods

and I remember the days my mother feared cats

and when she visited a neighbor across the street

before she walked home so that I would walk with her

in case there was a cat lurking in the dark

and when I slept on a couch at a friend's house

and the cat stood on the couch back and

kept wagging its tail over my face

and when I changed position

so did the cat, and if I lay on my side

and looked at the floor the cat

would be on the floor looking

straight into my face

and I never was a big fan of cats

partly because of my mother's fears

and partly because I was horribly allergic

and I remember when I stayed in

a B & B in Stratford, England,

in the middle of the night I had to get up

and put my head totally out of the window

because my chest hurt so bad

and I could hardly croak out a breath

as the owners had a cat

so tomorrow I will find out if it is possible

for me to have seen a bobcat

and I don't know what to hope for,

as it would be exciting to have seen one

but then again if it WAS possible

it will stop my woods walks.

Victoria, at dVerse Poets Pub, challenged us to write a stream of consciousness poem.  This is the result.

Discourse on Self

Margo Roby had an interesting prompt over at Tuesday Tryouts.  She included a number of quotations about "Self" (go take a look), and asked us to select one or more and write a poem, a Discourse on Self.  Oddly, the quote I initially selected ended up not fitting the poem I wrote, so I went back and selected a few more that might come a bit closer to fitting:

"I know that I exist; the question is, what is this ‘I’ that I know?" (Descartes, 1641)

"People often say that this or that person has not yet found himself. But the self is not something that one finds. It is something that one creates." [Thomas Szasz The Second Sin Doubleday 73]


Discourse on Self

Who I am today
is who I was born to be
based on my
physical, mental,
psychological, environmental
limitations

influenced by who I decided to be
who I pretended to be
and then became
and the stranger I am
who surprises
delights
enlightens
frightens me

and those who touched my life along the way,
those who believed in me, guided me,
loved me, laughed with me
as well as those who scarred me,
ignored me, disparaged me, and
tried to tear me down.

Who I am is who I always was,
who I became, am today,
and who I will be tomorrow.

Friends in Deed

Friends in Deed

Do you have friends, my son?

     I have friends on the bus
     they poke me with pencils
     hit me with their backpacks
     push me hard to move me along
     .....will not sit with me.

     I have friends in my class
     they won't line up behind me
     move their desks away from mine
     headlock me in the bathroom
     laugh when I answer a question
     tell me I smell
     mock me
     .....will not work with me.

     I have friends on the playground
     they don't want me on their team
     ignore me if I try to play
     call me lame, a retard, stupid
     hit me to try to make me fight
     laugh at my clothes, my face
     .....will not talk to me.

But are these friends, my son?

  If they're not friends, Dad, I have none.

This was written for my prompt over at Poetry Jam, where the prompt was "Bully."  I have seen the movie, and I wrote the poem pretty much based on one of the young men who features prominently in the movie. I hope some of you who read this poem will venture over to Poetry Jam and write your own poem on the subject.



   

Don't Notice Me

Don't Notice Me

I don't want to get to school early,
please drive around the block again
until the bell rings and I can go inside
and then fade  into my desk.

I hate recess more than anything,
don't want to walk around by myself.
I want you to notice me, but then again
I don't. Don't see me. Please see me.

I don't know why I feel different
why making friends is so hard,
but I am afraid of something
and really don't know what.

I want to be in the background,
the only place I can thrive, so
please don't call on me in class;
I know, but I don't want to speak.

I don't know who I can talk to
I don't know who will talk to me
I don't know why I am so scared,
I wish I wasn't.  I just am.

This was written for  Margo Roby's Tuesday Tryouts.  She asked us to write about one of our earliest memories.  I was such a shy child throughout elementary school.  I really do NOT know why, only that it was excruciatingly  painful. Those of you who were not 'shy' children probably cannot imagine.  I really didn't 'turn around' until I was in college.   It is also fo submitted for dVersePoets Open Link Tuesday.

There's Always Tomorrow

There's Always Tomorrow

Today will come

today will go

I may  accomplish a miracle today

but if I don't

I may tomorrow, as

after all, tomorrow is another day.

