Endings

Today's poem challenge for the last day of April was to write about Endings. (Thank you, Robert, for a great month!) Here's mine:

Endings

I always hope for happy endings
in life or movies or books
someone lives happily ever after
evil is punished, good rewarded
lost child is found
sick child is healed
depression is lifted
every disease has a cure
gun is unloaded
bomb does not detonate
tornado doesn't touch ground
brakes take hold
drowning man is rescued
best candidate wins
most qualified is promoted
good deeds are recognized
a friend is a friend forever
families live in peace
every problem has a solution
if only it were so.

Today's poem was to be a poem on exercise. This would ordinarily be a subject which would inspire me; but yesterday and today I have not felt at the top of my form.....so I can't get into the exercise mood, though I have written on this subject which much more success before.


Walk

heart beats
lungs gasp
mind clears
sweat exudes
feet pound
body moves
feel good
one step
another
walk.

To Sleep, To Dream

The sestina form is complicated. Monday's challenge from Robert of Writer's Digest was to write a sestina, a form in which the same chosen words always end the lines of the poem in a prescribed pattern. The words I chose and used in the predetemined order were:

1. sleep
2. dream
3. content
4. mind
5. dark
6. clock

My poem is below. I am pleased that I accomplished it. Not easy.


To Sleep, To Dream

When I lie down to go to sleep
I always hope to have a dream
head on pillow feeling content
marveling at my peaceful mind
I lie quietly in the tranquil dark
unbothered by the tick of the clock.

As I glance at the face of the clock
I am appalled that I cannot yet sleep
the room comfortable and oh so dark
I am prepared for a pleasant dream
try to conjure visions in my mind
so that I sleep so happy and content.

Despite all I do to invoke pleasing content
I am mindful of the distraction of the clock
and enchanting images do not come to mind
despite all I do I cannot evoke sleep
and if I do not sleep I will not dream
will not find restfulness in the dark.

My thoughts transform from bright to dark
I twist and turn and am far from content
fear a nightmare will supersede a dream
would like to throw the ticking clock.
I struggle and struggle to bring on sleep
but cannot shut off distractions in mind.

I cannot fathom the workings of my mind
which is wide awake now despite the dark
will not turn off and allow me to sleep
continues to race with unpleasant content
as I turn my back on the irritating clock
fear its useless to yearn for a dream.

But then it happens I lapse into a dream
with a gradualness unfathomed by my mind
unaware of the incessant tick of the clock
I float through pleasant valleys in the dark.
happy and relieved and blissfully content
I lapse into an enjoyable night of sleep.

Joyful now I sleep lost in a dream
I feel content with tranquil mind
rest in the dark unaware of the clock.

Cell Phone / Walking the Track

The challenge for Sunday, which had me stymied for a while, was to write a poem in the form of a conversation in which you write only one-half of the conversation. "Inspiration" finally appeared today. Here are two:


Cell Phone

Hi, how are you?
Great,
I'm fine too
Anything new?
Me either.
How's work?
I'm glad
How are the kids?
Good
Glad to hear it.
Call if you want to
talk again.
See you soon.
I love you.
Bye.



Walking the Track

How many laps do you have?
I have 45, 45 to go.
35? You must have more than that.
You started before I did.
Click on another 20 laps.
No, click to 55, that's fair.
I have to grab my water
Hard to walk with so many people.
Oops, someone coming behind.
What are you having for dinner?
Sounds good.
I think we are having taco salad
Glad some people are leaving
Looks like spinning class is beginning
Yes I miss it
Have to get my bike down soon.
I have 75 laps now, and you?
No way, you should have 85 at least.
You're almost done.
Okay we'll walk until my 90
You'll have five-and-a-half miles.
Someone behind us, I'll move behind
Have to grab my water bottle again.
Wonder what we'll have for dessert.

Poems About Work

Today's poem was to be written about a job. I wrote 4 poems related to a job I had for seven summers:

Risky Business

With his key we clandestinely entered
the savings and loan after hours
wanted to borrow a tape recorder
shouldn't have been there, knew it.
About to leave, we heard other voices
in the building. We were not alone,
hid in a closet, dark and quiet.
Afraid we'd be caught, we listened,
recognized the voices of our boss
and one of the directors, rumors of affair
between them proved true. Silent, we
waited until it was safe to leave, left the
same way we came, never said a word.

