Tag: poetry

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.

Convertible Weather

I. My man and I

Out for a 

Cruise in the

Sunshine with the

Top down and the

Radio blasting our

Favorite tunes.

Damn, these

Florida

Winters are

Brutal.



II. Late winter sunshine

Indulging my contentment

Basking feels so right.



III. Snow where is thy sting?

My northern brethren know well

I revel in warmth.



Peace, people!

Bacon Wrapped Pizza and Other Delicacies 

Bacon on a sandwich,
Or alone on a plate.
Bacon with tomato
Wouldn’t that be great?
Bacon wrapped around
A nicely grilled filet or
Tucked inside a fluffy quiche
I could go for it that way.
Bacon served with eggs,
Poached or maybe fried.
Bacon-wrapped asparagus,
You’ll be so glad you tried.
Bacon for breakfast,
Dinner or lunch
Bacon’s even perfect at a
Fancy ladies’ brunch
But today I saw an ad
That nearly blew my mind:
Pizza wrapped in bacon
A truly monumental find!
Alas, I’m on a diet and
Can have no bacon at all
Except for one named Kevin,
And he’s not answering my call.  







Peace, People!

Weather Vain

I’m standing in

My closet

Trying to

Decide what to

Wear.

I have not

Checked the

Weather.

I go to do so

On my

iPhone,

But I notice

There are unread

Notifications on

WordPress, and

Facebook, and

Pinterest.

After reading one

Particular post I

Realize I must

Google the population of

Guatemala before I

Forget so I can

Update a future

Article, and then

I go back to the

Bedroom closet to

Dress for the

Day.

That’s when I

Realize I still

Must check the

Weather

On my

iPhone.

Repeat as necessary

Until dressed.

 

 

“In Loving Memory”

“In Loving Memory” was the Daily Post’s prompt tasking bloggers with writing our own obituaries.

Born,
Learned,
Cared.
Erred, and erred, and erred.
Sang,
Danced,
Cried.
Felt,
Loved,
Died.

A lesson
Each life
Teaches:
We only
Have this
Time. No
More. No
Less. Live.

IMG_1060

Surviving the Winter in Tallahassee 

Nineteen days ’til spring.
Someone please tell the flowers
They have bloomed too soon

Four hundred plus hours
Winter’s hand stays in command
Do calendars lie?

We suffered our share
Of thirty degree days, at
Least three by my count.

Today though, sun reigns
Warding off the brisk chill of
Florida’s winter.

And those who survived
Are made stronger still by that
Which has not killed us.

A little sarcasm on this Tuesday. Forgive me for basking in this beautiful day.

Peace, people!

Circle of Five–in response to the Daily Post’s Writing Prompt

I. favorite number
five; superstition dictates.
i am a child born
on the fifth day of
the tenth month, a multiple
of five. mystical.

Photo from HowardDavidJohnson.com

II. give me five, one hand 

thrust open in greeting, slapped 

up high, down low, slide 

across palms touching, friendship 

displayed playfully.

 Photo by David from Society 6.

III. ring ’round the rosie 

pocket quite full of posey, 

all but five fall down.

a circle drawn in

childish games mocking death’s role

In childhood forgot.

Jeu d’enfants a Riquewihr-1920’s -Alsace-Robert Doisneau

Reading Doldrums

 Circling in the waves,

Caught up in an

Eddy,

Reeling from
the done,

The finished,

The read. 

Now what? 

Am I supposed
to forget 

Those I grew to love,

to fear, 

to hate? 

Where do they go 

When I turn the

Final page,

When we part ways?

I finished book two in a three-part series yesterday. Rushing to shop in my Kindle bookstore I was dismayed to discover that book three won’t be available until March. Of 2016. I’d cry if I thought it would do me any good.

The point is, I broke my Cardinal rule of reading: Thou shalt not begin a book series until at least three books are available to purchase.

Three is a great number because many series end there. If I waited until every book in a series had been written and made available to the reading public I might not ever have gotten to read the Game of Thrones series.  As it is I’ll probably die before knowing what happens to John Snow, et. al.

Thank heaven for Facebook, though. After posting a plea for good book suggestions my feed was pleasantly inundated with not just good, but great recommendations, including that of a novel, The Adventure of the Yrsa written by a friend under the pseudonym, Lillian Sullivan.  

My cup runneth over!

Peace, People.