Category: Poetry

Old Lyme Creek

Photo by Kelly Cavitt Dupler

crisp golden aspens
burst full with autumn’s glory
along Old Lyme Creek

Peace, people! 

Sleep Patterns

i’ve been accused now
by the abrupt
no kiss good night

the ensuing silence may be
construed as rest
or as fomentation.

too still, no easy patterns
of inhalations, no
gentle exhalations.

the clock measures time in
unslept minutes
awaiting judgement.

when the eruption occurs
i can think only of
future accountability.

i seem to have gotten it,
every bit of it,
wrong yet again.

no easy answers and now
i feel damned
either way.

we really are much too
old to live like this,
i sigh.

the sigh sets him off
anew, fuel to his
unspent fire.

sleep finally intrudes;
we can only say
so much.

  
Peace, people.

Making Sense

Wearing toe shoes because
they make her feel graceful,
even though she cannot stand,
let alone walk or dance in them.

Pretending she has appointments,
important happenings in her
date book, when in reality her
days are void of any excitement.

Scribbling furiously in her
notebook, intent on making sense
of the empty days and lackluster
nights, praying for intervention.

Where is the muse who heads the
department of sensible thought?
She’s the one in comfortable shoes,
keeping time with the pendulum.

  
Peace, people!

Experience Speaks

we’re told
everything happens
for a reason.
i’m not sure
i agree.

we’re told
we’ll never be
given more than
we can handle.
that’s a lie.

we’re told
that what doesn’t
kill us only
makes us stronger.
i beg to differ.

experience tells us
that sometimes crappy
things happen for
no apparent reason.

experience tells us
that sometimes what
we’re given would
make Jesus weep.

experience tells us
that sometimes what
doesn’t kill us leaves
us wounded beyond repair.

so if the platitudes
seem too saccharine
to swallow,
rejoice! there’s
always tomorrow,

or so we’re told.

peace, people!

emilymcdowell.com

Wondering

I’ve tried being
philosophical,
but it isn’t my style, and
Practicality
is practically
unobtainable.
I think I’ll be
winsome instead.

Winsome seems a
logical choice,
neither happy nor
morose, yet somewhere
in between as in,
you WIN SOME,
you lose some.

Perhaps I have
a bit more
wondering to do
before I find my niche.
I’ll just be
winsome until
something better
comes along.

 

Valkova Evgeniya, “Winsome”
 
Peace, people!

Feed Me Seymour!

Is it 

“Feed a cold;

Starve a fever?”

Or vice versa

I never can

Seem to

Remember.

Hunger, though

Is my companion

Urging me to

Ignore the wisdom

Age old sayings

Passed down

from mom

To mom.

Just feed me 

Seymour and

No harm is done.

  
peace, people!

Sick Blogging

i am sick
not tragically,
or terminally,
but sick,
nonetheless;
therefore,
this poem
was all I could
manage.

peace, people.