Father DeGroot

When Father DeGroot came to the counter
almost every teller disappeared, no one
wanted to wait on the strange old priest
who smelled like a stale cigar, had thick
wet lips and a mouth that continued
to chew nothing as deposited his money.


Assistant Treasurer

She sat her desk with mortgage file open,
looked so busy, attended to her work. I thought
she was ambitious, doing important things,
didn't want to disturb her, later found out
she did little, often worked a crossword puzzle
hidden inside the file, carried it with her as she
purposefully walked around.

Teller

My favorite job at the savings and loan
was being a teller, standing at the counter
waiting for the next customer to walk in
the door. When it was not busy we stood,
talked, tried to appear busy until the boss
noticed and sent one or two people to work on
address changes, filing, stuffing envelopes.
Those were good days, long days but
unique, days when I figured out what I
wanted to do and what I didn't, gained
confidence and experience, learned
to drink coffee, worked as an adult
though I still felt I was a kid, made money
and good friends and then moved on.

Cardinal

Tuesday was Earth Day. It's poem had to have something to do with nature. Here is mine:

Cardinal

cardinal serenade in the backyard
beautiful and noisy bird
difficult to see in summer
hiding among the leaves
but easy to spot now...
and wonderful.

First Half Marathon

Today's assignment was to choose a picture and write a poem about it. I chose to write about the Lake Geneva Half Marathon I participated in last year and will do again this year. Except this year Vicki will do it with me. A photo from last year is above. Poem is below.

First Half Marathon

First half marathon
I pound the pavement
thirteen miles alone
I don't know what to expect
how long it will take
how warm it will get
or how lonely
up hills and down
along flat country roads
endless as I walk
wish for company
wish for music
to break the boredom
to keep me moving
no idea of my pace
I just keep moving
keep walking on.
Next year I'll do better.

Aging

Today's poetry prompt was: Write a poem about getting older. I've done that before in the past, but came up with another poem:

Aging

I try not to think future because
that's wishing myself older, and
I don't want to rush through life.
I try to savor every day, or at least
to accomplish something to make
that day count, even if the things
that count are a collection of
small pleasures such as walking a dog,
listening to music, watching a cardinal,
writing a poem, cutting the grass
for the first time of a season.

I have learned Age is relative.
At any given age a person might
be older or younger appearing
or acting than another of that age.
Part of this is under one's control
as affected by healthy eating or
exercise or attitude, but part is
affected by heredity or is just
a crap shoot. So far I have been
lucky, but eventually age catches
everyone. It will catch me. I
cannot escape, don't focus on that.

I Don't Have a Southern Accent/I Just Kind of Looked at Him

Sunday's poetry assignment was to listen to conversations anywhere and then to use a quote from a conversation in a poem. I wrote two poems, one based on the quotation "I don't have a Southern accent" and the other based on "I just kind of looked at him."


I Don’t Have a Southern Accent

She didn’t understand why it was that when she spoke
everyone there turned to stare at her. She speculated
that it must be because says what she has to say was
so interesting or perhaps she was dressed in such a way
that attracted attention. She said, “I don’t have a
southern accent,” so it definitely couldn’t be that!
It was an enigma to her, but obvious to everyone else.


I Just Kind of Looked at Him

When the good-looking man in jeans, t-shirt, and cowboy boots
sat at the next table, I just kind of looked at him, as I thought
he could possibly be a movie star, and I tried to think just who.
I was totally fascinated with his appearance, thought he
probably had a Mercedes parked out front, a beautiful wife
or a girlfriend or two. I just wanted to stare. And did.
When the waitress came to take his order, I watched
and listened, curious what such a handsome man would eat.
He opened his mouth, and oh no, it can’t be, my illusion
shattered, when he opened his mouth he had no teeth!

The day Grandma Died

Saturday's poem was to be one of something that happened to you, but you did not remember.....about something you were told about yourself. I don't know for sure if I really remembered this or was just told it a number of times........