This very short poem was written for Carry on Tuesday.  Sometimes brevity is good, don't you think?Remember last week?  Keith was wondering whether or not to carry on.  Many of us are heartened that he has decided to continue.  The prompt this week was "After all, tomorrow is another day." I DO believe in miracles, don't you?  If you have found my post somehow, why don't you visit Carry on Tuesday and link your own poem.  And while you are there, take a look at some of the other entries!

Lesson of the Crocuses

Lesson of the Crocuses

In the midst of life's secret stillness
a marrow of massive grief still flowers
from heart to head to hands to hips
and is not deterred by clatter of day;

but then I ponder the yellow crocuses
so delicate, so alive, so beautiful,
in the garden just beyond my window:
perhaps beauty can still be savored.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl: Wordle 57.  The words to use were  hips, marrow, crocuses, stillness, massive, secret, flower, grief, window, perhaps, hand, clatter, colors.  I used them all.

A Masterpiece

A Masterpiece

Give me a hammer and chisel
so I may fashion you a body,
the kind you wish to have.

I'll assemble the parts together
[trunk, head, arms, and legs]
using soldering iron and screws;

and when I finish sculpting
I'll pump oxygen into your lungs
as my generator begins to regulate
the rhythm of your newly beating heart.

But then I'll turn your life to you
to find someone to warm that heart,
a person to hold your hand, most of all
to give you reason to be alive.

Written for dVerse Poetics: Tools of the Trade, where we were challenged by Karin  to write a poem involving a craft.

Two Sides of the Coin

It used to be both sides of the coin were balanced;
he had his areas of expertise, she had hers,
he pursued his interests, she hers,
and many passions were enjoyed together

..until the diagnosis,
..until both lives changed,

until he started forgetting, repeating
but didn't know what he forgot, repeated,

and he was angry, not at himself but her,
frustrated with what he could no longer do
when he remembered what he could do,

and if he could not find something it became her job
so she searched until she found what he misplaced,

and if he wanted to go somewhere she went with him
and drove as he told her how to drive;

and her life became his life and she traveled his path
forfeited her own path, tried hard not to resent,
knowing that this day was the best it would be,
that his road would spiral slowly downward.

It was not easy for her when he was distraught,
angry, confused, in pain, as she had to hold it together
for both of them, bridle her tongue when she wanted to scream.

She held back her tears when she wanted to weep, took over
everything ever so subtlety, bolstered him, cared, held hands.
She could not crack, would not crack, must smile...exhausted.

He did not see how hard it was for her,
could not know as he was caught in a disease
which is a one-way street, one which had stolen
the ability to see both sides of the coin.

She was cursed to see each side, her task to balance both,
to keep his side brightly polished with a smiling face
resigned to brighten her side as best she could
as his side demanded more and more attention
                ........and yet more.


This poem was written for my "Mary's Mixed Bag" prompt over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads. It came to me today after I had put the prompt ("Two Sides of the Coin") up. Often I have an idea ahead of time what I will write for a challenge I come up with. This time I did not.  This poem that "arrived" surprised me, as I had been mulling over different ideas.  Suddenly I thought of how the lives of my neighbors have changed since the husband was diagnosed with Alzheimers. However, I think SHE realizes it more than he does many days.  And THAT became the subject of this poem.  I decided not to search for a picture to accompany this poem, though one can find many.  Many of us can probably put a 'face' on Alzheimers.

Forest

Forest

Forest
dark and silent
walk quietly
do not disturb
my reverie.

My mind wanders
as I walk
the path which
leads between
trees that bend
into me
hold me tight
in strong arms

My life is
wooded green
mellow
shielded by bark
with deep roots.

This poem was written for Peggy's prompt "Forest" over at Poetry Jam.  Check out the site and write and link your own poem!    Also submitted to Open Link Monday - Real Toads.

Time to Say Good-bye

Time to Say Good-bye


When is it ever the right time to say good-bye?
If truth be told, none of us enjoy them, but

when someone suggests saying good-bye
I wonder who wonders what he might have done

to make the good-bye unnecessary or who
just moves on without even a second thought.

Keith, over at Carry on Tuesday is thinking about discontinuing his prompt site. What may be his final prompt is "Time to Say Good-bye."    I am going to link this short poem, written to that prompt,  to his site, but I also made a comment over there as well, if anyone is interested in checking it out.  If these sites 'die,' just who is responsble?  And do we care?  I personally find it sad. I will say that.  I am also linking this to Real Toads Open Link Monday because I think it addresses a problem we have seen / do see/ will see again elsewhere in Blogland. 

