Tag: free verse

March Madness

Would Naismith get a kick out of

All the fuss surrounding his game?

Sixty-four teams (not counting the play-ins)

Split into compass directions:

Midwest,

East,

South, and

West.

I spend hours painfully

Using logic and following

Instincts, tracking down

Statistics and looking at

Home court advantages.

Jayhawks here, Wildcats there.

Duke, Gonzaga, Georgetown,

Longhorns, and Bears.

It’s hard to keep my heart from

Ruling my head, but

My bracket fills rung by rung

Until the ladder has but one name

In the center box. 

A champion!

Iowa State, the Cyclones,

A three seed to win it all.

The perfectly completed bracket.

Of course, they fell to a fourteen seed in

Round one.

Dammit.



Peace, people!

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32 Flavors

I know I’ve been on a diet for too long when the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt, 32 Flavors, instantly made me think not of ice cream, but of teas. And I wondered, are there 32 tea flavors?

Iced, sweetened and un.

Mango, raspberry, blueberry,

Wild berry, black cherry

Hibiscus, chamomile, and

Cinnamon.

Oolong, Earl Gray

Country peach passion

Lemon zinger

Peppermint, spearmint

Ginger snapper.

Honey vanilla

Green tea, black,

White tea, too,

Yerba Mate

Holy basil

Chai, matcha and

Pu-erh.

I almost left out

Rooibos and honey bush

But apparently they

All derive from the

Camellia sinensis plant

One tea, one love.

I think I counted 28 flavors,

I’m sure there are more

But my Sleepytime has

Steeped and is ready to pour. 



Peace, People!

I’ll Sea You There

In response to The Daily Post’s daily prompt: if you could live anyplace else on earth where would it be? There is no doubt where I’d go.

I. Give me salt and sea

Let me wake to ocean’s roar

Guide my steps in sand.



II.  Relentless waves shrug

Nudging shells onto soft sand

Here are her treasures.





III.  Sunset on ocean

Mist caressing horizon

Capturing the light.



Peace, People!



Mandible–an anagram poem

MANDIBLE

Masters chew over marled

Answers seeking to bind

None other than that damn

Dame known for her lame

Illusion of turning a dime

Between her nimble

Limbs while repeating a line

Etched in stone for the blind.

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In an anagram poem, each line must end in a word comprised of the letters in the title. The tense should remain the same throughout–hope I made that work! In addition I’ve begun each line with a letter from the title. This is fun. Weird, but fun.

Peace, People.

Single Mom, 3 Kids, Lost Job

I saw you standing on the curb

My car was fifth in line

Then fourth, then third,

And then I read your sign.

“Single mom, 3 kids, lost job”

My hand reached for my purse

Even as my head was saying “No.”

After all, it’s easy to write words on a 

Piece of cardboard: 

“Out of work,”

“Just lost my house,”

“Anything will help.”

Why did my heart win out over my

Head this time? Maybe because

I saw me in you. 

I saw my mother,

My daughter.

I saw every woman who has

Struggled, for whom

Life has never been

A crystal stair.

Every woman who has been

Close to having her own

Cardboard sign.

You cried when I rolled 

My window down. I cried 

All the way home.

I borrowed a bit from one of my favorite poems by Langston Hughes. I thought I should include it here:



Wood Rot: The Poet’s Friend

The evidence was clear

A small damp spot on the

Old door frame.

Damaged wood, 

Fibrous, spongy

Clearly no good.

What’s the thought?

New molding should

Be bought to replace

This nasty wood rot.

After all wood should

Be sturdy and strong

And this wood is not.



This bit of nonsense was inspired by a conversation with an author whose blog I follow. Her name is Ellen Hawley and her wonderful blog can be found at:

http://notesfromtheuk.com/

I don’t believe you’ll find anything concerning wood rot on her site though. Just lots of witty and insightful observations from an American living in Cornwall.

Peace, People.

Gross

What’s the grossest thing you’ve ever taken out of your pantry or fridge? 

The smell

Overwhelming

But insidiously

Sweet.

Potatoes

Left in the bin

Way past their 

Prime.

Things like

This never

Happened before

I began

Cooking.

There is no way

I can

Unsmell

These spuds.

Silence

Life forces us every day
to do one thing:
Breathe.

In a hospital room I sat
watching Mother
Breathe.

I closed my eyes for just minutes,
sleeping.

Silence
Woke me. Her life slipped
away while I still
Breathed.

For years I felt a deep
guilt for having slept,
Breathing

While Mother’s life
ceased with one final
Breath.

I should have been
awake for her, attentive,

Breathing
For her, perhaps,

instead I awoke to only
Silence.

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Found Words with Friends

A blogger I follow, dare I say, a friend, and I have begun playing Words With Friends. We are pretty evenly matched. At the start of a recent game he suggested that we each create a found words poem from our efforts. What a great idea!

So here’s our completed game, and my poem follows. Please read my friend’s poem at https://aroilinpain.wordpress.com .

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On the brink of goodbye 

She tread cautiously Into his space

A cup of joe as a parting gift

But he was curled under quilts in the fetal position

Claiming a pang in his wide open heart.

“You shrew,” he screamed, “You have no idea

How wide was my love for you. Woe is me!”

“Go ahead, throw darts,”she countered, “I can no longer feed your need for fame.”

In a dress of flawless moire, she addressed her ex with a shrug. 

“This will make for dishy gossip via the neighborhood pipeline.”

“Just let me see, one more time, a glimpse of your areolas,” he said, “and I promise I’ll dig no more.”

“Aw, Ed,” she grimaced, “This is why we cannot relate.”

“Sh,” he cautioned in douce tones. “You are the nexus of my very being.”

Still, she placed her hand on the doorknob, “Once you were the tye to my tackle, the quahog of my pond. Now, you are just like a zit on a cob.”

Teacher, Teacher!

I wrote this in response to The Daily Post’s prompt We can be taught.

Teacher, Teacher

When I taught years ago
There were days when
The mornings were hectic
Spent bent over student desks
discovering algorithms
And manipulating simple
Machines and describing
Force in terms of Newtons
On spring scales that broke
Routinely.

There were days when I
Daydreamed an alternate
Career for myself as a greeter at
Wal-mart, feeling that any
Job would be better than that
Of an elementary school
Educator who spent every waking
Moment prepping, grading, or
Worrying over pre-teen angst.

There were days when I
Felt like a master educator
Full of energy and capable
Of single-handedly saving
An entire generation from
The abyss of ignorance
Armed only with a piece of
Chalk and an eraser.

There were days when my
Classroom management
Skills went out the window
And I’d find myself standing
Rigid, in the midst of chaos
In fear of losing my ever-loving
Mind.

There were days when the
Rewards were huge, when a
Group of reluctant learners
Experienced that aha!
Moment and called out,
Teacher! Teacher!

There were also days mired
In test preparation, drill and
Kill, and drill some more and I’d
Watch the lights flicker out in
Some students’ eyes.

There were days when all my
Heart desired was an opportunity
To use the restroom before my
Poor bladder exploded.

There were days when our
Classroom buzzed with the
Excitement of creativity.

And days when I thought my
Heart would burst with love.

Those are the days I miss.

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