The Day Grandma Died

When I woke up one morning,
my cousin was next to my bed
and I said to him Where’s Mom?
He said to me Grandma died,
and your mom is at her house;
I said Why didn’t she wait until I saw her?

Mya - Five Months Old

Sunday's poetry assignment was to write a poem about love:


Mya - Five Months Old

Love sneaked into my life
when I least expected it
an infant not anticipated.
but welcomed and cherished

Love grew with the days
of holding her, feeding her
looking into her trusting eyes
as she gazed intensely into mine.

Love stayed in my life
even when she was away
sweet essence remembered
potential yet undefined.

There is No Connection

Friday's Assignment was writing using the prompt "There is No Connection...." Here is my attempt:

There is No Connection

Sometimes it appears there is no connection
between the poem I start to write and
the poem I bring to completion
but this is not important, as the valuable thing
is to begin, to write something, to let words flow
to see where they will lead, and eventually I find
I have written what I have been meant to write
and the connection between where I started and
where I ended is clear.

The Race

The Race

The hardest part is waiting
for the half marathon to begin
ten minutes until race time,
loudspeaker blares
runners, find your positions
I pace nervously, watch others
feel the chill in the early morning air
will i be too hot, too cold
should i drink more water
use the bathroom one more time
are my laces tight enough, too tight
is the chip secured
five minutes to go
i study the other racers
firm tanned bodies
trim, sinewy legs
flat abdomens and gluts
how do I compare?
two minutes until race time
I pace back and forth
adrenalin in charge
no turning back
one minute to go
my mind is clear
in my position
poised to go
seconds now
heart beats fast
shoes shift
all is silent
gun cracks
and I’m off!

Palm Spring Follies Reflection

Thursday's poem had to be written in third person.



Palm Springs Follies Reflection

The trim woman in the red gown
strided across the stage, smiled,
glanced out at her audience,
embraced the microphone, began to sing.

Before their eyes her eyes brightened
wrinkles lightened, skin firmed, years
melted away, and as she sang
The Hills are Alive she was once
again the young singer she'd been
as Maria von Trapp on Broadway.

As they watch Anna Marie Alberghetti
now seventy-two years old, with
a presence and demeanor
that belie her seventy-two years
a voice and beauty so alive,

it is hard to grasp the passing of years
how age changes a person outside
but inside they feel the same
and If they close their eyes a moment
lose themselves in the music
they can easily forget their age.

I'm Lost

Today we had to write a "Alfred Hitchcock type poem," a one with a 'twist' at the end. I didn't have much time to do this justice... My futile attempt:

I'm Lost

I'm lost
but don't ever try to find me
because if you do
there will be a surprise
and it won't be pleasant
trust me this time
and imagine.

Insults

Today's challenge was to write an 'insult' poem. This was hard. I am not satisfied with these attempts; but at least I have completed them, and I will have a lot to revise in May:

---------------------------------

Childhood Memory

Is that how they're wearing their hair now?
my aunt asked as she touched my hair.
I don't even remember how my hair was
but never forgot the question, how it made
me feel bad at a time I felt awkward and shy.

I wish now I'd retorted who are they?
and what does it matter? why would I care?
and why do you care? and what is the right
answer to that foolish question anyway?
Instead, I just seethed and hurt inside.

----------------------------------

Heat of the Day

Your stupid big white truck
rested at the busy gas pump unoccupied
as we waited in line behind you to pump gas.

Every other line moved, but ours did not;
behind you we waited baked in the hot sun,
watched you saunter out of the station
at last, with shopping sack in hand,
not a care in the world, oblivious.

When we expected you to drive on,
only then did you begin to pump your gas
filling the gas tank of your big vehicle
after we'd foolishly thought you were done.

When you finished your task,
you climbed in your truck, rested a bit,
right in front of that gas pump,
took a bite of the sandwich in your sack
while we continued to seethe in the midday sun
until your truck slowly, ever so slowly, crawled away.

How My Mind Behaves

Today's challenge was "How ___ Behaves"


How My Mind Behaves

How my mind behaves when
I think about toy fox terriers
is sometimes irrational
but at least I recognize that
and know that in me is
the potential to be a
crazy old woman who
could be ecstatically happy
surrounded by a houseful
of small dogs which
I must always guard against

In The Spirit of Done too Soon

Today's poem had to be based on a song. I didn't have much time to think today, with guests, so I based this on Neil Diamond's song "Done too Soon," and the people who died were some who died in 2007.

