Patchwork Prose and Verse
today I loaded my car with books
first editions, autographed names
I’m holding on no longer
to these inked hostages ~
those sentiments are
not mine; nor those
memories ~
I’ve let
go
of
housing
what should live
in places loved
where their worth is not
measured in value of
possible return or in
collectors’ satisfaction but
in what’s inside ~ their words and message
in Genesis
Lot’s wife looks
back longingly
to the past
before turning into
a pillar of salt ~
so as I part with
these pieces of
past, these
memory scars of
what once was
but is no more
I heed
Luke’s caution ~
that the past can be
the kiss of
death for
the present
old books
have arsenic
old paint
has lead
old memories
have heartache
At 3:54 a.m.
I felt it~
the sting itch
of a bite
on my insole
I fumbled for
the itch cream
back in bed
couldn’t sleep
4:17 I felt the
critter urgently
scrambling
Along the back
Of my shoulder
Up my neck
Behind my ear
To my hairline
Where my fingers
Found it,
Pinched all
The way to the
Sink, released it
To see a lone star
Tick scaling the basin
I turned on the water
Chased it down the
Drain, pulled the stopper
And filled the sink
But still felt the
Crawly itch as I
Lay back down
on my eyebrow,
under my armpits
in the fold of my ear
even my clavicle
itched ~
(they don’t
make
clavicle itch cream)
it all happened so fast
thirty yards to our left
in the woods
along the edge of the driveway
in the rural countryside
in the early morning
where anything is possible
where most won’t walk without
a wildlife safety gun
** (but I do) **
as I was walking the dogs
a rustling of underbrush
and a flash
something fast and dangerous
*** (not a deer) ***
running through the trees
me in my work heels
in sudden panic
my sled dog team kicked into
high gear
jolting me into a
sprint
holding on tight
praying whatever it was
would keep going the other way
*** (it did) ***
making me wonder:
is it time for a wildlife gun
or at least a fire extinguisher?
It’s already as hot as August
in Mid-June, the kind of heat that
makes you wonder how we all
don’t cook to hardened arms and
faces like a pig on a spit
and why dogs don’t all
wear shoes on their feet
to go anywhere
and just exactly how people
without air conditioning lived
ages ago and whether frying
ice cream should be legal.
My writing groups converge today – Slice of Life Challenge writers and Open Write writers take joy on days when we get to see all of our fellow writers on the same day when the stars align. I’m so grateful for these groups of writers who are positive people, inspiring others to write. I also joined The Stafford Challenge in January, and we are around Day 160 of writing a poem every day for one entire year – so we’re close to the middle mark. Where would I be without my writing family? I don’t want to know.
Anna Roseboro of Michigan is our host for Day 4 of the June Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us today to write reflection/projection poems, using synonyms for those words by looking forward and looking back. You can read her full prompt here. Today I have a working retreat before going off contract for three weeks over the summer, so I’ll be doing a lot of this today. I wrote a nonet, a nine-line poem with line-numbered syllables on each line in descending order.
Slice of Life writers are bloggers who share our posts and something about the moments of our lives. We write every day during March and all through the year on Tuesdays. You can find the home page at www.twowritingteachers.org to learn more. Today’s Slicing prompt is thinking about what inspires us to write on the early days of summer. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m almost there…….
Almost There
glancing backward to focus forward
setting the sails on this boat
checking wind direction
untying the ropes
feeling the breeze
smiling now
almost
there
Susan Ahlbrand is our host today for the third day of the June Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com, inspiring us to write poems about graduation. You can read her full prompt here. I’ve chosen a nonet, a nine-line syllabic countdown poem.
Graduation Nonet
Teachers all worried about airhorns
beach balls should have been their concern
we learned how to inflate them
under our gowns, then how
to launch them at once
on secret cue
skyward dreams
island
style
For Day 1 of the June Open Write, Dr. Sarah J. Donovan of Stillwater, Oklahoma invites us to write poetry using the mentor poet June Jordan’s poetry. You can read Sarah’s full prompt here.
Now This
these nights
they are
hormonal hot
flash hell ~
flapping bedbirds
fluffing sheets
sleeplessly
in all the heat
and rumble
of the dark
these nightmares
they rage in ~
nocturnal carnage
at the screaming
speed of melatonin
on the yellow
eyes of a
Great Horned
Owl in a
trembling tree hollow
these scarecrows
they lurk now
in apocalyptic meadows
where as children
we found
peaceful slumber
we called
sweet dreams ~
all those sugarplums
that once danced
in our heads
~ now this
a spider built her web in my camp
chair overnight, hoping to catch
something huge, and I can’t help
wondering if it was
my backside she spied
a world record
spider prize
trophy
win
Ollie is upside-down
in the olive chair
chasing rabbits in
his sleep in the quiet
morning whirr of
the fan, coffee
steam rising from
my cup, Boo Radley
curled around my neck
like a fur-fringed coat
on the back of my chair,
Fitz hiding out under
the bed again
while I consider all
the fine porcelain
plates, these
place settings of past
destined to become
somebody’s mosaic
art piece of the
future
Common Threads 