Day 1 of July Open Write with Denise Krebs of California

Today’s host at http://www.ethicalela.com for the July 2024 Open Write, Day 1, is Denise Krebs of California. She inspires us to write septercet poems on any topic we choose. Also called a blackjack poem for the 21 syllables in each stanza, the poem features stanzas of three lines with 7 syllables on each line. You can read Denise’s full prompt here. I’ll be presenting with Denise at this year’s NCTE Convention in Boston in November, and I’m proud to call her a friend!

Goddess of No

Harold Monro held me charmed

Overheard on a Salt Marsh

Gold-leaf’d Childcraft Volume 1

Over and over again

In my closet (with flashlight)

I read those words on repeat

Utterly spellbound, transfixed

Give them me. No. Give them me.

Grew up wearing green glass beads.

The nymph to the goblin: No!

He’ll lie in the mud and howl

for beads on her silver ring

She stole them out of the moon.

He’ll howl in a deep lagoon

(like so many creeps out there).

In the best illustration

the goblin’s fingers spark truth:

it’s sexual harassment.

this primer poem for girls

who could read between the lines

Give them me. No. Give them me.

better than a fair daughter

better than the voices of winds

better than stars or water

Harold Monro held me charmed

Give them me. No. Give them me.

I am a Goddess of No.

my little buddy

when the others are getting

breakfast treats in the kitchen

Fitz stays with me

my little buddy

when my husband

leans in to kiss me

goodbye on his early

to work days

Fitz emerges from the

covers with warning

snaps ~ firm reminders

of who is who

when it comes to me

he goes where I go

sits where I sit

sleeps where I sleep

thinks where I think

eats where I eat

and is our only rescue

who has never bitten me

my little buddy

he snuggles me

when I read or watch tv

and catches popcorn mid-air

and gazes into my eyes

like I’m his whole world

my little buddy

my soul dog

my Fitzie

Fitz with his favorite toy, his squeaky turtle

Still Life: Black Dog in Brown Chair Nonet

On any given morning, my family members in different group chats begin swapping random photos on a theme one of us starts. Saturday’s theme was our dogs. Dad sent a video of his schnoodle, Kona, getting her 5:30 a.m. treat from a friend at Parker’s gas station on St. Simons Island on their early morning routine walk. My brother sent not a photo of his dog, Kasa, but of the veterinary table where she was getting her shots (she’s a gorgeous Brittany, and I’d show her off every chance I got if I were him). I looked around and caught a glimpse of our aging rescue schnauzer, Fitz, sitting contemplatively in the brown velour chair that has become his window gazing chair.

This chair, one of a pair, matches nothing else in our house, so we have had it listed on Marketplace since bringing it home from one of Dad’s storage facilities to sell. But Fitz loves it so much that we may just keep the velour pair for our three schnoodle boys to call their own. I mean, next to a Velvet Elvis, what could be more of a conversation piece in a home filled with a blend of modern, farmhouse, and antique furnishings? What I noticed about the chair, though, was the variegated colors and the way the light played with the fibers and Fitz’s coloring. Immediately, I envisioned an old painter with an easel, painting a still life of a beloved family dog.

It was my picture to share in the group text.

Dad sent it to a painter friend named Carol to see if it could become an affordable masterpiece. She replied that it was compelling, and that she was glad to receive the photo – – that it will become a master watercolor.

I urged them to note the crossed front legs, showing a recent shave for a dental cleaning, the basking in sheer comfort, the deep reflective thought and philosophical consideration, the way the light plays with the wisdom of old age.

I hadn’t woken on Saturday thinking that Fitz, in a moment of silent reflection, would become the subject of a still life.

But here we are, rocking the reflective moments of life.

note the front legs crossed on the armchair

philosophical reflection

the way the light plays with age

salt and pepper mixed hues

he needs a top hat

and an old pipe

and a lap

to call

home

As the day wore on, I took a few more photos to continue the theme of the day, but the brown velour backdrop on the first pose was the best Fitz shot I was able to capture.