In the Spirit of Neil Diamond's Done Too Soon


Luciano Pavarotti, Liz Claiborne,
Beverly Sills, Betty Hutton, Don Ho,
Kurt Vonnegut, Dan Fogelburg
Tommy Makem, Marcel Marceau,

Joey Bishop, Robert Goulet,
Debora Kerr, Merv Griffin
Evel Knievel, Benazir Bhutto,
Anna Nicole Smith, Tom Poston,

Norman Mailer, Lady Bird Johnson,
Ingmar Bergeman,Sidney Sheldon
Molly Ivins, Wally Schirra, Robert Goulet
Charles Nelson Reilly, Boris Yeltsin,

How quickly pass the years
all who died in 2007were children once
growing up with hopes and dreams
looking up into the same sky.

Life is short, moves right along,
doesn't stop for anyone rich or poor
famous or not, it's over for everyone
in a blink of an eye, way too soon.

I'm Sorry

Today's poem challenge was to be an apology:


I'm Sorry

I'm sorry I always had a hard time hugging you
after you rebuked me, as I tried to kiss you,
aren't you too old to be kissing me goodnight,
I never kissed you goodnight again, and I'm sorry as
I don't think you really meant what you said.
I should have got over your words,
somehow pushed them out of my mind
but I couldn't, just couldn't, ever get beyond them
even when I saw signs you wanted to be hugged
but could not reach out to me. I didn't make
it happen, and neither did you. Now I'm sorry.

Fingers

I decided to do another poem from yesterday's challenge...writing about an 'object' that is interesting or often taken for granted. How often does a person really think about fingers? They are something 'taken for granted.' (until something happens to one!)

Fingers

Four knuckled fingers
each with three bones
and patterned ridges
unique prints identifiable
attached to the palm
with ligaments, tendons
blood, strong, functional,
often taken for granted,
neglected, unprotected
beautiful, smooth or wrinkled
gnarled, lined, patterned
useful to manipulate
twist open jar lids, pry
button, unbutton, snap
grasp a utensil or violin bow,
play the piano, clarinet
pull a wagon, zipper, slot machine
type on a keyboard, brush hair
hold a baby's bottle, stroke
a puppy, used daily without
thought, perfected for
their purposes, miracle of
nature, fingers.

Swimming Pool

Today's poem was to be written about something either interesting or taken for granted. I chose to write about the "interesting" swimming pool that is right across from our unit here in Palm Springs, pictured above:

Swimming Pool

I sit in the tan beach chair
overlook the turquoise pool
asymmetrical and inviting
amazingly uninhabited today
surrounded by the pool deck
the deck surrounded by palms
with diamond patterned trunks
fronds that move with the breeze
homes to chirping birds.

Pool water ripples slightly, calls to me
maybe I'll be the sole swimmer today
I put my foot into the water, feel its crisp
coolness, another foot, whole body now,
move in the water, feel alive, feel
the breath of summer, a reminder of
my pool at home and all that is good.

I savor the coolness, the slight chill,
the clear view to the bottom, the breeze,
the sun, the warmth of the air,
and being alive, yes alive, and
swimming in this crystalline pool
free with no cares beyond today.

Palm Springs Oasis

Today's poem is a poem about a place. This is written about the place I am today:




Palm Springs Oasis

Picturesque eden of radiant warmth
paradise among towering graceful palms
brushstrokes of rich rose bouganvillea
white, purple, pink violets and petunias
watered, lush, manicured, rich green,
nine swimming pools, protected enclave,
tennis courts, accessible walking path
with backdrop of San Jacinta Mountains
restful island created out of desert sand.

Present

To write today's poem, one had to choose a word and use it in different forms. I chose the word 'present.' Here's my poem:




Present

Though I may be away from her today
Violet is present in my mind and heart
never an hour passes that I don't think of her
my sweet dog, one of the best presents
life has given me, and I know she will be
ecstatic to see me when we reunite.

