Buttons

Buttons


He knew all the right buttons to PUSH,
and he PUSHED them again and again:

     She looked so fat in that dress;
     her hair style was out of date.
     The lamb shank was overcooked;
     she had the brain of a canary.
     Their house was always a mess.

     She didn't talk enough, talked too much,
     ate too much, drank too much,
     laughed too loud, snored too loud,
     drove too fast, drove too slow.
     If he didn't marry her, she'd be an old maid.
   
He knew all the right buttons to PUSH,
and he PUSHED them again and again
until the day she PUSHED him downstairs
and then.........she PULLED the trigger.

This was written for dVerse Poets Pub, where Brian Miller was 'tending the bar' and talking about BUTTONS!  It is shared also with Poets United Poetry Pantry #105.
 

Patriot

This young Canadian of 21 years old
served, died in Afghanistan in 2008.

Patriot

The young soldier served his country with pride.
His appearance and performance were impeccable.
A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky...
and a shower of shrapnel struck him down.

**      **     **     **     **

(If anyone wants to read about the pictured soldier, here is his story:  Calgary Mourns Soldier With "Unlimited Potential."  He joined the military in order to protect his country.  He was scheduled to return home 10 days after he was killed.)

**

This "Koan" was written for Kerry's mini-challenge at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  We were challenged to write a poem in the style of a Chinese Koan Poem.

Line 1: The first part makes a statement about one's subject.
Line 2: Continue to describe the subject of the poem with a new image:
Line 3: Start a new subject. The third line of traditional Koan poetry leads the reader away from the subject of the first two lines into a completely unrelated topic.
Line 4: Relate the lines. The fourth line unites the themes of the first three lines. Think of it as a circle that comes back.

Once Upon a Time

Once Upon a Time


Once upon a time
I believed good would always triumph
evil would always be punished
honesty would be rewarded, and
if I tried hard,
did the best I could,
went to church,
said my prayers,
lived by the golden rule,
I would live happily ever after
with the frog who turned into the prince.

Then I grew up
encountered the real world
where goodness was resented
or passed over by those
with the right connections
or was taken advantage of
by people with a hard luck story;
and people ignored the face of evil
or used it to their advantage
if something was in it for them;
and doing the best one could
was replaced by trying to get what one could
without paying the price and finding
someone else to foot the bill
meanwhile bilking the system
feeling entitled.

Churchgoing became infrequent,
and prayers became passe,
and the golden rule applied to others,
and happily ever after ended
when the forever love walked away or
when someone who should have lived died;
and frogs just stared with buggy eyes.

This was written for two prompts. One was Dani's prompt at Poetry Jam (Mood Swings). She challenged us to write to a particular 'mood.' The mood of my poem could be categorized as either realism or cynicism, however you take it. It is also written for Ella's prompt at Poets United Think Thursday ThinkTank. She challenged us to write a 'fractured fairy tale.' This is what came to mind.  Please pay a visit to both sites to see what others have come up with.

Who Am I?

Who Am I?

I am me as you see me:
     You look at me through your eyes,
     see me through your perspective.
      you are biased, see through your own lens.
      The me you see may or may not be me.
      But you think you know me.  Bless you.

I am me as I see me:
     I see me through my mind's eye,
     view me from my own perspective.
     I am biased, cast myself in good light.
     I am a good, reasonable human being. 
     I love myself as I understand me to be.

I am me as I am:
     I am who I am, who I am in fact.
     I am  reality without lens or light.
     I do not hide, mince words, deceive.
     I acknowledge the malevolent, benevolent.
     I am truth, impartial, real.


This poem was inspired by Kerry's Challenge at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  She asked that we use a quote from Shakespeare for inspiration.  The quote I used by Shakespeare was:

“There are three people in yourself: Who people think you are, Who you think you are, and Who you really are.”

I tried to locate the quotation's exact source, but could not.

Life As It Is

Life As It Is

I tried to build you up
as you sought to destroy me

I wonder if this is rare
or more common than I imagine

I do know you failed
though I can't say I don't hurt

In the end it is your loss
at least I tell myself that

My life will go on
but I will miss you.

I wrote this for Poets United Vice/Versa.   We had to use the words (antonyms):  build & destroy; common & rare.  Take a look at the site, and join in!

Readers:  I am sorry for so many downer poems. It is the way I deal with things sometimes.

The Dreams of Childhood

My granddaughter

The Dreams of Childhood

My granddaughter dreams
she will grow up to be a princess
as well as a nurse,
live in a Hello Kitty house,
have a Hello Kitty car

      and as dreams go, why  not?