Untitled Wordle

Untitled Wordle

 

Indigenous people have their rituals

some worship sacred goddesses

some fear demons of significance

their flags hang on high poles

with strong strings at the summit

history has elaborated on their intentions

but has not always judged them kindly.

 

The following words were suggested for The Sunday Whirl #56: 

indigenous, significance, goddess, sacred, demons, visit, rituals, summit, elaborated, intention, flags, string.

Where the Wild Things Are

From Maurice Sendak's book Where the Wild Things Are

Where the Wild Things Are

 
Where the Wild Things Are
is in a corner of my mind
I seldom visit, except on
desolate and dark nights
when I'm drawn to explore
the twists and turns of
musty magical hallways
where the bogeymen lurk
and ferocious-looking beasts
with yellowed jagged teeth
lie in wait ready to pounce
when their noses catch my scent.

But I'm not powerless
in the face of malevolence;
in fact, I am always prepared
with my cardboard armor
and my plastic sword
and a few magic potions
to toss at their faces
to render the fearsome invisible,
if all else fails. The Wild Things
are no match at all for me.

RIP Maurice Sendak (1928-2012), author and illustrator of Where the Wild Things Are.    This is posted for dVersPoets, which is honoring Maurice Sendak today.

To a Midwife

Photo by Peggy Goetz:  Village Midwife, Mountains of Honduras

To a Midwife

You gave me my life
were Mother's only help
during those dark hours
I struggled to be born.

Your face tells the story:
many lives saved,
some lives lost.
I see your strength
and determination
beneath your sorrow
and exhaustion.

Old now, you still persevere
because you cannot stop;
birthing is your calling.
More children to be born,
always more children,
but there is no one else
to take your place.

When you hear the knock
you know someone needs you,
take your satchel and go,
even in the middle of the night
when you were dreaming dreams
of  long ago when you were young,
carefree, embracing life all ahead of you
     before you lost your baby
     who struggled to be born,
     and there'd be no more
          before you cried for days
          weeks, and still often
          sob in the night alone.
                 You grieve still,
                  but you are strong.

You always heed the call.
determinedly do the best you can
for mothers, watching fathers
who stand by to help,
but especially for the babies,
yes, the babies.
You wait for their cry
of new life, all is well.

You're considered mother by many,
grandmother by many more,
great-grandmother now, and
though you would like to slow down,
          you cannot,
          will not.
You have mastered your trade,
and there is no one else.

This poem was written for the picture prompt at Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads.  The pictures to choose from this week were those of the talented photographer (and poet) Peggy Goetz, whose work I have long admired!

Wirelessly Wired

Wirelessly Wired

Wired
I am so wired
Computer, my main source,
would go crazy without it
first thing in the morning
last thing at night
email, blogs, prompts
what's up on Facebook
any new movies
check and check again
don't miss anything
might be something new
wirelessly wired.

Wired
I am so wired
add an iPad
Emails there too,
blogs, movies, games
apps and more apps
always in touch
can't beat my Luxor level
lost two hundred fifty times
should give up, find a new game
but I'm hooked, wired
wirelessly wired.

Wired
I am so wired
add an iPhone
Emails, texts
an occasional real call
camera, music
so much on the cloud
I am connected
every hour of the day
wirelessly wired.

Thanks to Chazinator over at dVerse for his prompt Machine Dreams.

The News

The News

I watch the news
mindlessly most often
just background noise
like all other programs
but this week ears perked up
new terrorist bomb potential
plans to bomb a US-bound plane
I watch now
with rapt attention
and new fears.

Written for Poets United Thursday Think Tank where the topic is NEWS.

I Wish I Were Blind

I Wish I Were Blind

 
I wish I were blind
to things I see,
as what I see
I've tried to change
for years,

but have failed miserably
(it is not my life)
as everyone would have
(trust me)

and it eats at me
even though I tell myself
I am not responsible
(I am not in charge)

but I see and I remember
and some days it kills me
(oh that I would be blind)

and though I wish I could change it
know it will never be different
(I wish I had more faith)
which makes me cry,

and I wonder where
the blind could lead the blind.

This was written for the Poetry Jam prompt by Mary Mansfield, which was "blind leading the blind."  Please take a look at the entire prompt and other poems written to this topic!  I am also sharing it with   dVerse Open Link Night.