She who lives only in the present moment
will not realize how much time has passed
since we were last together, and when
sweet Violet is presented to me at the kennel
in which she temporarily resides she will wag
her tail and wiggle with joy at the sight of me,
not realizing the number of days we've been apart.
and for me there can be no greater joy.

The Buck

Today's poem is based on Frida Kahlo's painting called "Little Deer." This painting would not have been my choice, but I am following the poetry prompts for the month of April, and this is what I came up with:


The Buck

Graceful beautiful buck rules the dense forest
master of its existence, king of its universe
alone many times but periodically seeking
companionship of fellow creatures to drink
together at cool flowing rivers and bed down
on soft grass and fallen leaves, protected
camouflaged from all invaders, safe and warm.

How could it happen that this wild peaceful being
could one day morph into a nightmare creature
with Frida Kahlo's face beneath its regal antlers
and thus be ostracized by the rest of its kind
who didn't understand the hideous transformation
poor lonely buck once proud now pitiful.

In sadness the buck loses his pride and will to live
and one day in fall when man invades his territory
he who usually is swift and proud appears
out in the open before the waiting archers
who take advantage of the unusual situation
and plummet the buck with a dozen arrows
and as the buck leaves this world as blood flows
from him and saps him of all strength and will
he remembers as he dies the days he was
master of his existence king of the universe
and free, yes free.

Betrayal / A Day of Travel

Today's poems are "Rambles." Again, these poems are not perfected in the least. They are only rough copies to perhaps work with later:

Betrayal

I felt like a betrayer when the dogs both were so excited
about getting into their carriers on Sunday. They jumped
in tails wagging, anticipated going somewherefun with us,
perhaps traveling in an airplane, and Violet might have thought
she was going to spend a night in a fine hotel or visit a fancy
restaurant, where she would be so quiet but no, we drove them
only a short distance, stopped, took them into the kennel,
and I am sure by then they knew they had been betrayed.
We walked back with the attendant who knew them from last time
and actually put them in their quarters. They barked, implored,
wanted to leave. I walked out of the door and didn't look back.
I miss them so much.

A Day of Travel

We arrived at the airport at five a.m. for our flight to Denver
which was to take off at six, and I thought at first it would
be a fairly empty plane because not many people were
in the gate area. Was I ever surprised when a flight attendant
announced that it was going to be a full flight, that all fifty seats
would be occupied. People kept piling on the small plane.
Small planes make me especially nervous because they are,
well, so light. We tried to put both carry-ons in the upper
compartment; but it was a small plane and only one fit,
so one had to be put under the seat ahead, and I volunteered
to sit in that seat and stick my feet out into the aisle,
but the seats were cramped, my feet were cramped, and
it was a long flight for being only two hours, especially when the
pilot announced as we approached Denver that it would be
a bumpy ride in, which made me tense up, but after his warning
the approach and landing were not turbulent at all Whew!

Then we had to go to the opposite end of the terminal to reach
the gate of the next plane from Denver to Ontario, California.
We had time, but we took a passenger cart to be on
the safe side. There were a lot of people sitting in the gate
area so I guessed and was relieved this plane would be larger.
It was, and we all piled on. No empty seats. The pilot said that
the plane would be slightly behind schedule because of the
strong headwinds, and one time we encountered an extremely
turbulent patch, but we reached Ontario right on time, and
I said to myself this really wasn't so bad, and it's true, isn't it
that after something is over with and you are where you
want to be all of your worry and the little problems along the
way fade and you are ready to get on with your adventures.

Anticipating

This is written about one of the activities of today.

Anticipating


Anticipating half marathon
we walked at a fast pace
five miles up the parkway
then back, ten miles outdoors
for the first time this year,
exilerating first taste of summer
at last.

Worry

Today's poem is a poem of 'worry'

Worry

Storm warnings
strong winds, rain,
tornado watch,
oh no, electricity out
the neighborhood black
no sirens yet but why
find the flashlight
matches for the candles
check that the auxiliary
sump pump works
thank god for cell phones
phone the electric company
what do they know
what caused the outage.
how long will it be
more lightning thunder
rain swirls pounds
I watch, worry, wait
this is what I hate
about living in Wisconsin

---

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Tribute to Miss Brooks

Today's poem is a poem of 'tribute.'