Dreams are for the young
when fact and fantasy blend,
what one hopes can come true
and every girl can be a princess
and every boy can be a prince

     and as dreams go, why not?

This was written for Carry On Tuesday # 161, where Keith presented us this quote by Charles Dickens to write to:  "The dreams of childhood - its airy fables, its graceful, beautiful, humane, impossible adornments of the world beyond ; so good to be believed in once, so good to be remembered when outgrown."  Thanks, Keith!

While Drinking Jasmine Tea

While Drinking Jasmine Tea

Outside my window and only at sunset
demons scrap and whistle and dance,
hideously trapped in their shadowy domain
which has ample space to display flawed lives.

I watch and listen to the ethereal exhibition
as my mind records a montage of images
sets them in granite.  I drink jasmine tea
as I await sundown when they fade away.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl - Wordle #62, where the words to use this week were:  jasmine, demons, window, scrap, ample, montage, flawed, granite, trapped, whistle, domain, sunset.

If Only (Alternate Title: It's Over)

If Only (AlternateTitle:  it's Over)

She stood in front of me as I sat
     (I should have stood, I know now,
     but it really wouldn't have changed things)
and her  hot words cascaded out
faster than molten lava could flow:

     Gotchayafrickin you-you-you
     whatyadid, didn'tdowhatyou should
      youonly, youonly, yourfrickin...

Still I sat, dumbstruck, hearing
allIhadnotdone, allmyfailings,
blind-sided as I thought all was fine
     (I had been so happy)
realizing what I didn't want to know
that once the hot lava flow begins,
once the volcano erupts
after its period of dormancy
     (ha, foolish me to have believed
     it wouldn't erupt again)
there is no turning it back.

I tried to speak anyway
to explain, to show, stay calm,
calm despite onslaught
though tears streaked my face
though my heart already knew
words to be useless:

     I'mSorryIDISappointED......
     But, I THoughtIamSORry
     I disappointed, but I diDn't,
     WOuldn't, I'mSorryIDISappoi.......

And she continued.

     Getoutout,Idontcare
     getyoout, yOU.....

And powerless, in shock,
sad, angry all rolled into one
I still sat, as the words ravaged me,
firing squad had locked its aim
       (why didn't I rise?)
as I still tried to say.........
        (as I tried to say what?)
it doesn't matter
the result would be the same
I wasn't heard anyway
would not be.

Futile, it's over now
and I'm home
where I shouldn't have left
and wouldn't have
had I known,
hadIonlyknOWN.

This was written for today's dVersePoets., and I indulged in a little word play!  Also linked to Poetry Pantry #104

Labyrinth

Labyrinth

Today I look for the path that leads to me
I thought I was on it, but somehow lost my way
I blindly grope in the wilderness, try to find my key
Many wrong turns have led me far astray.

My candle wanes, burns less and less bright
The labyrinth is fraught with many wrong turns
Try as I may I can't resolve my plight
But there's no one here who can resolve my concerns.

I make my way forward as best I can
Keep my eyes facing forward, seek destiny
The story will end simply just as it began
Today I look for the path that leads to me.

This was written for       Poets United Thursday Think Tank #102 - Labyrinth

Someday

Someday

Someday when you least expect it,
it will happen, the thing you denied,
hid from, laughed at.

You may be awake or asleep,
know or not know. It may hurt or not.
You may be alone or with others.

It will be too late to prepare,
to change course, to bargain,
to reason, or pray.

Someday when you least expect it,
it will happen, the thing you denied,
................you will die.


Ellen Wilson, over at Real Toads today, challenged us:  Today is your day...  SOS means Save Our Ship, but your challenge Toads is to write a poem that is about saving one's soul.  A life lesson, a view of your journey, you would love to share and tell the world.  Your poem needs to be a SOS to the world. This is a treasured thought, not a soap box rant.  Here is your chance!  

As I sat down to write in response, I didn't know what would come.  My poem above is what came.  No one likes to think about death, but at some point death will find us all.  On that day sometime in the future it will be too late to prepare. Death will take us as we are.  And when I think of an important message, as Ellen requested, I guess this poem is it. Question is:  Are we ready? No apologies, but hopes that each of us has many more days ahead of us.  Today...to Life!

Dark Shadows

Dark Shadows

He worked at the savings and loan;
I worked summers, he had a key.
After hours we wanted to borrow something,
of course, we weren't supposed to go back in;
but we figured no harm in entering,
no one would see, no one would know.

