Some Days

Some Days

Some days you wonder what the world has become
some days it seems nothing makes sense
some days you don't understand anything
some days you cannot hold a line of defense

Some days everyone wants something from you
some days thank you is more rare than gold
some days there's nothing worth wasting ink
some days the news seems out of control

Some days the wind blows in all directions
some days the apple is rotten to the core
some days your effort is unappreciated
some days life is only a creaking door

Some days it seems hope is forsaken
some days you think we'll soon succumb
some days dreams don't get off the ground
some days you wonder what the world has become.

Written for Poetry Pantry.

I Am a Child

I am a Child

I am a child who is hungry
I look into your eyes
I want you to see me
I want you to see my hunger and fear
You wanted a poem with my story
I could tell you my story
but would it matter?
You have seen thousands
   of pictures like mine
   and you have looked away
You have passed me on the street
   and haven't glanced my way
You have enjoyed your warm home
   your meat and your bread
   and not thought of me
My story would not give you compassion
My story would not give me food
My story is a long story
I will not waste my words
I will not waste your time
I look into your eyes
I want you to see me
I am a child who is hungry.

Last week I went to an art exhibit of excellent art created by students in my state.  The picture I have shared is part of the exhibit - taken by a student.  It says so much!  I had shared the poem with dVerse Meeting the Bar where we wrote 'first person poetry,' and I have decided to share it here with Poetry Pantry as well!

Bubbly Wubbly

Bubbly Wubbly

Just a bit of bubbly

makes me wubbly

and when I see double

it makes for trouble

I babble prattle

as I stumble

not so subtle   

plop in a puddle

mumble jumble

what a struggle

it's quite humbling

self esteem crumbling

thanks to bubbling!

A Quadrille - using a form of "bubble"

for Dverse!

A Conversation While in a Dental Chair

A Conversation While in a Dental Chair

She told me she often cleaned teeth
for people who lived in memory care units.

She told me she told her parents
she promised to do all in her power
to prevent them from going to such place.

She told me so many don't live but just exist.
She said she never wants to reach such a state.

She said she had dogs and when the time was right
she gave them a humane death so they didn't suffer.
She said it is a shame we don't treat humans as well.


(I had my teeth cleaned by my dental hygienist
last week.  While she was cleaning my teeth
we talked.  My poem is really about what she said.
I don't know what I think. I do not believe in suicide.  
And euthanasia is murder, isn't it? But I know of
what she speaks.  I do wonder about quality of
life.  I do wonder about those who suffer.
I do wonder about those who no longer
can relate to anything in this world.
As you comment, I would be most appreciative
if you would share your thoughts. I know it
is a hard subject.)

Shared with Poetry Pantry #290

Labyrinth

Labyrinth

If we were reading our book
and in the middle of the book
there was one perfect moment
a moment that made our hearts sing
and if we could decide that
we would rewrite the book
renouncing all that came before
beginning chapter one again
would the book be rewritten
to take us in a new direction -
would we end in a different place?

And if this book were rewritten
beginning with that moment
or would different choices be made
the story revised and changed
and if we were reading it now
would we still end up here
reading the  book together
you cherishing me
me cherishing you
or would even that have changed?


Life has twists and turns.  Just had a bit of fun this morning wondering what would result if we could magically revise our life.....and would one really want to?

Shared with dVerse Meeting the Bar.

Kitchen Memories

Kitchen Memories

Gather around the kitchen table
cup of coffee and conversation
cookies in the oven
clutter on the counter
dirty dishes in the sink
ironing board in the corner
floor in need of sweeping
bills in need of paying
neighborhood gossip whispered
news is most important
everything else will wait.

This is written for dVerse Poetics - Room.

(I remember my childhood kitchen table
and the room surrounding it so well.)

Life or Death

Hospital Visit - Kathy Kollwitz

Life or Death

Hospital room sees everything
patients young old very old
head raised or lowered
oxygen in then out
machines measure life
         or determine death
television blares monotonously
hand sanitizer by the door
instruments on the table
waiting bed pan
curtains opened or closed
visitors come and go
          some with flowers
chairs by the window.
     
Doctors nurses aides
someone mops the floor
a cheerful face tissues hidden
the silence of the third shift
lights on lights off
the flush in the background
the questions, the tears
stiff upper lip, smiles
when will he go home
will he go home
how long doctor how long
then quiet deep quiet.