Tribute to Miss Brooks

Miss Brooks was the English teacher
everyone feared they would get
the teacher who had everyone quaking in fear
old crochety stern eccentric
she took her subject seriously, lived it,
went up and down rows asking questions
I knew when my turn was coming
knew I couldn't escape, had to answer
her question no matter what or bear her wrath.
She loved poetry, had us memorize poetry,
we had to write out the poetry we memorized
for a grade, old-fashioned, but because of her
I learned to love poetry because despite the
eccentric exterior I knew she really cared
and wanted her students to care too.
I wrote to Miss Brooks
twenty-five years after high school
told her I had just written my master's paper
on teaching children to write poetry
I thought she'd want to know
and she, retired now, wrote back to me,
told me that she and her sister
had just returned from Walden Pond.

Early Spring Haiku

Early Spring Haiku

Piles of old snow
cover much of the front yard
a cardinal sings

squirrels scamper about
dig up nuts at last exposed
when snow drifts melt.

Front lawn is still brown
but if I look carefully
I see blades of green.

Red maple is bare
hardly visible are buds
it will be a while.

It is good to walk
on bare pavement with my dogs
no more muddy feet.

Cardinals abound
more than I can remember
winter was too long

Time to take a walk
fresh air and sun beckon me
which dog will I take?

Tulip

A poem written from another point of view:

Tulip

I love to play fetch and understand
how the game is to be played
and wonder why it is that Violet
thinks that to fetch means
to chase and get and to keep
for herself under a table
where no one can touch her

I used to hate it when the
harness appeared but now I
love it because I know it means
that we will be taking a walk
and I love to walk and even
better I love to run which
she lets me do sometimes.

I know there is more food
in the green container and
don't understand why I can't
ever have as much food as
I want because I love to
eat so much even more
than I love to walk.

I hate it when someone
wants to come into my house
I'm quite happy as it is
and don't see the need
for others to get into my
space so I will bark at
them to let them know
that they are not welcome.

Everything that is on the floor
is mine whether it is a
newspaper, a glove, hat,
sock, or a baby pacifier so
I don't understand why these
things are taken away
from me when all I want
to do is chew on them.

I'm bigger than Violet now
and have no hesitancy about
throwing my weight around
taking her special places
for my own, showing her I
am boss after all even though
if she wants to eat food first
I will let her eat but that's
because she would snap
at me if I didn't but I show
her and curl up inside her
old wool jacket, which I
really would not be interested
in at all if it wasn't so
important to her.


April 2, 2008

First Funerals

A poem written about a "First"

First Funerals

My first funeral was that of my grandmother
who I had to kiss when she was in the coffin
when I was five or six; and she was cold
and this memory has never left me;
I wish my mother had not had me kiss her.

My second funeral was for my dad's father
who I didn't really know well and mostly
I remember kids shuffling feet on the carpet,
then getting shocks on the metal bubbler,
having fun. I didn't know or have feelings
about the deceased, but this was the
first time I knew that you could shock
someone by shuffling on the carpet.

In seventh and eighth grades my class
at St Paul Lutheran School sang
for all congregational funerals, and
if someone died, the class practiced
hymns in the morning, had less school
in the afternoon of the funeral.

We sat in the church balcony, oversaw all,
the usually open casket, tearful mourners
paying their last respects, casket closed,
our teacher pounding the organ, one
hymn after another, the minister's sermon
about the life of the deceased, our hymns
sung, "Nearer my God to Thee," "Just as
I Am," "I'm But a Stranger Here” from our
repertoire drawn from the Lutheran hymnal,

Our voices were young fresh angelic pure
so beautiful and comforting to those who
mourned the unknown person below and
no mourners realized that more than anything
we were kids happy to have less school that day,
time to fool around quietly behind the back of our
organ-playing teacher who had prepared us
so well for our duty.

The saddest funeral we sang for was for
the teen-age brother of a classmate
who died in the lake his head cut by an
outboard motor propeller, and I will always
remember the open casket, still visible scar,
and we all filed past this young man, choked up
and eyes full of tears, before we went
up to our balcony to sing, and as I look
back now I realize that for me this is when
death became possible.

April 2, 2008