Sporting his teeth – which are scheduled to be removed to help with his CUPS disease pain.
This is how Fitz naps, but it didn’t make the cut for the master watercolor. He sleeps on his back like an overtired toddler pitching a fit who got still for just a second and was dusted by the sleep fairy.
The bane of Fitz’s existence – a deer in his yard

How I Beat the Heat


Hallmark’s Christmas in July movies

high velocity fan, full blast

pretending there’s a blizzard

piping hot black coffee

wrapped in sofa throw

Schnoodles piled high

all of us

beating

heat 

The older I get, the less I can endure the extreme heat and humidity. Give me a blizzard to handle the scorching heat! I’ve found that a good snowy Hallmark Christmas in July movie with love instead of hate, free from the problems of the world, is my ticket to a better day! Raising a mug to you – Cheers! Stay cool!

Sunday 3-Dog Donut Tricube

donut dogs

breakfast on

Sunday treats

trio of

Schnoodle boys

all lined up

awaiting

their next bites

patiently

*Tricube poetry consists of 3 stanzas with 3 lines of 3 syllables each, on any topic. As I prepare to return to school this year, I look forward to working with small groups of writers. These short forms help introduce various aspects of poetry such as line breaks, syllables, and structure. Having a bank of poems I’ve written helps me to introduce these to students as we write together.

Cleaning Out!

we’re cleaning out a lifetime of stuff

making room for new adventures

goodbye to all the clutter

farewell to odds and ends

we’re clearing the air

ready for new

memories ~

coming

soon!

Cat and Mouse Nonet

it became a game of cat and mouse

now who’s chasing, now who’s running?

who’s including, who’s snubbing?

who’s manipulating,

orchestrating now?

nobody knows

all sight lost,

reason

gone

family fallout

the fallout started over

the limit 1 toilet paper

when one refused

hospice in favor of

going it alone

but didn’t count the

costs of Covid

when one heard another

found 6 rolls and ordered

him to bring it ~
he tersely replied

he’d already delivered all 6 mega rolls
and ($#) it’s gone to

crap ever since

Slice of Sadness: Raw Truths

sometimes I suppress memory

sorrow, disgust, guilt, misgivings

I should probably take more

action on like those

twin mattresses we delivered

to that young single mother of

five dirty children in a photo we saw

in all the mess

and a filthy home last week,

mattresses practically new

we no longer needed, so I listed them

on Facebook Marketplace for cheap

the young mother didn’t have a person

or a way to get them so we delivered

them, left them on the

wheelchair ramp to her mobile home

sat in silence for a few moments staring

at the dump of the place, the broken

chairs and table, the dilapidated pet

cage (minus a pet, thank God),

plastic bags of strewn clothing,

home tattoo kit in a bag with needles,

smashed toys, headless dolls, trash

shattered bottles, crushed cans,

upturned cooler, bricks, dishes, wet papers,

random things everywhere destroyed

by rain and weather and wondered

(tried not to judge but it was impossible)

then a man came out with a bike helmet

and we asked if he was the boyfriend

meeting us to receive the beds

and in an offended tone told us no way

he was only there to fix a leak

with force like we’d slapped him

so we left them there in all the filth

right by a trash heap and wondered

whether to call DFACS or mind our

own business (remembering: I’m mandated

even outside of my own county, I’m

mandated as a human being for

reporting deplorable conditions)

I know they’re inanimate objects

my husband turned to me

confessing a hard truth

as we backed out of the parking space

but I almost feel sorry for the mattresses

I swallowed hard and admitted:

I keep telling myself that there

are five children who need a place

to sleep and these may be the

only clean beds they’ll ever see

(and maybe the only beds at all)

sobered by the experience

of this hardship case

rattled to the core, speechless,

we drove 23 miles back to clean

trying to forget all we’d seen

wondering if we owned enough soap

but still asking: did we do the right thing?

should we return with groceries,

does she have services in place?

because tears do not cure hunger

tears do not clothe children

no, crying doesn’t change a thing

I can only show snippets of photographs – someone else left some bed frames to go with our mattresses.

Note: we only saw photographs, not the actual children.