National Poetry Month Offering #13

 Main Street

One week after the Equinox

September transits into October

At midnight

We stand on the sidewalk

And talk

About the Beatles and winter driving

Getting lost in a big city

The difference between hippies and cowboys

The balance between discipline and joy

Within the creative process

It’s long past sunset

Too cold for the sandals on my feet

We jam our chilly hands

Into jean jacket pockets

I love your dimpled grin

How you half turn toward your car

As if you ought to go

But you stay

We laugh and talk on

Beneath the just-past-full moon

I know you belong to someone else

Yet for just this hour

I let myself pretend

You are mine alone

Sometimes you meet someone and almost immediately there is a feeling of intimacy as if you have known each other for years. Even if you never see each other again the memory of your interaction remains fresh and lively. This was one of those nights, one of those conversations.

National Poetry Month Offering #12

 Aurora Borealis

Collisions

That's all it is

The pragmatist would say

Between gaseous particles

In the upper atmosphere

With charged particles

From the sun

So spare and logical

This description

Preferring to watch

This hypnotic nebulous light show

A more mercurial elucidation

Seems fitting

I gather my shawl

Closer about my shoulders

Against the cool lake breeze

Gazing northward

The goddess Aurora

Paints the night sky canvas

With icy swans

A heavenly dance

To a silent song

Of the spirits of loved ones

Long since gone

I don't remember how old I was the first time I saw the Northern Lights. All I know is that I fell in love with the swirling, magical light show. I do know that looking up at the night sky has always fascinated me, whether it's the moon I'm focused on or the stars, or waiting patiently for a meteor shower to begin, or escaping the city lights in pre-dawn hours  to view Haley's comet. I wrote this after observing the Aurora Borealis near a prairie lake around midnight a few years ago. Of course there was a man there. He was the least interesting aspect of the evening.

National Poetry Month Offering #11

 Soundtrack

My boys are noisy.

They sing, they hum, they tap.

They narrate the unfolding saga of the day

Involving firetrucks and Lego blocks,

Castles, cartoon characters,

Silly putty, super heroes, Dr. Suess.

Scientific experiments with illogical, questionable results.

I eavesdrop from the other room and smile in amazement

At the complicated stories

That bring their toys to life.

Though it’s naptime lunchtime bathtime

I hold back appearing at the door.

My detected presence interrupts the soundtrack,

Grinds it to a halt.

I wait a moment longer

Hoping he will come to me

For a drink, a hug, or a shoelace that need tying.

A brief pause for maintenance from mom.

This joyous noise ends all too soon without my help.

So I let it play on undisturbed,

Grateful that I retain the key

To enter into his world.

They grow up so fast. Yes, yes they do. Almost before your eyes. I learned early on to let those magical moments of childhood play out even if it meant some scheduled necessary thing was delayed. Because they grow up so fast.

 

National Poetry Month Offering #10

 Six Weeks In

His dark dark eyes

Their color lying somewhere

Between chocolate

And roasted coffee beans

Examine me for details

With such curiosity and kindness

That no shred

Of self consciousness remains

I love that left cheek dimple

That materializes with his smile

And how his kisses

Leave a lingering impression

On my lips

And memory

Another man, another time. It had not yet sunk in that this fellow had numerous issues, chief among them drinking too much and anger, the anger exascerbated by the alcohol. I was flattered by him telling me I was a terrific writer. Since he taught writing classes at the college level it was nice to have that validation from a professional. What is still unbelievable to me is that I gave him a second chance a couple of years later. Clearly I'm an idiot.

National Poetry Month Offering #9

 Last Dance

I get this feeling

Lately

Since you came into my life

This may be my last chance

At love

At choosing wisely enough

At getting it right enough

That the effort will be worthwhile

I have dreams

That whisper

Around the edges

That feel so real, so comfortable

Old enough to be wise, we are

Still young enough, though

To live inside

The tangled fleshy ecstasy

Of each other

This combination

This we of you and me

Completely new

So headlong in I dive

Having never learned

Or understood the sense of

Holding back

Already knowing

If this is my last chance

I'll gladly risk it

On you

I remain astonished that I still believe in the power of romantic love, and hope I will experience it once more. I wrote this nine years ago after meeting a man I still feel genuine fondness for as well as an abiding connection to. He remains the only man I have met since I became newly single after my divorce that I felt I could be with long term. Though I very much doubt I will ever see him again, I still like the idea of him.

 

National Poetry Month Offering #8

 Wish You Were Here

This broad expanse

Of barefoot grass

I walk at dusk alone.

Pausing inside our sacred space,

I feel a sensual, spiritual trace

We left behind, before.

My sandals in hand,

Soft footfalls land

In silence resilient and calm.

Tactile memories

Reside upon the breeze,

Our love an offering,

Given, seized.

The meadow goddess smiles, appeased.

Our pleasure is hers,

The grass, the trees.

There are spaces and places that evoke such strong emotions for me. I connect things that have happened to me with locations. Haunted by sadness, sometimes fear, often love. This poem describes a memory of love that initially woke me to so many things I had forgotten and buried within myself. A love that eventually nearly broke me, nearly did me in.