We entered the dark building
with our hearts beating fast.
We had a sense of adventure though,
always enjoyed testing the limits;
and then, from another room, voices.
We were not alone in the building.

We were quiet, very still in the dark,
afraid of being discovered. But by who?
Then we saw, from our dark room,
our woman boss and a male director
laughing and heading out the door.
Their affair had long been rumored.

The next day when we got to work
we wondered if we'd been noticed;
but the boss said nothing; we were safe.
and we'd sure enjoyed the borrowed tape recorder.
If she had seen us, we'd have been fired. Or worse.
Do I regret it? No! adventure is the spice of life.

Afterword: And, I might add, all's well that end's well! This is a true story;
only one of our myriad adventures that stretched the limits that make me
smile today.  I'd live each of them again......in a heartbeat!)

This was written for my prompt at Poetry Jam.  Please take a look at the prompt and consider participating.

The Tigress

The Tigress

She is a jagged woman
smooth of speech
a tempting tigress of the tap house
who flashes her abundance
as she hunts alone
then ambushes her prey
overpowers him,
brings him to the ground
when he least expects it.

She lacks nothing,
but opulence does not satisfy her.
She often flashes diamonds
before she sneers, strikes
her unsuspecting victim.
She lives for the hunt,
for the bloodlust, for the kill.

This was written for  Poets United Vice / Versa, a revived Poets United feature.  We are challenged to use two sets of antonyms in our writing.  The antonyms this time are jagged and smooth; lack and abundance.  Hope you'll take a look and see what YOU can do.  This is also submitted for DversePoets Open Link Night #49.  Go on over, and join the party.  The doors are wide open.

Renegade

Renegade

She was always renegade,
wild but not very aware;
After every escapade
she found herself in despair.

People did not hesitate
to help her to be discreet
and even try to dominate,
her strong will to defeat

Her free life lacked direction,
she never found her pleasure,
she avoided connection
which would enrich her leisure.

She was always renegade,
wild but not very aware.
Life a lonely masquerade
permeated with fanfare.

This poem was written for Kerry's challenge at  Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  She challenged us to write a "Celtic Quatrain."  The basic 'bare bones' of the form is below, but for more detail follow the above link!

x x x x (x x a)
x x x x x (x b)
x x x x (x x a)
x x x x x (x b)

The Sunday Whirl #61

The river always flows downstream.........

The Sunday Whirl #61

The latch of the door is broken,
and it cannot be repaired.
The door swings closed, open,
then it swings and stays closed;
sometimes that happens. Crack!

Please spare me your explanations
justifying your temper out of control.
The racket of your words stuns me,
and I recognize the recurrent refrain,
the way you strike, then string me along.

The treasure chest floated downstream
and can never be reclaimed
because the current is strong,
and what is lost is lost forever.

The river's course is now determined.
I trace my name in the mud
as I  try to strike balance somehow
when there's no trace of remorse.
As I turn away I  realize the draft of your words
will float to the ocean,  blend with the sea.

This poem was written for The Sunday Whirl #61. The words to be used were:
blend, latch, chest, current, draft, string, crack, spare, temper, refrain, racket, trace, strike.

Exile

Exile

It was not my choice to go into exile
you dealt the cards, played the hand,
forced the exit, closed the door,
but it's okay this place I'm at.

I'm at peace, know what I know,
and can walk on from here,
conscience clear, and not look back.
It's your loss; you thought it was mine.

This poem was written for dVerse Poetics prompt: Re-joycing in Poetics and Exile.  Also linked to Open Link Monday at Real Toads.

Nightmare

NIGHTMARE

Nightmare revived
Caught me unaware
Same old same that
I thought had changed.
Dormant volcano eruption,
hidden depths unchanged.

She stood there, screamed
red lava, hot and mean;
eyes flashed, teeth gnashed.
There was nothing I could say
frozen in disbelief, silenced,
systematically shredded by words.

The worst nightmares that happen
do not occur at night, but days;
Nighttime nightmares are small change
and with luck are forgotten by day;
but this will not be possible to forget:
Out of control insanity again relived.

Shared with Poets' United Poetry Pantry #103

The Dream

The Dream

Last night I dreamed the dream
I didn't want to dream
the dream I don't want to write,
the dream I don't wish to share;
not that I did not enjoy the dream,
I wish the dream were real.