The room keeps silent
but it can hear
it remembers feels sighs
and sometimes it sobs
for the sadness pain loss
for those who did not
leave on their own
for those whose heart
would not beat again
the room keeps silent
but it has compassion
and sometimes when alone
it even prays.

This is written for dVerse Poetics Tuesday, where we are writing poems about a ROOM!

Fleeting

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” - Mary Oliver

Fleeting

There are times I look back on wonder what would it be like if we were still friends today? And there are times I look back and wonder just why we were ever friends. It was enjoyable while it lasted, I must admit. We had things in common, but mostly we just liked to walk.  And talk.  The paths we walked wound through forests and along streams and sometimes city streets.  Sometimes on the track of the YMCA. We traveled miles together.  And talked.

But then suddenly it changed.  At a time when I was most vulnerable, it changed.  She built the wall. Tall.  Sudden.  Cold.  Blow delivered with sharp sword.  Cup of darkness presented with icy hands as I was left gasping in disbelief.  And it took me a long time to recuperate from the unexpected blow.  But I did.  And I learned a lesson about trust.  And I am a bit more cautious now.  With people.  Years have passed. I run into her now and again at the YMCA after some years.  We talk.  She smiles.  And I think never again.

Along forest path

enjoy fleeting glimpse of deer

on wintry horizon

This is written for Grace's prompt for Haibun Monday at dVerse.  I used the Mary Oliver quotation as inspiration.  (And, yes, I do know I have an extra syllable in the haiku.)

The Story

Old Man Reading a Book - Rembrandt

The Story

He is reading the story of his life
sitting on his chair by candlelight
holding the faded heavy book
some of the pages are yellowed
some are covered with tears.

Some pages have dog-eared corners
he tries to remember why
a pressed flower falls out
but he has forgotten from what occasion
he studies the brittle petals for a clue.

Not all of it is a happy story
not all of it is a sad story
it is just a story like other stories
sometimes he remembers as he reads
but often the door to memory is closed.

Someone knocks on the door
and he asks what they want
but no one answers - not yet
though he knows someone is there
observing him read the story of his life.

He is reading the story of his life
so many pages to turn
some years have more pages than others
some years the pages are blank
as he unveils his ordinary life.

Some pages are hard to read
because some words are blacked out
he wonders who is missing
perhaps the one who gave the flower
the brittle petals have lost their color.

He is approaching the last chapter of his life
his eyes are heavy - his mind is weary
there is a knock on the door once again
the candle flame is flickering low
he is ready now - he invites him in.


This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Hands

Dementia

Hands

The hands are yours, as are the eyes

but you are no longer there

and as I try to discover where

I find I cannot analyze.

This must be some poor disguise

which left you with this blank stare

the hands are yours, as are the eyes

but you are no longer there.

In my mind your life I try to revise

but then break down in  despair

it is not you who sits in this chair

In vain I implore you  to verbalize

the hands are yours, as are the eyes.

This poem is a "rondel" which was written for dVerse Meeting the Bar.

Candle

Candle

"There are two ways of spreading light:

to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it."

-Edith Wharton

One candle is all we need

to take away the fear of night

One candle can light the path

and can be a welcome home

One candle can give hope

and can make the difference.

Let each of us be a candle

to bring light to our world.

This is written for Sumana's prompt at Poets United Midweek Motif:

Inanimate or Non-Living

Morning Routine

Morning Routine

You rise early in the morning not because
there is anything you have to do.

You look out of the window not because
the weather really matters to you.

You flip the television on not because
you really follow the news.

You make a pot of coffee not because
you especially savor the taste.

You prepare your toast and jam not because
they are your favorite breakfast treats.

You read the morning newspaper not because
there is anything of interest to be found.

You choose your jeans and sweater not because
you don't have anything finer.

But then you choose your shoes and you smile
your shoes will make you happy today.

This poem is written for Toni's prompt for dVerse Poetics.  We had to choose a fortune cookie fortune (out of those she listed) and write a poem based on it.  The fortune I chose is 'your shoes will make you happy today.' Do join us forPoetics on Tuesday!