National Poetry Month Offering #7

Idiot Threshold

My idiot threshold is three
So pardon me, please,
Don't take it personally
My idiot threshold is three
I'm a generous person
I have a good heart
On the best of terms
I'd just as soon part
But my patience is limited
My attention span, too
So, I'm going to warn you
Up front and quite clearly
Deal with me reasonably

Pragmatically
Have your facts straight
Don't make me wait
If you're fourth in line and ill-prepared
You've now been forewarned
My idiot threshold is three

This week I have had to deal with a lawyer, the court system in another state, the DMV, being plagued by the water bill from a house I haven't lived in for over a month, and trying to sort through cancelling the homeowner's insurance on said house. I have to say that for the most part customer service people were very capable and made all of these nuisances go away in short order. My idiot threshold was not breached, it was not even approached. Thank the goddess!

National Poetry Month Offering #6

Asymptote of Healing

Bruised and battered, broken

Gaping holes of longing

Lingering within

Begging to be filled with anything

Something

To ease the pain of dealing

With each new day that’s dawning

Mired down

In the persistence of living

Without what you named essential

Now lost to you forever

Acceptance, faith and patience

Close and mend the wounds internal

Approaching

Never reaching zero

Healing full yet not complete

What remains alive inside

That thinnest slice of quickness

Is the scar of lessons learned

And room though just enough

For seeds of love to grow replete

We have moved on to math. Which makes far more sense to me when I can explain it in terms of an emotion. 

National Poetry Month Offering #5

Aversion Therapy

Did you always do that thing?

Chew that way while you are eating?

Love apparently is blind.

Was your laugh always so strident?

Ill-timed. Too loud. Machine gun staccato.

And deaf as well.

Don’t kiss me with those lips!

Those lips that form those biting words!

Meant only to correct and make me better.

I knew you bit your nails.

I ignored it.

Now I can’t stand it!

What kind of love numbs the senses

To all these things so damn offensive!

When blinder I was kinder.

Now awakened,

Somewhat shaken,

A new perspective taken.

The things we do for love. Or survival. Possibly Sanity. Even less self-respect. Denial by any other name is still denial.

National Poetry Month Offering #4

 I Belong

The farmhouse smelled

Of lingering must and cobwebs.

Fine red clay dust lay undisturbed,

Left by the whims of wind,

Gathered by gravity.

Someone had swept,

But not recently.

Debris deposited haphazardly in the corner.

A trove of trash or treasure

Begging to be perused.

Bits of refuse, burned out matches.

An empty sardine tin,

A hardware store calendar from 1969.

Powdery coffee grounds

And eggshells

Wrapped neatly in the local yellowed newspaper.

What’s this? I thought as I pulled at

A protruding corner of black cardboard.

To my surprise, a photograph in browntone!

Four young women,

The one on the left looked back at me

With eyes like mine.

Reassuring me

In the summer of my fourteenth year,

Yes, I am your grandmother.

Yes, you belong.

Growing up I had almost no contact with my father's side of the family but we often lived near members of my mother's family. I felt like an odd duck since my siblings favored the maternal side. It was on the trip south to Mississippi when my paternal grandfather died that I found a photo of his wife, my grandmother, with her sisters. It was a revelation to see her, I was named for her and now I had found that I resembled her. 

National Poetry Month Offering #3

Pheromones

You affect me pheromonally,

Visually, sensually and tonally.

My rapture is barely contained,

The reaction is purely right-brained.

Resistance is futile, you'll learn,

It's more fun to indulge than to yearn.

Ogden Nash was in my head when I wrote this, hence the short form and distinctive rhyme scheme. I was also under the influence of a man whose pheromones deeply affected me. If you haven't experienced this primitive phenomenon, you really should. It's the best drug ever.

 

National Poetry Month Offering #2

Thank You, Mr. Heisenberg

Gray hair close cropped,

The other in a straw hat.

Eating ice cream, sitting on a bench,

Holding hands.

Difficult to ascertain which is Mr, which is Mrs

At this distance.

Dressed as twins

In khaki trousers

And bright print oversize shirts

White socks and blue-white tennis shoes.

Only when they stroll away

Am I safe to assume the shorter is the Mrs.

Once again in similar bodies,

Full circle from infant to elder.

Were I not here to observe them,

Mr. Heisenberg,

Would they behave the same?

I love science and mathematics, even though much of it is incomprehensible to my tiny brain. I found that my grasp of many math and physics concepts made more sense when I applied them to human relationships. 

 

National Poetry Month Offering #1

At the Cafe Bitter

All the tables seat just one
Your bile and anger don't require a chair
Feel free to wallow
As long as you care
The wait staff so inattentive
Inclined to treat you
With sarcastic contempt
Tip them passive aggressively
At three or four percent
There are no appetizers
No foreplay for this repast
Go directly to your entree
Served with buttered
Shards of glass
Wash it down with primo vino
Pressed just for you
From sour grapes
If you long for something slightly sweet
End your meal with just desserts

I wrote this poem in 2009 after a friend told me about breaking up with the man she had been dating for a few months. Upon hearing that he had been dumped, he sent her a package containing a few of her things that she had left at his house, including a stick of butter that melted all over the other items in the box. I guess revenge is a dish best served with butter.

Rabbits, Rabbits, Rabbits (Peep!)

I hear that there are people who actually eat Peeps. These are not edible. But in my opinion, neither are the ones made of sugar, corn syrup, gelatin, food coloring (often yellow #5), potassium sorbate, natural flavors (!), and carnauba wax.