But it was all inside my mind, I know,
This dream that will live with me a while
and I might hope but not hope,
if you know what I mean.
Usually I do not dream at all,
but I wouldn't mind this dream again.

I don't know why I dreamed last night,
but yet I do know why I dreamed.
When I awoke, It seemed so real,
I believed the dream had happened.
It's been a while since I dreamed.
It's been a while since I hoped.

Last night I dreamed the dream
I didn't want to dream,
the dream I don't want to write,
the dream I will never share.
I'm glad that there are dreams sometime,
that maybe I'll have this dream again.

This poem was written for my own prompt over at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  The prompt was "Dreams and Nightmares."  There is more to it than that.  Please take a look at the prompt!

Not the World

Tulip, Violet, Basil
(This picture taken through a screen,
which explains why it is grainy!)

Not the World

You are not the world
but are the world to me
and without you my life
would be so very empty

You happily walk with me
and listen when I talk
are sad when I leave home,
welcome me on my return.

You keep me warm
when I need warming
snuggle when I need a hug
and never hold a grudge.

You protect me from danger
think of me as number one
Basil, Tulip, and Violet
you are the world to me.

This was written forImaginary Garden With Real Toads: Kenia's Wednesday Challenge.  (Follow the link if you wish to see the prompt, which is hard to explain in a few words.) If only my dogs  could read, this is what I would write to them.  I would hope that they know this just because......

Celebrate

Celebrate

So many occasions to celebrate,
so many reasons to party,
so celebrate whatever reason,
party on in whatever season,
Sometimes it's fun to be foolhardy.

Celebrate that you're in your prime
invent a reason in whatever season,
enjoy a mojito with a touch of lime,
smile and make a toast To Time;
no treason to find life so sublime.


Posted for Poetry Jam (where Mary Mansfield's prompt is "celebrate"  and for Real Toads Open Link Monday.

Island

Island

The willow trees on the bluffs
made fearsome shadows on stones
above the place where he hid
among the reeds at the sandy shore.

He was nailed to his spot in alarm
after his brush with death,
as he knew his pursuers still lurked
awaited another chance to seize him.

His clothing was stained with mud,
his bloodied lips  trembled in fear,
his eyes futilely scanned the vast ocean,
hoping one of the vessels would return.

He smoked his last corona as he prayed.

This was written for  The Sunday Whirl: Wordle 60.

Decision

Decision

Time, time, time
the passing of time.

Feeding tube or not
Life supports or not
so much to decide
so far in advance
when I don't want to choose
because I plan to live forever.

Time, time, time
the marching of time.

I will decide tomorrow
or the morrow after that
I'll smile and party on
invincible in my own mind
toast my future years
of which there will be many.

time time time
the rushing of time.

Time passes faster each year
I want to deny (don't we all?)
that advance will become today
sooner than I'd like, and
if I don't make decisions today
I won't have a choice tomorrow.

Time, time, time
no more time.

This was written for Brian's prompt over at  dVerse Poets!  There are many choices one must make in life.  Many, like this one,  aren't easy. I have decided.  Have you?

Alzheimers Isn't for Sissies

Alzheimer's Isn't for Sissies

I can't find my glasses
I know I had them
you probably hid them
where did you put my glasses?

     I don't have your glasses
     why would I want your glasses?

Well if you didn't hide them
they would be where I put them.

     Where did you put them?

Here on my desk with my keys
the car keys you hid
because you say I can't drive
and my wallet you won't tell me where it is
what are we going to do today?

     You gave up driving
     we discussed it
     you agreed to it
     and now you can't find your wallet?

You pushed me into it
you push me into everything
say I can't pay bills
won't let me drive
don't trust me any more
and no I don't have my wallet.

     Your wallet is here on the nightstand
     here it is, put it in your pocket.

What are we going to do today?

     I was going to stay home
     I wanted to read, write poetry
     I thought I could just relax
     I need some time for me.

But I have nothing to do
you've trapped me, imprisoned me
I can't go anywhere without you
we have to go somewhere
I can't just sit around here.

     All right, we'll go to the beach
     then we will go for dinner
     but first I think I'll grocery shop
     I'll be back in an hour

I'll go with you
I have nothing to do
I am your hostage
where are my glasses?

     Aren't you holding them in your hand?
      I'd rather just run to the store myself.

but what would I do without you,
have you seen my glasses?