Regret

Sunrise Over Grassy Pond

Regret

I wake at dawn

with a broken heart

and wish I could 

lull myself back to sleep

or that I could 

put time in reverse

do it differently next time

but the sun has moved on

and so have you

sadly so have you.

This is a FICTIONAL quadrille (44 words) written for dVerse. The word we had to use was "lull."

The Beat Goes On

"Rita Dove by Window"

The Beat Goes On

If a man reads a poem

he is a dreamer

if a man reads two poems

he is a seeker

if a man writes a poem

he is inspired

if a man writes two poems

he is a creator

if a man writes a book of poetry

he is a visionary

if a man sets his poems above others

he is a braggart

if a man sets others' poems above his

he is a fool

if a man writes for everyone

his words wash away in the tide

if a man writes for a few

his message is recognized

if a man writes for himself

he speaks in whispers

if a man brags about his poems

his followers will be shallow

if a man steals the poems of another

a crow will bite his nose

if a man fears his death

his words will celebrate his life

if a man fears life

he will hide inside his words

if a man gives up poeming

the earth will not skip one beat.

This poem is written for and shared with dVerse Open Link. It is also submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry.  It was inspired by the poem The New Poetry Handbook by Mark Strand, a poet whose poems I am enjoyed at the moment.  You might want to check out Strand's for yourself.  Some of the commenters mentioned the lack of 'she' in the poem.  I played with the words & could not figure out how to make it gender neutral.  "They" wouldn't work.  Just 'she' wouldn't work.  "He/she" wouldn't work.  Thus I just used the 'he' form,  but know that I KNOW not all poets are 'he's.'  Smiles.

Identity

Identity

If we identify your groups

age

social

racial

gender

cultural

religious

political

interest

cultural

economic

linguistic

personality

educational

do we know who you are?

This is written for Sumana's prompt for Midweek Motif:  Identity  The prompt got me thinking.  (Did I miss any groups?)  Reflecting on my own question, I would say if we knew all these things about anyone we might know them pretty well.  What do you think? What else might be important?

Not Coming Back!

Not Coming Back

No, I am not coming back
one journey is enough
I don't want to begin again
no, I am not coming back.

No, I am not coming back
I wouldn't even if I could
why live another life
no, I am not coming back.

No, I am not coming back
lives are not designed that way
we do what we do then die
no, I am not coming back.

No, I am not coming back
but I will be moving on
make of this what you will
no, I am not coming back.

Yes, I will be moving on
until my last day on earth
I do not fear my death
yes, I will be moving on.

No, I am not coming back
but the future is not bleak
in life there is no repeat
yes, I will be moving on.

This is written for dVerse Poetics where the theme is coming back.     I am going to attribute Annell's poem as my inspiration....as after I read HERS I knew what I wanted to write. Thanks, Annell!

What If? (A Haibun)

Photo by Gabriella - With Permission.

What if?  (A Haibun)

I never thought that I would be the one to leave.  I had thought my life path was forever set.  I married young, dropped out of college to be with him after he got a job in another state. He became the successful lawyer.  I became the stay-at-home mother.  His life: Dealing with wealthy clients, friendly games of business golf, client lunches.  My life: Changing diapers, blowing noses, helping with homework, being the Girl Scout leader,  going to parent-teacher conferences, making sure the children got to church (while he slept in after his stressful week).

The rare nights he came home early for dinner I had a good meal waiting, but many nights it was the girls, me, and his empty chair.  Maybe once a month he and I would go out for dinner, but he always said he would rather eat at home because he ate restaurant meals with clients three or four times a week.  The only movies we saw were on television, and most often he fell asleep on the couch.

Often, as time went on, I would wonder what life would be like outside of our beautiful home, what my life would be if I had finished college, who I could have been today if I weren't only a wife and mother.  So one rainy morning after the girls went off to high school (I knew they would be okay) I decided to begin to try to figure it out.

Cash in hand, I took a taxi to the bus station, purchased a ticket to a city on the opposite coast, and boarded.  As I watch the scenery pass and change, rain droplets spatter the windows, as droplets of tears run down my face.  But there is no turning back.  I know,  just as the rain will end, so will my tears.  The sun will come out again. Won't it?

A thousand rain drops
vision beclouded by tears
the world waits for spring

This is written for dVerse Haibun Monday.  We are writing from photos shared by Gabriella.