Finis

Finis

There is always a hook of a chance
when planets align on a cobalt clear night
the earth will vibrate, grind to a halt
then wink at us, finality emerging,
a print on the horizon, a dot in the universe
so much contrast before the world
simply, without fanfare, ends.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl #55.  The words we were to use were  cobalt, align, hook, vibrate, print, grind, contrast, emerging, chance, clear, dot, wink.  I found this week's words difficult.

Longing

Longing

I long to see the sea once more
leave my footprints along its shore
run my fingers through sun-warmed sand
and embrace sea shells in my hand as the waves roar.

I want waves to entwine my feet
to savor ocean's rhythmic beat
then raise my arms high to the sky
pretend to be a butterfly, heaven to greet.

I wrote this in response to Kerry's Mini-Challenge over at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.  She presented the "Florette" form.  To find out more, check out the link!

I Am A Rock / Hello in There

#1    I am a Rock


I am a Rock, the Lady in Red,
Proud Mary sitting in the Fields of Gold
wishing for you to Play Me
and Light Up the Night
before they Roll Me Away
Over the Rainbow to a place where
Big Girls Don't Cry.

I Have a Dream you'll appear
On the Wings of a Dove or
in the flames of a Candle in the Wind
in the Early Morning Rain
and leave with me On a Jet Plane
and take me Halfway to Heaven
Where Peaceful Waters Roll.


#2  Hello in There

Hello in There!
When You Walk Away
Will You Remember Me sometime
In Your Wildest Dreams or
was I just Another Suitcase in Another Hall
or one of those Friends in Low Places
you found before you decided to
Say Good-Bye to it All, An Innocent Man,
Insensitive, claiming Infatuation,
making me Invisible, A Fly on the Wall,
with your Fistful of Love, leaving me crying
The Fool on the Hill.

I Gotta Feeling that Someone Like You
is Always Chasing Pavements
and for you it was Just Another Saturday Night
and I'm left Missing You
for The Longest Time
though you're Long Gone
and Everybody Knows
That's No Way to Say Good-bye.
I Hate Myself for Losing You
but that's The Name of the Game,
and I know It's Too Late, but now
there's only one thing I want to know:
How do you Keep the Music Playing?

I wrote these two poems for the  dVerse Poetics .  The prompt was music, and I had a lot of fun writing this poem. All of the italicized words are song titles, in case anyone did not guess.  They were from my iTunes library!  I also submitted it for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

On the Road

On the Road

On the road again
One more lonesome time
I'm takin' to the road
to find my place in the sun
gotta find the dream again
the one I lost back when...

I've got my bag packed
a map in my hand
my dogs and my backpack
lookin' for a new home
gotta find the dream again
the one I lost back when...

I don't know where I'll go
but know I have to leave
I've outstayed my welcome
know it's time to move on
gotta find the dream again
the one I lost back when...

I know roads lead somewhere
all destinations are unknown
but I'm on my way somewhere
anywhere will be okay
gotta find the dream again
the one I lost back when...

This was written for Kerry's Challenge "On the Road" over at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.

Everybody Knows

Everybody Knows
Everybody knows that luck can change
Everybody knows present is influenced by past
Everybody knows what goes up comes down
Everybody knows fame does not last

Everybody knows everything ends
Everybody knows that every person will die
Everybody knows the best are not always elected
Everybody knows that people lie.

     But what good really grows
     from what everbody knows?

Everybody knows many who win are not worthy
Everybody knows that no one escapes age
Everybody knows right is an individual judgment
Everybody knows all paths lead to the last page.

Everybody knows peace will be elusive
Everybody knows that dreams die hard
Everybody knows spring leads to summer
Everybody knows the joker's a lucky card.

     But what good really grows
     from knowing what everybody knows?

Everybody knows that children grow
Everybody knows flowers eventually bloom
Everybody knows beloved pets will die
Everybody knows there's no man in the moon.

Everybody knows friendships may end
Everybody knows love may not last
Everybod knows so much is in the cards
everyone knows life goes way too fast.

     But what good really grows
     from knowing what everybody knows?

This poem was written to my own prompt over at Poetry Jam.  The prompt was "Everybody Knows," based on the song of the same name by Leonard Cohen.