Laurie's prompt at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads today challenged us to write about dementia / Alzheimer's Disease.   This disease scares me (for myself) more than most anything.  This poem is a conversation between a husband and wife.  They are imagined, but yet very real.  Let's say at one time he was a business executive, a go-getter, a take charge kind of guy.  Many who develop Alzheimers have that profile.   Alzheimer's is not only a one-person disease.   The partner who lives with someone with Alzheimer's may have the more difficult time.  I pray they find a cure, that each of us who read this poem will be spared.

Full Circle - A True Tale

Full Circle - A True Tale

My cousin left the small town for the big city
met and married a self-made man who worked hard
and rose from middle class to millionaire.
An honest man, no one could find fault with him.
Almost became the Secretary of Human Services
under Gerald Ford, but almost doesn't count.

They lived the life many people dream of,
had two sons who did even better than Dad
and went to Harvard and William & Mary
made their fortune in commodities in Bermuda,
retired amazingly wealthy at a very early age.
I played ping pong with them when they were kids.
Now one is a friend of Dr. Oz, has a private plane.

After having lived the life fantastic
my cousin decided it was time to return to her roots.
She and her husband now moved back to the city of her birth,
which is the city of my birth and the city I still call home.
The small city art gallery now has their name,
as their extensive private collection has been donated.

I was at the grand opening of the art center,
was awed really by the scope of the collection.
My cousin is still my cousin, but she's back
in the real world now, I think. I remember when
her husband told my sister, who was proud
of a report card with all A's except one,
that he had all A's! Of course, he did.

Things go full circle sometimes. And often
those who leave home find reason to return.
I didn't expect my cousin to return, but she did.
Maybe someday I will too.

This was written for Brian Miller's prompt at Theme Thursday.  The prompt was "Full Circle."

Breaking Up

You-Tube Video of "Breaking Up is Hard to Do" which features the song and the words on the screen.



My favorite "Breaking Up is Hard to Do" with Neil Sedaka singing the song about 1966. Makes me smile.




And here is my poem based on Neil's lyrics. 


Breaking Up

Please get yourself far away from me
There's nowhere near here that I won't see
If you go, don't delude yourself that I'll be blue
If you stay, I'll find a way to get back at you.

Remember when you held me tight
That was the night before our big fight
Think of all you have put me through
Breaking up is the only thing to do.

They say that breaking up is hard to do
I guess that's because they don't know you
I knew for weeks that your game would end
All I saw was an ever downward trend.

I beg of you, please say goodbye
Would never give our love another try
Come on baby, pack up and say adieu
Breaking up is the only thing to do.

This was written for Izy's challenge at Imaginary Garden's and Real Toads:

Share with us your go to break-up song (by posting an audio file, etc.), then take the lyric that you relate to the most from that song to use in a new poem which is in no way about a break-up or relationship gone sour.  Reinvent your personal anthem.  Bring us the unexpected.

Water

Water

 
I dream of water
the water that sustains me

nourishes me
reminds me of my baptism

renews my life
gives me wisdom

and, most importantly,
allows me to dream.

This was written for Peggy's prompt "Water" over at this week's Poetry Jam.   Hope some of you will take a look at the prompt and also write to it.

A Laborer's Song

A Laborer's Song (Dialect)

My life ain't easy, my life's a sad song
I work de hot farm fields all de day long
I know it ain't right, can't tell ya what's wrong.

I grab my hoe early, lay down my hoe late
Hours pass slowly, for evenin I wait
I keep wonderin how I earned dis fate.

I got a wife at home an four kids ta feed
Gotta keep diggin, though my hands dey bleed
Why do I feel dat life's done gone to seed?

Kerry, over at Imaginary Garden and Real Toads challenged us to work with 'the blues.' If you want more specifics,  follow the link to take a look.   Also written for dVerse Poets where Stu challenged us to write a work-related poem!

Too Late

Too Late

It was the bruise that I noticed
as I crouched beside the crumpled body
with chest split open by the impact,

     but her heart still beat.

Her chiseled nose was shattered,
her full lips pierced and bloodied
by glass from the broken windshield,

     but her heart still beat.

It all happened at the edge of town
beneath the glow of the street lamp she struck
moments before I phoned 911,

     as her heart still beat.

It was the bruise that I noticed
as well as the I-Phone clutched in her hand
and a text waiting for her to answer

     before she drew her last breath
     before the ambulance arrived
              too late.

This poem was written for Wordle #59 / Sunday Whirl.  The words we had to use were:  split, bruise, crumple,  draw, burst, pierce, crash, chisel, crouch, glow, edge, beat.    I am also linking it to Poetry Pantry # 101 at Poets United.